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woahjo · 7 months

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The People We Became (Bakugou x Reader)

masterlist | ao3

Pairing: Bakugou x Reader

Summary: Zombie Apocalypse Au.

The world fell apart almost a year ago and you refused to go with it. Left alone and to your own devices in a world full of monsters, where the dead come back to life, you believe that maybe surviving isn't living.

When Katsuki finds you alone in the woods and on the precipice of collapsing from exhaustion, he decides to bring you back to the house his group calls home. Against your better judgement and hesitancy to become attached, you decide to stay. In this world, everyone has lost someone. No soul is spared the violence, and you start sleeping with Bakugou Katsuki to dull the ache. Somehow, peace finds you anyway, but not without sacrifice.

Chapter Content Warnings: fem!reader, gender neutral pronouns, strangers to lovers, violence typical of zombies, blood, gore, romance, slow-ish burn (for the emotional stuff), angst, kissin', questions of identity, loss, grief, graphic depictions of death and/or violence, mentions and descriptions of starvation/exhaustion typical of an apocalypse setting, very slight implications of possible sexual violence typical of an apocalypse setting, derealization, depersonalization, weapons (guns, blades, and traps), loss of identity

All content warnings can be found on ao3 with the rest of the series.

Word Count: 14.4k — 53k total on ao3

A/N: it's finally done... i'm sweating. i screamed. i cried. i bled. you know the drill. i am posting this a little differently than my other fics and series. only the first chapter will be posted here on tumblr (this post), with the rest of it broken up into chapters and posted on ao3.. purely because it was originally meant as a one shot and i don't like posting chapters on tumblr. it's not built for that and im tired. anyway, im nervous this is my new baby and im pretty sure my soul is somewhere in here. if u read this, pls come tell me what you think.. it fuels me. enjoy, cry, sweat, or whatever else you do when you read. as always, thank you and i love you.

Two hundred and seventy six. It’s been two hundred and seventy six days since the world completely went to shit. You don’t really count the initial outbreak. The initial outbreak was relatively contained once people found out about it. You quarantined. You stayed inside. All it really took were a handful of idiots. Someone selfish. Someone who panicked and ran instead of facing the world honorably, and that was it. It only took days to lose almost every semblance of a normal life and a week to lose everything else.

The light of your fire is dim, embers burning low as you sit in a foldable chair beside it. The chair is from a friend, someone you’re not with anymore and who went somewhere you couldn’t follow, and you've got a metal spatula in your hand. You're not sure why you grabbed it when you fled, but panic does weird things to the mind. You absentmindedly wonder why you’ve brought it along with you all this time. There’s no logical reason for you to tote the thing around. A friend had told you how strange it was that you thought to toss it into your bag and continue carrying it. This, along with a few other oddities, are all you managed to take from your house when the world fell to ruin. Everything else are things scavenged along the way or from people you'd met, joined, and lost.

Maybe it’s because the spatula is somewhat normal, like somehow when you cook the game on your makeshift tin over your shitty fire, you can pretend you’re in your kitchen. A smash burger sounds good right now, with grilled onions on a brioche bun like the ones from the place by your apartment.

The night is near silent and trees creak and crack like the hulls of great ships under heavy pressure, but the birds don't sing and nothing in the crowded wood you're taking shelter in makes a sound. Well, except for you and the gentle crackle of your fire.

It’s easy to miss the noise that used to irritate you when the world goes quiet. You used to hate the sounds and lights of passing trucks when they’d cross on the street below your apartment window. Now, you’d do anything for the familiar comfort. The world is so dark and quiet, like it’s holding its breath and waiting for this to be over. The silence is almost too much, so loud that it hurts your ears. You huddle closer to the fire, craving its quiet sound. Focusing on it lessens the anxiety of the other noises. The ones you don’t want to hear.

Your head is on a swivel. It has been for months. Ever since the outbreak, ever since the dead rose and began consuming and infecting the living, you've kept watch. A paranoid, never ending cycle that you suppose—if left on your own—will burn itself out. You swallow thick and return your attention to the fire, watching the tree line just in front of you for any hint of movement or monsters.

A branch cracks just behind you. A swift sound, followed by rapid footsteps. You stand, quickly turning your head, only to see a figure a few feet away from you. They move quickly and the dancing light of the fire obscures their features from view. Their eyes, most importantly. You can always tell if someone is dead or alive based on their eyes and the sounds that their joints make. In this light, should this stranger have that milky white film over them, you wouldn't be able to tell.

You make a small noise, something between a whimper and a shout, as the person comes to a stop in front of you and holds a flashlight directly into your face. You squint, panic in your veins as your eyes adjust as best they can to the sudden assault. It takes you a moment to realize that there is a gun pointed directly at your forehead. The living. This person is alive. You're not sure yet if encountering one of the dead would have been worse.

"Shut up and drop your weapon," he says in a hurried voice. It's aggressive and threatening. It comes from deep in his chest, like somehow fear has gripped and mutilated it into something violent.

You raise your shaky hands to your head quickly at the order, screwing your eyes shut in the beam of the flashlight.

"It's not a weapon!" you shout, voice cracking. "It's a spatula. It's a spatula."

The words are rushed and heavy, fear seizing your chest as you look down the barrel of the gun. The flashlight turns off, sending you back into the dark. Your eyes fight to adjust, catching the firelight that glints off of the barrel, and you begin to makeout the man’s features. He's big, blonde under the grime, you think. A man, not the best thing to encounter alone at night in times like these.

You see him hesitate for a moment, eyes darting between you and the silver kitchen item in your hand. You drop it quickly, hoping to appeal to his humanity.

"Do you have a weapon on you?" he questions, voice a little less urgent.

You shake your head in response and then shakily look beside the chair, choking out the word “ground”. There's a knife there and a pistol with no bullets. You're a poor shot and you had run out of ammo the previous week. He glances at it, the gun still raised at you, and sidesteps to grab the two items. When he does, he cautiously lowers the weapon and you start to lower your trembling hands.

Then, as if struck by some realization, the man stomps towards the fire and you jump as he does.

"The fuck are you doing lighting a fire this late?" he says angrily, opening the clip of your pistol. "And with no fucking bullets. Those things may be dead, but they can still fuckin' see. That's a good way to get yourself killed."

He stomps out the fire as he talks, urgently stamping out what's left of the low-burning logs.

"I didn't think there were many in the area," you justify, furrowing your eyebrows as you step away from him.

"And that's a risk you want to take?" he says indignantly. You wonder briefly what business he has worrying about you.

"What do you want?" you snap, "My food? Weapons? Life? What is it?"

The man scoffs, "Jesus, none of that. I don’t want your shit."

You narrow your eyes and take a step back. One thing this world has done is remove trust from every chance encounter, and that was already hard enough when the place was sane.

"Not all people who camp out in the woods are good," he says. "But I sure as shit didn't expect to find someone like you alone lighting a damn fire. Stupid."

"There were others," you say indignantly, like somehow that makes it better. "Force of habit, I guess."

The man pauses for a moment as understanding passes between the two of you. It's a relatable feeling. Everyone has lost someone now.

"Got a name?" he asks.

You hesitate in giving it to him and the pause causes him to roll his eyes. “You want me to call you Idiot-with-no-bullets instead?”

You give him your name and the man nods as if he likes the sound of it, turning it over in his head before inhaling.

"I'm Katsuki," he furrows his eyebrows. "You're alone?"

You nod, swallowing down the grief that pushes at your throat.

"Wasn't always," you respond, "but yeah. Now, I am."

He nods his understanding.

"Come with me."

"Where?" you say instinctively, a defensive edge to your voice. Katsuki looks at you as if you’re stupid, or maybe it's pity, like you're a wounded animal. Probably both.

"Where the fuck do you think?" he retorts. "We've got a camp a little ways from here. I saw your fire from the watch post we have stationed."

You look at him like he's a little crazy for even thinking to bring you. Kindness, especially the selfless type, is so rare now and you find it difficult to believe that he’s willing to take you there at no cost.

He scoffs and rolls his head over his shoulder. "Look, we've got men and women," then he pauses. "Used to have children. We're not gonna hurt you. World's gone to shit, do you really wanna keep at it alone?"

He's probably right. You've been alone for weeks now, exhausted for longer, and though your common sense tells you not to go off with a strange man in this kind of world, the promise of rest is far too tempting. You nod and glance back to your camp. A measly collection of supplies haphazardly put together. You suppose that it doesn’t look so promising.

"We'll come back for it when it's light," he says. "I don't know about you, but I'd rather not spend longer in these dark ass woods than I have to."

"Okay," you say. The presence of another person both sets you on edge and makes you feel the press of fatigue even more. A gun's barrel on your nose followed by the promise of safety and you're going with him? You must be stupider than a horror movie protagonist. "Do you take in a lot of strays?"

Katsuki looks over his shoulder and you think you see him smile a little at the phrase.

"If that's what you want to call it," he says begrudgingly. Then, with a softer tone of voice, barely noticeable with the quiet whisper you both have been speaking at. "I'm sure the others won't mind one more."

You nod a little and follow him through the wood, stepping over obstacles. Your eyes have adjusted to the dark, but you feel unsteady on your feet. Everything you’ve ever learned about this world tells you that maybe you shouldn’t go with him. What if they’re dangerous? It’s easy to lie about women and children, about a community that doesn’t exist. Or worse, it’s easy to fool yourself that where you are is good, but you don’t know yet if he’s the type to delude himself. He doesn’t seem it.

The two of you walk for what feels like forever, even if it is only a little over half a mile. Your feet have been aching for days and every step you take feels like a blade into the heel. Katsuki seems steady, his gun secured at his hip and a large knife in his dominant hand. He doesn’t have the flashlight out, but he seems sure-footed and takes every step in stride, as if he’s too heavy to be swayed by any missed step.

As you move, you can barely make out his back in the white tank top he wears. You use it as a landmark, following the glowing white as it catches the light from the moon. Like chasing a ghost through the trees.

Then, the wood eases up. The trees grow sparse and the suffocating humidity of the forest eases into a more breathable, open-air breeze. Katsuki steps out into a clearing. It’s relatively small, for how large the world is, but it’s some of the most open space you’ve seen in a while. The feeling of stepping out into the tall grass, where you’re both visible to any wandering thing, sends a rush of fear through you.

By the edge of the clearing, there’s a small house with a short steeple. It almost looks like a Christian church, but you get the sense that it’s likely a barn. That must be the watchtower and you wonder just how good the view of the forest is from up there if Katsuki managed to see the light of your fire. How many other people had seen your fires over the weeks and not made it out to confront you? How close had you come before to safety or annihilation?

"Hey!" a girl's voice calls. "He's back!"

In the near distance, you can see a large and dimly lit house. It looks a little worn down, but soft and hardly noticeable light emanates from it in a way that makes it seem inviting.You can’t make out its exact silhouette and night blurs just how broken-down it is, but you can tell that people live there in the same way you can tell when someone has just left a room.

Someone runs across the field to you both. It looks like a man and a woman, maybe around Katsuki's age. They move quickly through the tall grass and for a moment, the urgency that they move with frightens you. You worry that your presence will ignite some protective sort of panic. You linger back, letting Katsuki grow a little farther from you as they call out to him.

“Yeah, yeah," he half-shouts, no longer seeming to care about keeping quiet. Guess that's what happens when there's a group. "I found the fire I mentioned."

The two come to a stop in front of him, resting their hands on their hips as they catch the breath they lost.

"We started to get a little worried," says the girl. She's pretty, with big eyes and curly hair that looks like it probably used to be dyed. "You've been gone for a while."

"Well, I'm back," he says.

"And you brought a friend," the other man says, sounding shocked. His tone is noticeably kind. The boisterous type of kind and when he smiles, you can see that he has sharp canines. His hair is straight, sticking out in different directions, and tinged with red in this light.

"More like an acquaintance," Katsuki says. “I found them in the woods with a fire and an empty clip. Felt like their blood would be on my hands if I didn’t bring them back.” The red-haired man gives him a telling look and Katsuki scoffs in response and turns to the girl. "Get them settled, Mina, will you?" The girl called Mina nods and Katsuki takes off toward the house without another word.

"You're lucky," she says, pausing when you flinch as she steps closer. "You're gettin' the last solo room in the place. Kirishima, is it set up?"

Kirishima shrugs his shoulders. "You'd have to ask Izuku. He'd know all about that, but I can go check."

Mina shakes her head and turns her attention to you, giving you a quick once over with her eyebrows pulled together.

"You must be tired.”

When you nod, she gives you an empathetic smile and motions for you to come with her. "We'll fix that. You hungry?"

"What do you think?" you manage, saliva pooling in your mouth. "Do you have food?"

"Plenty," she smiles. "not quite enough for leftovers just yet though, don’t tell anyone."

You smile awkwardly. Who on earth would you tell?

"Sounds like a good deal," you say.

You follow Mina up to the house. Around it, there are a few parked cars. They look like they could pull out at any moment, and through the dust covered windows, you can just make out supplies in the back seats as you pass. In the distance, you can see the fuzzy silhouette of the barn you’d assumed was a watchtower in the dark of the field and you figure that maybe it used to be a place to keep livestock.

Mina doesn't say much to you as you pass through the field, and when you walk into the door, the first thing you notice is a large group of people seated at a dining table. They all look up at you when you enter and it's with a bit of shock that you register their faces as healthy. Well, healthier. These people live well. Something stirs in your chest, both anxiety and excitement at the thought of possibly having found somewhere safe. They blink at you for a moment, exchanging looks that all end up landing on Katsuki.

"This is the group. Well, most of us," Mina says pleasantly and with a light huff. "That's Izuku, Denki, Ochako, Sero, and you already know the handsome guy on the end there. Kiri's probably checking to see if the room is half decent.." They all greet you with a glad murmur. "Group, this is..."

She looks at you expectantly. When you tell them your name, you can't help but look at Katsuki who already knows it. He raises his eyebrows unconsciously and turns his attention to the glass in front of him.

There’s an awkward pause as you stand in the doorway, suddenly conscious of just how dirty you must look. Remnants of an older world, you suppose. No one really worries about things like that anymore.

“Uhm…” you search for something to say, but your people skills seem to have left you.

“You’re okay,” Mina says lightly. “Plenty of time to get to know you when you’ve rested and had something to eat.”

Mina sits you down at a chair that she pulls in from the other room. It doesn't match the other ones in the dining room, but you suppose no one is really thinking of the decor in their house anymore. It's only now that you realize the house has electricity.

"You have power?" you say incredulously, looking at the center light in the dining room on its low setting.

"Mhm," Mina hums as she sits down next to you and spoons a helping of vegetables onto your plate. "It's got a generator. We got lucky finding this place. I don't think many of us would be alive if we hadn't."

Those listening in the group nod their affirmation.

"It draws from well water too," she adds. "With the right care, the place practically runs on its own. Hard work but what isn't nowadays?"

“Like you do any of the heavy lifting," Sero scoffs across from her.

"That's not fair," Katsuki adds with a slick smirk, "you know damn well none of our vegetables would be so well socialized if she didn't use them like a damn diary all day."

The group laughs a little and Mina rolls her eyes and sits back in the chair. You avoid looking at anyone, shoveling the food into your mouth. You’re salivating an almost embarrassing amount, struggling to eat at a normal pace. There’s something about food cooked inside, about the way food tastes when you can smell it wafting in from the kitchen.

"Don't worry," she turns to you, as if you’re at all concerned with the implication that she doesn’t do much work, "they know we’d hardly have vegetables at all if it weren't my job to tend them. I used to garden quite a bit before all of this."

Sero tosses her a sideways glance and you get the sense that maybe it isn’t just her doing it.

"Mina does a lot of the garden stuff," Ochako pitches in, her voice hesitant. "We all sort of just do what we can."

You can’t really keep up with the conversation and instead just blink at her for a moment before turning back to your food. Maybe that’s rude, but you don’t have the energy to consider it. There’s food in front of you. Food that doesn’t taste like it’s been poorly slaughtered or rotting in a cabinet for months.

The group at the table with you shifts back into what you feel is their normal conversation and you watch them through your peripheral. You can’t relax yet, maybe you never will. Always on watch with your guard up.

They pass the dishes around the table, plates going from hand to hand over mismatched sets of silverware. The action feels strange to you. Your chest squeezes at the thought. Just a few weeks ago, you’d done this around a fire with the people you loved. You’d passed a too-hot-to-touch pot around a circle of friends, laughing quietly at the little moments of joy you could find. It feels far away now and jealousy rouses beside hope as you sit.

“So, where did you come from?” Izuku at the end of the table asks.

It takes you a moment to realize that he’s talking to you and there’s an edge to his voice that has everyone at the table sitting up with curiosity. You stare at him for a moment, exhausted and defeated and unable to muster the words.

“Leave them be,” Katsuki says, looking up from his plate. “They just got here. They’re probably freaked out.”

The table goes a little quiet, a hush falling over it. You look around as glances are exchanged before Mina stands up quickly and quietly claps her hands together.

“I think,” she says with an awkward laugh, “it may be time for bed.”

Mina turns to you. “I’ll show you where you can sleep.”

You nod, standing up and turning to the group with furrowed eyebrows. You want to thank them, to tell them that you’re grateful for the meal and their kindness, but the words don’t come. Instead, you meet Katsuki’s gaze, grateful for the intervention, but suspicious at such forthcoming kindness. He scoffs a little and turns away.

—

“It’s just up here,” Mina says as she guides you through the house.

You pass rooms with their doors ajar. They are lived in, with unmade beds and glasses of clean water on nightstands. It’s like something out of a life gone by, with a few less amenities. You can imagine a family moving through this house. Girls in school uniforms calling through the halls about a stolen hair clip. Now, you picture these people doing that. Living and not just surviving.

“The bathroom is across the hall,” she says. “You can take a shower if you want. I’ll leave a towel and some clothes in there just in case.”

You nod.

“No worries if you don’t,” Mina adds in a whisper. “When I first met everyone, I didn’t undress to bathe for days so… take your time. We won’t be offended.”

She shuts the door behind her when she leaves and you stumble back onto the bed, shocked by just how soft it feels after spending weeks on the floor. It’s not much, but it’s nicer than anything you’ve experienced in the last nine months, and there's a working shower. You haven’t had a shower since everything fell apart and the layer of grime on your skin is so thick that you can feel it. You haven’t felt safe enough to properly wash since you’d lost the rest of your group, only stopping to rinse your body in streams you pass if the thought occurred to you. The idea of running water and a shower is near euphoric.

You probably shouldn’t. It may not be wise to shower tonight. You still don’t know these people or what they’re capable of, but the temptation of being clean is too great and as soon as you hear Mina close the bathroom door and walk away, you hurry across the hall on the balls of your feet.

The bathroom looks old and the sink is white porcelain, eggshell now with a lack of care. The shower has a bathtub in it and though it’s cloudy, there’s a mirror over the sink where you catch the first clear glimpse you’ve had of yourself in weeks.

You don’t know who you’re looking at. The person in the mirror is nearly unrecognizable. Their eyes are wide and frightened, wild like an animal’s, and their face is covered in a layer of grime that looks like it can never be washed out. Their hair is unruly, sticking out in some areas and matted down with blood in others. This is a person you’ve never seen or met before. Someone you would have avoided only a year ago if you’d ever encountered them.

You reach up to touch your face, running your hand over the dried blood that has made a home on the underside of your jaw. How long has it been there? Have you always looked so unwell? So sick in mind and body? The promise of a shower grows unbearably pleasant.

The knob squeaks when you turn it, screeching as the pipes hum and clang to life. Water spits out in a few bursts before raining down from the faucet and hitting the back of the tub in a steady thrum. It sounds a little bit like music to you, constant and heavy, and it gives the impression of normalcy as you begin undressing.

The fabric of your clothes sticks to your skin, peeling from your body in an unbearable and disgusting way. You don’t look at your body in the mirror. In fact, you avoid it entirely. Not recognizing your face was enough, but your body—a part of yourself you never really recognized—would drive you over the edge.

Then, you pull the shower curtain back and stick your hand under the water, stepping into it fully with a deep sigh. The water is lukewarm. They probably turned off the heater to conserve power and allow the main generator to function for longer. That’s fine. Beggars can’t be choosers and everyone is a beggar nowadays. Besides, it’s warm enough outside that the water isn’t too cold as it is. In the winter, you probably wouldn’t be able to shower and the pipes might freeze entirely until the following spring.

There’s a normalcy that you settle into as you wash your body. You return to muscle memory, running your hands over your skin and scrubbing the grime out. It’s simultaneously like the first shower of your life and as if you’ve been doing it every day. You return to a state of pleasant, familiar humanity as you wash away dirt that has built up for weeks. You feel as it pours off of you, see it run down your body onto the porcelain of the tub and swirl down the drain. It’s dirt and dried blood that has been caked onto your skin. You worry that even after washing, it will leave a permanent mark.

The person in the mirror when you get out of the shower is in stark contrast to the person who went into it. They’re someone that you recognize. You could almost convince yourself that nothing ever changed. Your water-soaked skin is so familiar to you, that you could be getting out of the shower and dressing to go to work. If it weren’t for the look in your eyes, you could have fooled yourself. Something undefinable has changed in you, something that you will carry with you forever. You glance at yourself in the foggy mirror and think that there is no going back.

The house is quiet when you dry yourself and open the bathroom door. You step across the hall on the balls of your feet, careful not to make any noise, and when you push the bedroom door open, you do a visual sweep to make sure that it’s safe out of habit.

Your body is exhausted. You are so thoroughly tired that you think you could collapse at any moment, but when you sit down on the bed in your fresh clothes, you find yourself restless. This place is new to you and you’re unsure if the safe feeling is your mind playing desperate tricks on you or the real thing. The lamp by your bed is on, casting a yellow glow across the bedsheets and the dark wood furniture. Come to think of it, you didn’t get a good look at the house when you came in and the thought starts to bother you as you stare at the closed door to the hallway.

Someone could be behind it. They could be waiting for you to lay down, to sleep, before doing something awful. You almost feel guilty for thinking this way about them. They’ve fed you, given you a shower, given you fresh clothes. Luxuries you weren’t sure even existed anymore, yet you’re sitting here doubting them, wishing you had your pistol or knife.

The bedroom door creaks as you open it. You wince, nervous that you’ve disturbed the quiet peace of the house and that everything will come crashing down as quickly as it seemed to come together. The hallway is dark, save for some light coming from under two doors at the end of the hall. One of them turns out as you creep past it to the stairs, and you hear the distinct sound of box springs squeaking as someone crawls into bed. You let go of the breath you’d been holding, straightening up as you relax into the late-night environment.

The house looks old even from the inside. It gives the impression of having once been dirty and in near disrepair. There are dust stains and dull spots that no amount of scrubbing could get out. You can almost picture how this place may have looked when they found it and it’s entirely possible that it had been abandoned before the actual outbreak. Someone run out of their home for lack of money. What a trivial thing now.

The stairs are sturdy, probably held together so well by the foundation of the house, and they’re made of dark wood. They’re steep too, the kind that a baby or old person might trip over, and you hold the railing to calm the shaking of your legs as you slowly feel your way down. You can see the light on in the kitchen from around the corner, spreading out onto the floor of the old fashioned drawing room. Dishes clink in the kitchen, like someone is washing them, and you jump a little at the noise as you creep around the corner.

Kirishima is standing at the sink with his back to you, whispering something to someone beside him. The expanse of his back is broad, moving every time he goes to run his hand over the dish in front of him. Then, he turns to look at you and you see Mina pop her head around the corner.

“Oh,” Kiri says, “did you need something?”

You shake your head. “Not really, I just couldn’t sleep.”

Kiri nods sympathetically as if he knows the feeling. “Well, you look like you feel a little better at least.”

You pad over to where he’s doing the dishes and Mina offers you a soft smile and a knowing look. It all seems so normal. Doing the dishes, whispering quietly as they do. Something about it screams a kind of humanity you haven’t experienced in a long while, even with your last group.

“Are you sure we can’t get you something?” Mina says, furrowing her brows.

“Why are you all being so nice to me?” You ask. “You don’t know the first thing about me.”

“Is there some reason why we shouldn’t be nice to you?” Kiri says over his shoulder.

“No,” you shake your head. “I just think it’s reckless, that’s all. I could have been anyone.”

Kirishima and Mina exchange a look. They glance at each other, like they’re debating on saying something, and then Kiri turns and rests his palms on the back of the sink. He looks at Mina.

“We don’t usually decide to do this so quickly,” she admits. “We’re friendly, but nobody’s that friendly anymore.”

Kiri nods his agreement and you listen quietly, trying to determine if they plan to toss you back out into the woods in the morning.

“But, Katsuki doesn’t usually bring people in,” she continues.

“He’s a little more closed off than the rest of us,” Kirishima adds. “He’s a good guy, just takes a while to warm up, is all.”

“Mhm,” Mina says.

“What does that have to do with me?” you ask. “This is nice and all, but I’m sure you get why I’m wary.”

“He’s a good judge of character,” Kiri adds earnestly. “He doesn’t bring people in often, but when he does, he’s usually right.”

You nod, not quite understanding. Sure, you don’t plan to do anything terrible. In fact, you’re content to accept their kindness and stay, if they’d let you. Anything is better than being alone, but their blind trust in one man’s judgment of character makes you uneasy.

“He was alone for a really long time,” Mina adds. “A lot of us were. I got lucky meeting Kirishima early on, but Katsuki’s luck was a little less fortuitous.”

“So you all just… happened upon each other by chance?” You ask.

“Yeah, pretty much,” Mina says. “It was me and Kiri for a long time. Just the two of us. We’d found Izuku and Katsuki together a while later, but they didn’t seem to like each other all that much. We still haven’t really figured that out, especially because they’re so close now. Ochako and Sero ended up cornered together by accident. We found them just before we found this place, and Denki just sort of showed up here one day and promised to fix the generator in exchange for safety. That was months ago. We’ve been like this since.”

“So you’re all strays,” you say and Mina laughs a little and looks at Kiri.

“Sure,” she says. “We’re all strays. There were others too. Shoji. Jirou. She was Denki’s girlfriend.”

“I’m sorry,” you say with a frown. It feels pointless to apologize for the dead, if you get caught up in it, you’d be apologizing forever.

“Don’t be,” Kiri adds. “But best not to bring her up. It was pretty recent and Denki’s only just started to get over it.”

You swallow thick and nod a little.

“Anyway,” Mina says, “we can’t really explain it. We just trust him. We trust Katsuki. That’s all.”

“Hm,” you hum, understanding that to a degree.

You trusted the people in your group. If they believed in someone, you were willing to as well, so you suppose you can understand a little where they’re coming from.

“What are you talking about,” Katsuki rounds the corner, walking into the kitchen and putting his water bottle under the sink.

“Nothing really,” Mina says.

Katsuki furrows his eyebrows and then looks at you. He gives you a once over, taking in your new clothing before scoffing lightly.

“Don’t you look cozy,” he says. “You get settled?”

“When can I go get my stuff?” You ask.

“Someone’s eager,” he says through lightly gritted teeth. “Didn’t I tell ya we could go in the morning? Besides, what’s there really to miss in that lot of junk?”

“Katsuki!” Mina quietly chides.

“I have things I care about there,” you say. “Things I’m not ready to lose.”

Katsuki blinks at you for a second before swearing under his breath. “We’ll leave when you get up in the morning.”

“You don’t have to come with me,” you say, frowning a bit at his sour attitude.

“Like hell,” he scoffs. “What if the dead are waiting back there for you?”

“I made it this far on my own,” you respond.

Katsuki nods for a second. “I’m going. Come find me in the morning.”

He walks off and around the corner. You hear him go up the stairs, followed by the distinct click of a bedroom door shutting.

“Don’t pay too much attention to that,” Mina says. “It’s past his bedtime.”

“You’ll get used to him,” Kiri adds.

“Right,” you say, swallowing down your frustration in favor of trying to be appreciative of the help. You sway on your feet a little and then steady yourself. “I’m going to go to sleep. Thank you for the meal and the bed.”

Mina and Kiri nod, but you don’t stick around to hear a response. Fatigue creeps up on you. It ambushes your senses and you go from feeling dream-like to delusional in a matter of moments. You make your way up the stairs, your body feeling heavy as lead, and wobble your way into the bedroom they’re letting you stay in.

When your head hits the pillow, you’re out. The world around you fades to dark and just before you sleep, you swear that you can hear the sounds of cars passing on the highway. A busy night, Saturday maybe, and people go about their daily lives outside of the window the way that they always have. They live, never the wiser to just how quickly things fall apart and how little it takes for our humanity to leave us.

—

Mornings in this place are boisterous. The sun coming through the lone window in your room wakes you up and you can hear the calls of busy people getting to work outside. There are voices from the porch out front that your window looks over and though you can’t see them, you get the sense that they’re having a pleasant conversation.

As you rouse, you come to the realization of just how exhausted you’d really been. They probably saved your life by bringing you to this place, feeding you, and offering you a bed. In hindsight, it’s easy to see just how little you had left in you. You get the sense now that you’d been running on an empty tank for days, slowly coming to an inglorious, gruesome, sputtering stop.

Things seem a little clearer, like the sunlight is somehow less bleak than it had been the days previous and you feel a little bit like you have a new lease on life. There are no big emotions, no swells of hope or humanity just yet, and you dread the moment you are rested enough to let grief consume you. Right now, you can’t feel it, but there is a fear in you that as you get to know these people who live relatively beautifully in an ugly world, it will weigh you down so much that you’ll never be able to outrun it.

You wonder if they’ll let you stay. They very well may not, even with the way they were talking last night. Strangers are more dangerous than they’ve ever been and if they ask you whether or not you’ve killed someone, you refuse to lie to them. Sitting up on the bed, you mull over the very real possibility that you could be back out there on your own again in a matter of days and you don’t even have that many good acts under your belt to plead your case. You’re just a person and you’ve done what you needed to in order to survive. Now, you’re not sure if that’s enough.

You swallow thick, wandering over to the mirror on the dresser. It’s fogged, though less than the bathroom mirror, and you can make out your features a little better than you could last night. You feel a bit more sane, though you still don’t recognize the frightful and distrustful look in your eyes. Like a wounded animal. Inside your head, you acknowledge that you are completely different from the person you were two hundred and seventy seven days ago.

The voices grow louder as you climb down the stairs, more secure on your feet than you felt last night. You can hear them talking about the generator, as well as a name you don’t recognize.

“He should be back by now,” a woman says. “Shoto’s never gone longer than a day or two, max.”

“We shouldn’t jump to conclusions,” another woman says with a worried bite in her voice. Mina, maybe? “We’re only a few hours into the day. He probably got holed up somewhere.”

“Someone needs to go look for him,” a man says.

“And what? Risk getting yourself killed?” the first woman says. “No, it doesn’t make sense. We need you here.”

“You’d rather we leave him to die on his own?”

“No one’s fuckin’ dying.”

You recognize Katsuki’s voice.

“He’s perfectly capable of going on a gasoline run,” he continues. “He’s done it before.”

“I should have gone with him,” says the same woman.

“On that leg? You wouldn’t have made it halfway to town, let alone there and back,” his voice raises a little. “Don’t be stupid. He’ll be back.”

You clear your throat and step around the corner. The group turns to face you quickly at the sound, their eyes wide for a moment before relaxing. You can’t sneak up on anyone nowadays.

“Sorry,” you say, “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. Is everything okay?”

It’s not your business, but you ask anyway, wondering for yourself about the safety of Shoto.

“Fine,” Izuku says, shaking his head. You recognize him to be the one who'd vouched for going after their friend. Katsuki takes a step away from the broad man as he says this. “Nothing for you to worry about. Did you rest?”

Izuku smiles gently at you, his chest inflating a little at the question. The movement broadens his shoulders and you realize that he stands almost a head taller than Katsuki. You look briefly between the two of them before nodding.

“I did,” you say. “Thank you.”

“Nothing wrong with a little hospitality now and then,” he smiles and you can’t help but furrow your eyebrows at the distinct hesitance in his voice.

“I don’t think we’ve met,” the woman standing across from Izuku says. “I’m Momo. Sorry I wasn’t there to meet you last night. I’ve been a little under the weather.”

You introduce yourself to her and glance down at her leg. Her ankle is swollen and wrapped in a bandage. Her sneaker laces are untied at the top to make room for the swelling and you can see that she’s guarding that side of her leg.

“Is it…?” you grimace, taking an instinctive step away from her. You almost feel bad for it, but sometimes good people make bad decisions when loved ones get bit.

“No,” she says quickly, “no, it isn’t. Caught an edge in an old chain link fence on the property a couple days back.”

Momo smiles slightly at you as if to reassure you. She’s really beautiful, with thick dark hair pulled back into a somewhat messy ponytail. Her eyes are bright, like she’s engaged in lively conversation, and you find yourself feeling a little sad for her. She’ll need medicine soon, if they can get it. Infections set in easily these days and you get the sense that even she knows that she may not have long without it. Maybe that’s something else their friend Shoto set out to find.

“I assume you’ll be wanting to go get your supplies?” Katsuki says, cutting the conversation short. Maybe he could sense the sour turn of thoughts.

“Ready when you are,” you respond with a nod.

Katsuki glances at Izuku, who gives him a slightly disapproving look.

“Someone get them something to eat,” Katsuki says. “...I’ll get my shit ready.”

“Fig jam…” Mina mumbles as she motions for you to follow her to the kitchen.

You oblige her, not exactly jumping to turn down a meal. She walks you into the kitchen and opens up a cabinet, where she pulls out a jar filled with a dark and seed filled paste. It’s a jam, sealed in a jar that looks older than what’s inside of it. The seal breaks open with a pleasant pop.

“This stuff is so good,” she says to you over her shoulder, pulling out a package of crackers that have likely gone stale. “You won’t believe it.”

She spreads the jam on a few crackers and sets it in front of you on a plate, pushing it across the counter towards you.

“It’s fig jam,” she says with a smile. “Homemade.”

You look down at the plate, your mouth watering at the prospect of something sweet like this. It’s been so long since you've had fresh jam. It could be as long as 10 years. You don’t think you’ve had it since you were a kid, when jam came easily and you preferred the processed brands at the supermarket to the ones your mom used to make sometimes.

You raise the cracker to your mouth and stuff it in with little grace. The sweetness spreads across your tongue as soon as you bite into the stale cracker. It fizzes and pops almost, the sugar melting across your tongue as the seeds crack softly between your teeth. The smile that hits your face is completely involuntary and though you know that nine months ago, this jam wouldn’t have been much, today it is something extraordinary.

Mina nods a kind of girlish agreement, like the way people used to when they had their friend try something at their favorite restaurant.

“We got here in the fall. I want to say late October or early November?” she offers. “We were starving and there wasn’t enough food to feed all of us. By that time there were like… nine of us.”

You listen as you eat your crackers.

“This place was in such an awful state,” she laughs. “I mean, really terrible. But, it was big and there was a fig tree in the back. A little thing, probably only a few years old and it had fruit on it. We ate so many of them that if the world were normal, we’d have sworn off of them forever. When we realized that the house actually had some old food in it,” she interrupts herself “-nothing good, canned stuff mostly- we decided to jar up the rest of the figs so that they didn’t rot.”

She smiles at you like it’s a pleasant memory, but you can only think about how hungry they must have been. Your stomach growls as you eat.

“I know it doesn’t sound like much,” she says, “but for some reason it’s a really nice memory. Honestly, we’re lucky we didn’t die.”

Mina laughs a little.

“I mean,” she continues, “we didn’t even clear the area before we started pulling at the figs and throwing them into our mouths.”

You tilt your head at her and furrow your eyebrows with a small smile.

“You’re really forthcoming with information.”

“You just seem a little hesitant, is all,” she answers.

“Can you blame me?”

Mina shrugs her shoulders but doesn’t really offer an answer. You assume it’s because she can’t, because Mina has the same doubts everyone carries with them in this world. All of the what ifs people would think about before they slept have become more prevalent than anyone would have ever liked.

“The jam is good,” you say, trying to be friendly in the same way she is. “Even if it is months old.”

“Things keep well in jars,” Mina defends softly, smiling a little as she gets another out of you.

This place feels like a little slice of paradise. A blessing from whoever lived here before and kept a garden stocked with vegetables. From someone who lived in an old house with stables and well-water, who kept canned food past its expiration date. It feels almost too good to be true, like these people live in a bubble bound to pop.

“You ready?” Katsuki thuds into the kitchen with an empty backpack slung over his shoulder.

You turn, startled by his sudden appearance and nod as you quickly finish chewing the last cracker. Katsuki furrows his eyebrows as he watches the way you scarf it down.

When you stand from the table, Katsuki turns on his heel to make for the front door and you follow with a light step. Mina says something about staying safe, but you don’t respond, glancing once over your shoulder at the girl.

It’s strange, the world has made you wishy-washy and uncommitted. You never used to be like that, never so distrusting as to second guess someone’s kindness the moment your back is turned to them, and you’re certainly not the type to be friendly one moment and closed off the next. Now though, you find that doubt creeps in easily through cracks and any foundation that didn’t exist before, seems to be swallowed before you can finish building it.

Katsuki leads you back across the small clearing you’d come through the night before. It looks different in the day, almost romantic, and it lacks any of the ominous feeling it had the previous evening. He steps over mounds in the dirt from moles and gophers that have made lawns their new home and you try to mimic his steps, sinking occasionally into a particularly soft patch of dirt. Every now and then, Katsuki glances behind him to check that you’re still there and you offer him a forced smile that he never returns.

You catch up to him when you hit the trees, sticking close at his side like something will come and take you away if you’re not. It’s unintentional, but you don’t have a weapon on you. Your knife is back at your makeshift camp, along with the unloaded pistol and your trusty spatula.

“How do you know where we’re going?” You ask in a whisper.

Katsuki tosses a look at you over his shoulder. “I’m good with directions.”

His tone is clipped, like he’s pissed about something, and your expression sours at it. Sure, you get it but it irritates you to some small degree. You hadn’t asked him to come along. In fact, you’d have been fine getting back here to collect your stuff on your own. You’d have asked for a knife and set out without a second thought, if only because being alone in the woods with some guy was less preferable than doing it by yourself. Of course, some guy also probably saved your life, but you’re not quite ready to relinquish your trust completely.

“Thanks for coming,” you decide. A peace offering.

Katsuki doesn’t answer and you furrow your brows a little bit. You wonder if he’s always been like this or if the end of the world brought on the loss of his manners.

Then, he stops, taking you by the arm and pulling you down beside a bush. You gasp and he puts his hand over your mouth to silence you. There’s the urge to bite him, to catch the fleshy bit connecting his thumb and pointer finger between your teeth and bite down till he bleeds, but you stop when you catch what he’s looking at.

Two of the living dead crouch by a tree, clicking their tongues as they eat something just out of sight. You furrow your eyebrows, eyes widening at the horror of it. For some reason, seeing them always brings about a round of momentary shock. You’ve yet to let go of the hounding thought that they used to be people and sometimes have to reorient yourself to the world you’re in now.

You catch Katsuki’s eye behind you, his calloused hand still clasped over your mouth, and nod your head. It’s a silent communication that you’ve seen what he has and he removes his palm from your face to grab a knife tucked into his belt, passing it to you quickly.

The two infected haven’t noticed the two of you yet, but they will soon, if only by the smell of your flesh which has yet to rot. You hear Katsuki let out a breath, as if to calm his heart, and do the same. There’s time to look at them like this and you’re struck by how human you can pretend they are in your head. Well, you suppose they were human once, now they’re a disease using someone’s skin as a mask.

Infected people aren’t quick, that’s one thing to be grateful for. Back when the outbreak first started, the CDC had released information on what to look out for in those who might have contracted the virus. The first was obviously a bite wound from another infected person, but you can tell from other symptoms. Early symptoms are average. Body aches, fever, lethargy, and delirium. All things you might see with a nasty flu. Then, infection of the wound site, twitching, foggy eyes—like low-grade cataracts—that develop within a matter of hours or days, severe disorientation, aversion to food, insomnia, with the final symptom being a coma that no one ever wakes up as themselves from.

These are the symptoms that people are conscious for. The ones they feel. The sickness that people tried to nurse others back from. There is no coming back though, not alive at the very least. The virus attacks the nerves throughout the brain and body, that’s what causes the twitching and convulsions. It’s what ultimately kills us, and it's what they think causes the bodies to come back.

Most infected will crack when they move. It’s the cartilage breaking down as the bones grind together and crack as they’re weakened from the marrow out. They twitch like rabid animals, unable to keep masterful control of their bodies because they are run like puppets from the brain stem. You don’t know if they think. If somehow the people they used to be are still in there, unable to stop themselves from consuming and spreading the virus to others. All you really know is that they twitch and click, functions of the brain that still remain. Tiny impulses sent through the synapses. You imagine it to be like the way you twitch when you sleep, an arm here or a leg there, the way someone might call out with their voice to a room with no one in it.

Maybe the infected think they’re dreaming. A nightmare that they never wake up from, like those of us who have to put them down. You could see it as a mercy from that perspective. You have an easier time rationalizing putting a knife in someone’s skull if you convince yourself that they’re silently begging for it.

Katsuki shifts his weight and looks at you. He mouths the words no guns and you nod, briefly wondering where the fuck he thinks you could have gotten a gun from.

Then, you kick off and run with Katsuki towards the infected. They don’t really have time to begin moving towards you both. You’re faster than them, but you hear the crack of their legs as they stand from their crouched positions, pulled in at the idea of their next meal.

Katsuki takes the farther one, sinking the knife into the soft spot of its temple with relative ease. You switch yourself off and take the one closest only a few moments later, sending your blade through the top of its skull. That happens to you when you have to do this. You turn yourself off for a bit, just so that you don’t have to remember the way it feels to hit the soft part of someone’s brain. You didn’t used to do that, only starting when you realized that there’s no going through this world anymore without it.

Katsuki wipes the blood on his pants. It’s brown, no longer oxygenated, and the area around you begins to reek. You notice, but for some reason the smell of decomposition doesn’t register in your brain and you continue on behind him.

There are a few beats of silence, save for twigs breaking under your feet, before Katsuki speaks up.

“You okay?” It’s barely above a whisper and you wouldn’t have caught it were you not listening for the distinctive crack of human bones.

“Yeah,” you say, continuing forward.

The campsite rounds into view and in this light, with your full night’s sleep under your belt, you can see just how pitiful it looks. A tent that you’d hastily put up before nightfall, the remains of your stamped out fire, the folding chair which has since been knocked over, and your weapons on the floor covered by a few leaves disturbed by the wind.

You snatch them up and move to grab your backpack out of the tent. The inside is shitty too and your torn sleeping bag hadn’t even been rolled out yet. You pick up the bag, returning to the folding chair as Katsuki begins to take down the tent. The polyester and nylon blend zips together as he makes quick work of folding it. Then, he kicks some dry brush over the remains of the fire, like he’s covering your tracks.

“The next person that comes through here might not be alone,” he says plainly. “And they may have more bullets than you did.”

“Right,” you respond. Your voice sounds a little far off and you settle your backpack on your shoulder in one quick motion.

“Got everything?”

You nod, following him as he heads out in the direction you both came from. The two of you pass the bodies of the infected you’d killed. The smell has permeated the air, lingering like how it does in cities, only less pungent. Their fogged eyes stare blankly at nothing, expressions plain and unreadable. You pass and try not to think much about it.

Katsuki is a few feet ahead of you and he doesn’t glance back to make sure you’re following. You could leave now and never get attached to these people. You could head off in another direction and never have to think twice about it. No more worrying about who you could lose, about who’s next to become one of the sick masses. Just you by yourself. Then, when you finally kick the can, someone else can put you down the way you did to those strangers.

Is there really a point to it anymore? To community or living in general. No one is as they once were. Does that make it fantasy to live in their beautiful bubble? Could you even find it in yourself to pretend again, to make nice and play house in that place? They saved your life, sure. They fed you, clothed you, bathed you, but for what point? Tomorrow, you could end up back in the woods, lighting fires with twigs you found in the brush, paranoid that someone would find you or the fire would spread.

You watch Katsuki’s back as he moves, shoulders shifting with each step. His shirt is stained, white turned eggshell from the wear and tear of time. It seems so off to you that he looks relatively clean, like he lives well.

Fear strikes you as you realize that your rambling thoughts have merit. Anything you fear now has become real and loss is so tangible to you that you can squeeze it in your hand. They could turn you out. Tomorrow night you could begin the starve and step all over again, moving from place to place, talking to yourself, filling your hours with paranoid thoughts like these that plague you when you’re alone. Is that worse than loss? If you’re alone long enough, you’d probably forget what you’re missing. Losing anyone else could make the wound fresh. For now, the hunger wins out.

Katsuki jogs ahead of you to get to the house. Momo is on the porch waving him in and he hurries up the steps and bursts through the front door. As you approach, you can hear voices, some of which are relieved, others hurried. When you enter the room, you find a man standing there whom you’ve never seen before, Shoto maybe.

“A plus one,” the man looks up, tilting his head at you in an odd way.

“Katsuki’s,” Kiri says with a low smirk.

Shoto’s eyes widen as he peers at his friend, clutching what looks like an injured shoulder. Katsuki just huffs his irritation.

“Well, that’s rare,” Shoto says.

“What’s rare?” Katsuki spits. “They were in the woods with a fire. What was I supposed to do? Let ‘em die?”

“Maybe,” Shoto says, a light smile creeping onto his features. Then, he turns to you. “What’s your name?”

You give it to him and he nods his head, tilting it at you again.

“How long are you staying?”

You’re not sure how to answer that question. In fact, no one is, and it feels like more of a test than it does a genuine inquiry. Kiri and Mina exchange a glance and Katsuki tosses a somewhat dirty look towards Shoto. Ochako gives Shoto a knowing glance and Sero and Denki shift uncomfortably on their feet. Then, Momo clears her throat, spurring Izuku to say something.

“Shoto,” he says. “You’re probably hungry, you should eat something and lay down. Ochako? Could you take a look at his shoulder?”

“Sure,” the girl says softly, giving a closed mouth smile to Shoto as she takes him by the arm.

She glances at you as she passes, almost like she’s too embarrassed to look at you fully in the face. You suppose this is what happens when people are forced to think about whether or not they will potentially leave someone else to die. It’s like the trolley cart question and though in this case there is always the possibility of a better outcome, it’s not likely in this world.

“Just until I’m rested,” you add with a small tilt of your head. “A few days.”

Shoto looks at you over his shoulder and gives you a small smile. It’s funny, you can see kindness there. His actions aren’t kind, but you can feel that he has kindness in him, though his rudeness stems from something different than Katsuki’s, you think. Like he’s strange in some way.

“I’ll start on dinner,” Sero says. “Kiri, give me a hand.”

The group disperses and you head upstairs without speaking to anyone else. A few days to rest and then cut the first people you’ve spoken to in weeks loose. What sort of idiot gives up something like this to avoid a little awkwardness? Not that you necessarily had your mind made up. You wonder briefly if you’ve just sealed your own tomb.

—

After dinner, you go upstairs to sleep after eating as much as they would offer you. Your stomach has ceased its constant growling and the shakiness that comes with hunger has receded almost entirely into the background. The bed is soft, with a slight dent in it from whoever slept in here before. The thought unsettles you that they’re probably dead now, but you try to push it from your mind as you steel yourself for what comes within the next few days.

You had volunteered yourself to leave. To what? Save yourself the embarrassment of pleading? Did you even want to plead? Why are you regretting not asking to stay? These people don’t know you, what trust can you have built with them in only a few days? Your skin crawls at the expanse of possibilities in front of you after so many weeks without any.

You think that if you let yourself walk away, you’ll probably die. You’re out of bullets and don’t know where to find any food except by luck. You can try to catch prey, but prey hides whenever infected are around, and they’re everywhere nowadays. It’s spring, water wouldn’t be a problem, but running water has its clear comforts. Then, there’s the possibility of loss. You’d come to care for these people if you stayed, you know it.

You furrow your eyebrows and look at the ceiling. There’s really no choice to be made. You’ll let them make it for you, even if you don’t know them. It’s their house and you won’t walk in uninvited or try to take it. You’re not about to become a monster just because the world is full of them now.

The darkness grows and your eyes drift to the dim light wandering in under the crack of the door. Hushed voices whisper in the living room, you can hear them. It’s a heated discussion, lively, but deliberately quiet. It’s been hours since everyone went to bed, yet you get the impression that many people are chiming in. You’re too nosey to leave it be.

You open the bedroom door silently, turning the cool knob with a wince as it clicks out of place. When you peer into the hallway, every upstairs bedroom door is open with the room empty. The light is coming from down stairs and around the corner, and you can see shadows move as you inch closer to the source.

You pause at the top of the stairs, knowing that they creak, and crouch by the bannister to listen. You’re out of sight. The only way they’d know you’re listening is if you made a sound, but you won’t. You’re good at being quiet.

“We don’t even know them,” someone says in a rushed whisper. “We don’t know what they’ve done before.”

“Everyone’s done things they’re not proud of now, Shoto,” a woman adds. It’s Mina. She’s spoken enough to you that you recognize her voice.

“I agree with Shoto,” says another woman, her voice higher pitched. She sounds guilty and her voice is tight as she speaks “We have no clue who they are. They could be dangerous.”

“You mean like me, Ochako?” A man adds. “I could have been dangerous.”

The group grows quiet for a moment.

“No,” Momo says. You recognize the cadence of her voice. “Shoto might be right, Denki. It’s been nearly six months since you got here and the world has changed a lot. We don’t- we can’t know for sure.”

“Can we really know anything for sure?” Another man adds, Kiri.

“What about you guys?” Shoto says, presumably to the rest of the group.

“I don’t know.”

“I’m hesitant, but I don’t know either.”

“Jesus,” another man with a baritone voice, harsher than the rest. That’s Katsuki, the first voice you’d heard of the group. “You guys make me a little sick.”

“That’s not fair,” Ochako says.

“No,” he interrupts. “It is fair. You guys want to… what? Send them back out there to die?”

“It’s not like that,” Shoto says.

“It is like that,” he says, raising his voice and then lowering it back to a whisper. “You didn’t see them when they got here, Shoto. They- they didn’t look… shit. The rest of you, you saw them. You really want to send them back out there to fuckin’ waste away? I don’t know about you all, but I won’t do that to a person.”

There’s a pregnant pause.

“Katsuki’s right,” Izuku says with a bit of conviction, like he’s finally made up his mind. “Sending someone out there alone is a death sentence. How does doing that make us any better than the people we’re trying to protect ourselves from?”

“What if there are more of them?” Ochako says quietly. “What if they’re not alone?”

“Trust me,” Katsuki says, “They were alone.”

“But what if they’re not?” She insists at a whisper, a bit of shame creeping into her voice. “What if people come for us?”

“See?” Shoto says gently. “There are so many what-ifs.”

“That works the other way too,” Mina adds.

You don’t listen to hear the rest of their conversation. They’re going to run themselves in circles debating about you. They’ll go around and around and land on whichever argument ends with the most votes. They’ll convince each other of one thing and it will happen totally out of your control.

The bedroom door shuts with a low click that makes you wince again. You think about the people who went to bat for you and the people who didn’t. You don’t blame those who opposed. You’d have probably reacted similarly if your old group were still alive and you understand very clearly why they do it. One person’s stupid reaction can be catastrophic and they don’t know enough about you to be certain that you’re not one of those stupid people. It’s how the world went to shit in the first place and though nine months ago you’d have surely condemned someone for making the same decision, you know that fear has warped humanity beyond comprehension. You didn’t get it until you lived it.

Still, Katsuki’s humanity feels intact somehow, more so than yours at least. His response is something you probably never would have said under the same conditions and you can’t help but feel some sort of fondness bloom in you for him. Call it connection, gratefulness for his willingness to stick his neck out for you, a trauma response. You still feel it. Mina and Kiri had said that Katsuki was a good judge of character and that’s why they were willing to back him. You wonder briefly if maybe Katsuki sees something in you that you don’t recognize in yourself anymore, or maybe something you don’t expect other people to recognize. What is it that he wants so badly to protect?

Someone stomps down the hallway, heavy boots against the old creaky floors. You hear the steps recede down the hallway, maybe a door or two down, before it shuts quickly. The sound makes you wince and you listen as the house grows quiet and then hums quietly with the sound of others coming upstairs a few moments later. Someone pads to the end of the hall, pushing the door open.

You hear a woman’s voice, so muffled that you can’t make out what she’s saying. Then, you hear the sound of a man’s affirmation before the bedroom door shuts and the visitor moves back down the hall to a separate bedroom. Information passing through the house.

Someone is moving around in a room below you and you figure that there are probably bedrooms downstairs as well. From the outside, you’d never guess that the place could house ten people. Inside though, the bedrooms are small. That’s probably why so many can fit. You’d guess that the place used to have multiple generations living in it, or maybe even rented out rooms to people for a few months. It sort of has a boarding house feel to it, like many people have come and gone even before people stopped staying in one place.

That’s a good thing to call it, the boarding house. It certainly has that sort of feel to it, many of its spaces undeniably communal.

You turn over in the bed, facing the bedroom door. The lights have gone out completely now and the house is quiet save for the occasional creak or thud from someone preparing to sleep. It’s been a long while since the sounds of living have been so prevalent near you. You’re eased by the sounds of the house settling, a familiar reminder of what living used to be. Your group had been on the road long before you lost them and the comforts of an interior are almost overwhelmingly nostalgic. You’re better rested to notice it now and shutting your eyes, you savor the feeling.

—

“Need some help?” You say.

Denki turns around, grease smeared across his nose where he likely wiped it with his dirty hands. He’s holding a wrench in a glove so tattered that it hardly counts as a glove anymore. He looks startled, amber eyes widening before he uses his forearm to brush stray hairs out of his face. The rest of it is pulled up into a messy ponytail, revealing the moist back of his neck.

“Oh, sure,” he says, a bit surprised. “Do you know how generators work?”

He crouches back over the machine and you step up behind him.

The machine is rusted near the bottom and between the exposed winding pipes. Its paint has chipped away, leaving the weather-damaged metal open for you to see. On the side, a fan-like piece spins slowly in circles and the machine whirs and sputters softly as it… generates power, probably.

“Not quite, but an extra pair of hands is always helpful,” you say softly, passing him a tool he’d been reaching for. “Did it break?”

“No,” Denki says, “but it’s probably on its last legs. The thing’s almost as old as we are, probably older, so it’s good to tune it up a bunch.”

You hum your agreement, tilting your head as you stand and watch him work.

You’re not necessarily comfortable with Denki, but he feels like a safe person for some reason. Maybe it’s because he’s got a sort of ditzy, non-threatening vibe to him. You can almost distinctly picture him tripping over his own feet and something about that makes you feel considerably safer than someone who wouldn’t. That and he was the first person you’ve come across this morning who you don’t think distrusts you too badly.

“Are you dodging something?” Denki smirks up at you from his crouch.

“Who on earth would I be dodging?” you snort a bit defensively.

“Shoto,” he says with a light smile. “He put you in a tight spot the other day.”

“Yeah, well,” you say, glancing over your shoulder. “It wasn’t anything he didn’t have a right to ask.”

“Right, but it sure was rude, huh?”

Denki laughs to himself a little and you’re surprised by how easygoing he is. You subconsciously begin to categorize him with Mina and Kiri. The dichotomy of this group baffles you a bit, but you can certainly see all nine of them as a collective. Tightly knit and well acquainted with the habits of others.

“Oh!” He exclaims, “I have something you can do for me.”

You tilt your head.

“There’s a bucket over there,” he says, pointing absentmindedly to a shitty plastic bucket against the side of the house. “We use the water from the creek as coolant. It’s not factory grade, but it does the trick. You wanna go fill it up and bring it back for when I’m done tuning this thing up?”

You furrow your eyebrows, not sure where the creek he’s talking about is.

“The creek is just over there,” he points behind the house to the edge of the treeline. “I know you can’t see it from here, but if you walk in a straight line, you’ll hit it. Katsuki should be down there too, so you can use him as a landmark.”

When you don’t immediately answer, Denki whines a little.

“I mean,” he says, “I’d go myself, but-”

“I’ll do it,” you laugh a little and Denki seems surprised that you do.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” you shrug. “I’d like to pull some weight at least while I’m here. Plus, I offered.”

Denki mumbles his pleasure and you walk to the bucket without another word and set off in the direction Denki pointed. You’re much more willing to go out to the treeline now that you have a knife back at your side.

The walk to the trees is longer than it looks, like how sometimes the horizon looks like something you could reach out and climb up onto. The walk stretches with each step you take and you become a little more understanding of why Denki didn’t want to do it himself. But the walk is actually pleasant, the warmth of mid May collecting evenly on your skin as the humidity grows more intense with the sun.

You wonder what Katsuki would be doing by the creek. Maybe he’s fishing, or crouched over himself sharpening an arsenal of knives that you think he might keep in a roll attached to his belt sometimes. You’re not sure why, but Katsuki sort of has that expression to him. He’s handsome, but the scowl projects something hostile that makes him seem unapproachable.

As you cross through the middle of the clearing, you could almost imagine that this is a normal day. Humidity collects on your skin, making you sweat a little as you dodge gopher holes and soft spots of dirt. It almost feels like summer camp, if it weren’t for the looming idea that you’re contributing to something you may not be a part of. Denki’s attitude though, has you hoping for a more favorable outcome, if you want to call it that.

You’re only a few steps into the line of trees when the earth dips into a sand-lined ravine. The trees leave room for the sun to beat down on warmed rocks, making the area seem brighter with their subtle reflection of the light. The noise of the creek drowns out the sound of your footsteps and you shuffle toward where the earth flattens just before the water starts. A little ways to your right, you can see Katsuki sitting on a rock in the sun, his hands dipped into a large bucket. You narrow your eyes as he pulls what looks like a cloth out of the water, rubbing the fabric together before dipping it in the cool water of the creek.

As you approach, you realize what it is that he’s doing. It’s laundry. On the other side of him, you can see a bin of what look like dirty clothes and water-soaked clean ones. Talk about misjudged character.

“Katsuki,” you say as you approach him, the bucket still empty in your hand.

He squints up at you, shifting his face so that it's in your shadow.

“You’re still here,” he says plainly, returning to his task.

“Clearly,” you respond, watching as he runs his fingers over the next piece of clothing in the bucket.

“Why are you down here? Did Denki pawn the generator water onto you?” He says, like he’s somewhat frustrated. “He does that shit to anyone he can.”

You shrug your shoulders and continue to stare at him.

“Are you just gonna stand there?” He huffs out.

“You’re doing laundry.”

“Yeah?” he furrows his eyebrows and looks at you. “So?”

“Nothing,” you say. “I just didn’t expect that.”

“Yeah well,” he stops for a moment like he’s struggling to find the words. “It needed to be done. Figured I might as well.”

“How progressive of you,” you joke with a straight face.

He looks at you out of the corner of his eyes and sighs, not justifying your comment with a response. You find yourself smiling a little bit.

“If you’re going to linger, sit down and do it,” he says. “You’re creeping me out.”

You oblige him and sit down on a rock next to him, far enough that you’re not touching, but near enough to hear him if you speak in a low voice. For some reason, you feel a sort of kinship with Katsuki. You’d thought longer than you’d like to admit about his willingness to vouch for you and find that you want to live up to his expectation of your goodness, even if it’s not what you believe yourself to be anymore. Maybe it’s because you’ve slept well the past few nights and feel more like yourself, but there’s a certain casualness to conversing with him that you enjoy. He’s not looking at what you could be, but rather what you’re showing him that you are. His lack of doubt in that is something you find relatively attractive.

You watch his arms out of the corner of your eye in between gazing at the treeline and the sky. Your field of vision catches on them, his sleeves cut short to expose his biceps, a bit muddied near the elbows where the mud has begun to stick.

Katsuki doesn’t seem all that bothered by your presence, but now and then you’ll catch the sideways glance he gives you, almost like he’s trying to figure out exactly why you’re lingering.

“How long have you been with them?” You ask, more as a way to fill the silence.

Katsuki’s hands pause as he thinks about answering, then, they continue their steady pace.

“A decent amount of time,” he says. “I met Izuku first, probably in November just before Mina and Kiri. The rest came later.”

You furrow your eyebrows.

“No offense,” you start, “but you don’t really seem like the group type.”

“And you don’t seem like the type who’d be alone,” he retorts, like your statement was stupid.

You press your lips into a tight line, not really knowing how to respond.

“Sorry,” he says, shaking his head a little.

“Were you?”

“What? Was I sorry?” He furrows his eyebrows at you.

“No,” you shake your head. “Were you alone? Before Izuku.”

He goes silent. You’ll take that as a yes, but you regret asking a little. It had just slipped out. If someone were to ask you something like that, you’d probably react the same way. That’s just as well, you don’t really need to know him like that anyway.

You wonder briefly if anyone does. He seems closed off, but Mina and Kiri spoke about him a few days prior like they knew him well. Well enough at least to allude to a history you’ll likely never be privy to. Then there’s Momo, who whispers little things to him that he answers in kind. Curiosity gets the better of you, if only to tease.

“Do you have a girlfriend?” you ask and Katsuki’s response is to rest his elbows on his knees and let out a dry laugh.

He turns his head and looks at you from the side. “And what the fuck are you asking me that for?”

“Just curious,” you say. “Is it Momo?”

“Momo?” He makes a sour face at you. “Yeah, right.”

“She’s pretty,” you say.

“Sure is,” he responds dryly. “If you’re into the mom type.”

“What? You’re not into moms?” You grin a little and Katsuki furrows his eyebrows at you.

“So you do have a personality,” he scoffs a little.

There’s a pause. You haven’t felt this in a while. The feeling of bonding with someone new, compatibility on the human level that feels nearly instant.

“I’m kinda serious though,” you say, tilting your head down to catch his eye. “Do you?”

You’re leaning a little closer to him now.

“You seen any nice restaurants to take a person out to these days?” he questions, clearly a little frustrated with you in the way someone gets when they’re a bit amused.

“You don’t have to take someone out to a restaurant to fuck them, you know?” You laugh a little.

Katsuki’s lips part and he swallows like his mouth has gone dry.

“Yeah, well,” he starts, looking away from you. “I’m a romantic. Sue me.”

He’s just full of surprises, isn’t he? You find that you’re captivated by this feeling, this humanity, that exists in him. It’s something alive between you both, something left behind from the old world, and you crave it the same way you crave food.

Katsuki continues scrubbing the clothes, rubbing the fabric together and then dunking it in the bucket before plunging it into the freshwater creek. You’re not sure why you do it, but the next time he looks at you, you kiss him.

It’s not as if you like him, but it’s something to feel. Some remnant of the butterflies you used to feel on dates and the kiss makes you feel like you could be close to human again. You pull away almost as soon as you put his lips to yours and you can tell that the expression on your face is one of surprise.

Katsuki blinks for a second, looking at you with his brows knitted together. The expression doesn’t leave him as he places a wet hand on the side of your face to kiss you again. It’s an anxious kiss, confused and slow but—like someone riding a bike for the first time in years—it quickly becomes something familiar. Muscle memory that you both let yourselves sink into.

You can feel his expression as he kisses you, something between confusion and desire, like his own actions are perplexing. You feel the same way, hesitant, but reaching in the dark for the promise of some sort of normalcy. You want to feel like a person again. You haven’t felt it in so long and you push yourself against him as the ache swells in you.

The two of you continue like this for a moment, Katsuki’s fingers pressing lightly into the skin of your neck. You moan softly as his tongue slips into your mouth, taking a sharp inhale at the sensation of skin on skin. The sound of the creek drowns out the clicking of your mouths, but you can feel the way he hums into your mouth. They’re little sounds, involuntary ones driven by the nervous, desirous feelings inside of you both.

Then, Katsuki pulls away, swallowing thick as he takes his bottom lip between his teeth for a moment. You appreciate the way they look. They’re swollen, anxious to continue and keep forgetting where you really are. He drops his hand from your face with a sigh and almost seems like he comes back to himself. You do the same, moving back into an upright position.

“Denki will want that water soon,” he clears his throat and motions to the empty bucket by your feet.

“Oh,” you say, laughing a little. “Right.”

You stand, dusting off the back of your pants and dunking the bucket into the water. It sloshes, the liquid hitting the back of the plastic with a satisfying elastic sound. You begin to walk away without another word, heading down the way you came to climb up the gentler part of the slope.

“Hey,” Katsuki calls softly. “You should stay. We talked it over last night. You can if you want to.”

The last part, he says facing the wash, his hands moving as if he hadn’t said anything at all. You don’t respond, knowing that the obvious answer is already yes.

Dread settles in your stomach. It’s an icky, swirling feeling that threatens to make you double over. You climb up the bank, the water in the bucket sloshing as you move through the trees and enter the clearing. The feeling doesn’t dissipate, growing as you leave the cover of the trees. You probably wouldn’t have kissed him if he’d asked you that earlier.

The boarding house comes into view and you can see Denki sitting beside the generator, conversing with who appears to be Shoto. They turn and Denki waves you down, Shoto turning away and starting around for the front of the house.

Denki jogs to meet you, taking the bucket from your hand. You flex your fingers as the weight is removed, wincing a little at how stiff they feel.

“Jeez, what took you so long?” Denki laughs and with your new information, you understand his willingness to be friendly with you a little better.

“I asked Katsuki for his life story,” you respond dryly, following him back to the generator.

Denki looks over his shoulder and laughs at you. “Did he tell you?”

You pause for a moment, watching as Denki unscrews something and pours the water in.

“Nope,” you say. “Not a thing.”

Click Here to go to the second chapter and find the rest of the series on ao3. The remainder will not be posted on tumlbr, but please feel free to reblog!

#bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #mha x reader #bakugou smut #bakugou x reader smut #mha smut #bakugou fanfiction #mha fanfiction #my hero academia #bakugou katsuki #apocalypse au #tw.violence #tw.blood #tw.loss of identity #tw.derealization #tw.depersonalization #tw.exhaustion #cal.writing #char.bakugou

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singukieee · 3 months

Text

—my all time favourite bts fics (pt. 2) ᯓᡣ𐭩

consists of my personal favourite bts fics that I've read countless of times. including those from other platforms, such as Wattpad, AO3, and Patreon.

For some works that are cross-posted between tumblr and wp/ao3, I'd only link them to the latters bcs I find it easier to read and navigate the stories on those. but I also tagged all the authors I know are here and linked the rest so you can check their blogs out yourself!

I'll also separate this list into several parts simply because there's too many... So it'd be easier for you guys to navigate!

red means unfinished

blue means finished

🗯️ editor's note

(sorted by alphabetical order)

Dreams of You by seoktishie

You are a theater actress who dreams of becoming a successful Broadway star. You’ve dedicated your whole life hustling for the show, surrounded by a supportive family and friends you never thought you would lose your best friend and boyfriend on the same day. This puts your dreams to a halt, and you decide to take a break and a soul-searching trip to Korea, where you meet a successful artist that reconnects your love for the arts. OR You accidentally meet Kim Namjoon of BTS, and you had no idea of how an amazing person he is nor how he is the leader of the biggest boyband to date!

🗯️ the yearning and pining *chef's kiss*

Epiphany by 2stanornot2stan

Your soulmate mark seemed self-centred to you "I'm the one I should love" Who would ever want to love someone with that as their soulmate mark?

🗯️ this one is painful. but writing's so good, doesn't fail in pulling my heartstrings.

Escapade by bonnehh_

"Where the hell am I?!" He shrieked, stumbling over his feet like a newborn deer. He was a panicking mess, spinning around in circles to see the unfamiliar sight of giant trees and bushy plants covering the land. The forest was heavily rich with greenery, vegetation and strange fruits. Fallen leaves covered the ground, creating a crunching sound after every step he took. "Calm down, Sweets." I calmly voiced amidst his loud screeches. My words cut through his mess of a mind making him freeze on his spot. Turning on his heel, he noticed me. He stumbled back immediately, possibly because I was covered in angry, red scratches and the bandages covering my arms alerted the male. "What the fudge?!!?! Who- who are you??" He shouted, alarmed by my…seemingly beaten-up figure. "I'm Diana. Welcome to the game." I smiled softly. Hoping my excitement can keep a hold of itself for the sake of keeping the man from getting scared. Dumbfounded, He could only let one word out, "Huh?". Oh boy.

🗯️ a cool one! many adventures and mc has freakishly good survival skills. this honestly cured my longing for that one fic that's no more that was also survival, adventure and game themed with slight crack. I think it was called 'Ready Player One'? (not that famous book and movie). but I think it was a translated ver of a chinese ff on another platform. Idk I still missed it very much, it was also very good. (If you know anything abt this, pls dm me!)

Ethereal by @purpleyoonn

After leaving your home in need of a fresh start, you open a bookstore with the hopes that the words you read could bring you solace. You never realized that the books you loved would bring you home instead.

🗯️ I love soulmate stories, this author also has good writing so

Euphoric Endeavours by haveagreatday

Through a series of curious happenstances, the Boys of Bangtan - your campus' most popular and most handsome group of individuals - set their sights on you, a regular student with a stubborn streak and a wayward mouth. Strangely enough, the mere sight of them sets your instincts off, red-lights flashing in your brain - danger, danger, danger, danger. It's too bad that they can't seem to leave you alone, though. They like you too much.

🗯️ enemies to lovers, anyone?

Everything Falls (Into Place) by Hiromi_20 / @blog-name-idk

"I… I might know someone who has a spare room," your brother finally muttered hesitantly. You perked up from where the couch had been swallowing you. "What! And you didn't tell me?" You accused. "You'd be living with a bunch of dudes." "Oh my god Jackson," you groaned, rolling your eyes. "The fact that you're even suggesting them means that you know them all and they're good people, right? It's not like they're gonna murder me and hide my body in the walls or something." "Well, yeah, but…" "But WHAT?" you almost screamed in frustration. "They're all… hot." Silence for several moments. Then you started guffawing uncontrollably, unladylike snorts escaping from your lips. "You are such a dork," you gasped between laughs, tears coming to your eyes. "If I promise not to let them gangbang me, will you please ask?"

🗯️ another really well-written crack fic! goshhh this one's so goood! this one's the real friends to lovers, gosh the pining is just *chef's kiss*

Finding My Pack by @untaemedqueen (paid on Patreon but so worth it)

In which an all-alpha pack unexpectedly found their mate isolated in a sterile room. So the only right thing would be to pamper and love her to make up for all those years she spent alone and lonely.

🗯️ spicyy 🥵 but also cute. I love protective mates

Flaw in The System by Strayberry_

She has 8 moons on her wrist. So do they.

🗯️ honestly Idk what to say about this one. just prepare your tissues for this family of misfits that fit so well together.

Full House by fillomina

Y/N has a steady job and lives alone, that is, until she tags along with her friend to the shelter. Jimin, Hobi, and Yoongi have been waiting to get adopted, and their chance has finally arrived. With the small hybrid pack now living with Y/N, her life never has a dull moment. As Y/N gets used to her new family, she also begins learning more about old friends, making new ones, and getting a very full house.

🗯️ I'd say that I don't like the fact that yn's kinda treated as a doormat at some parts, but it's still good and quite well-written found family fic.

Getting Back Into The Swing of Things by @jellifysh

Hearing her voice now, Namjoon was reminded of the times when she was all he had. How she was his everything, supported him with everything she had, even if it meant giving him the shirt off her back. "Joon?" Y/n sniffled. "I know it sounds crazy, you don't even have to, its been years," "No," Namjoon was agreeing before he could even think, before he could even remember the other people who lived in the house just the next room over. "No, its okay, I mean, we promised each other right? We'd never turn our backs on each other?" "You can stay with us, it'll be fine I promise, I'll handle everything, don't worry at all, it'll be great! Like, old times, okay?" Namjoon was tripping over his words now, he just felt like if he didn't see her now, he would be too late for… something. What, he wasn't sure, but there was an urgent need to have her home safe.

🗯️ just re-read this one again literally yesterday, still as good as the first time. I love strangers to friends to lovers.

Her by untouchablerave

The question hangs between you, and you’re desperate to ask it. Usually, you don’t mind much who is on the other end of the appointment, as you’re so focused on a list of kinks, trying to map out a scene in your head, but this time, the ‘who’ is all you can focus on. Your boss looks at you. “I can’t believe I’m about to say this but… do you know BTS?” Your head snaps up in shock. “You’re fucking with me,” you gasp. “I’m dead serious,” your boss replies. “Jeon Jungkook just came of age. He wants to lose it right away.”

🗯️ spicy but soft soft softtt

Hidden Marks series by Havenesa

❶ Hidden Marks

What does it mean to be soulmates? What do I love about her? What is the reason? Does there need to be a rational reason to love someone? Maybe I love her amber eyes, or the way she tries to hide her smile whenever we get into playful arguments, or her love for just living. Maybe I just love her because she is simply just Han Sera.

🗯️ This one's so angsty yet so good, the writing's also so good at making the characters so human that I'd always end up sobbing at every re-read.

❷ Connecting Hearts

What defines a soulmate? Is it the mark that you were born with, only shared with a selected few? Or a bond which was created through pain and suffering? You'll have to read to find out.

Highlight by Alphathyx

Hana attends Atlas Academy of Arts also known as the AAA to pursue her passions in Hiphop with best friend Hoseok and Prince Charming Jimin. The school gets selected along with other arts schools to compete in an inter-school competition which prize could open doors to any arts students dreams. She along with seven boys, discover what it means to love, but a tragic incident spirals the competition and them into a mystery no one saw coming.

🗯️ friendship and struggle to success <3

Hotel California by Deliebre

You are a badass business guru that works for a huge gaming company. Your home is Korea but you travel often. You are in California for work but keep bumping into hot Korean men, which makes you want to do more than bumping...

🗯️ immediate connection... yes please!

In The Dark by BearPawBeach

"How can that be? I am looking right at you. I am speaking to you right now." "That's the thing. I don't know! That's why I came here today. Yesterday, when you laughed at me, you laughed at me. I almost didn't believe it myself, but the more I thought about it, the crazier it sounded. So I came here to see you and to know if you can see me!" she blurted out. He could not believe the words that were coming out of her mouth. "Look, you don't need to lie to me. There is no need to make up some crazy excuse to meet someone." "I'm not lying! I really am invisible," she argued back. The man just threw his hands up to concede and turned to walk away from her again, walking right out of the building. The girl followed in hot pursuit. "Do you really not believe me? Why would I make something like that up? Yes, I know it sounds crazy. If I were you, I would probably think it's nuts too, but I am telling you the truth!"

🗯️ mc is invisible in this one, story's kinda sad and cute!

In Your Roots by sweetinsanityy

Jungkook is the perfect alpha, a little too perfect. Being the youngest in Bangtan, a group full of alpha's, friction has been happening between him and the boys. He's too strong, too dominating, too wild, and too much for Bangtan to handle. The perfect solution? An omega just for himself. You happen to be the perfect candidate. But the other boys want a taste of you as well. Or, you're hired to be an omega for Jungkook to take care of, and maybe he and the rest of the boys get too attached.

🗯️ another one about the boys being absolute simps!

Iridescent Love by @imnotlauriane

From a fated meeting to a life filled with wonders, the path of discovery is much, much harder than what I had prepared myself for. Especially when my identity, the only one I knew of ends up being a total lie.

🗯️ sad... but it got better. and what did I say abt imnotlauriane's stories? they're all good!

It's a Little Complex? by Infired_Mochi

Starting college and moving into a new apartment with complete independence has been your goal. Due to all the hard work at the cafe during your high school years, and your parents pitching in a few dollars, you can afford to stay in the apartment that is just the right size. However, did you get more than you bargained for? A few other college students occupy the rooms next to yours, seven to be exact. Eight rooms reside on the third floor of the apartment complex and yours is on the farthest right wing, apartment number 308. Just wait until you meet them.

🗯️ sooo it's a little complex... just read it!

Late Bloomer by basicwitch13

Despite growing up in a wolf pack, you were never able to shift nor had a second gender present itself. It seemed, by all accounts, that you were a typical human. So you carried on, burying yourself in your work as a sociology professor—until one of your students introduces you to his pack and changes everything.

🗯️ yes to yearning, pining, and healing.

Like Crazy by @euphoricfilter

The story of seven loves across eight lives.

🗯️ so freakin well-written

Little Do You Know... by @yoongiofmine

In a world where idols and actors can’t date, whether it be because of contracts, lack of time, or the dangers that involve having your personal life leaked, the market opened up for a new work field. Playmate Agencies emerged to supply the entertainment world with highly trained companions for hire. Bangtan is looking for new playmates. And you just happen to be the one all of them choose.

🗯️ another idk what to sayy, just read bcs it's so gooood.

Magic Shop by AriZedd

In which Yn is meeting new friends (and an old one) getting charmed day by day.

🗯️ just read this crack fic, strangers to friends to ... I'm obsessed.

PART 1 | PART 3 | PART 4 | NAVI

#san recs #hybrid bts #bts poly #bts x reader #fics recs #bts ot7 #bts ot7 x reader #bts fic

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knight-of-flowerss · 3 months

Text

I Will Wait.

Part one.

|__> part two will have smut I think :p also if u wanna be added to the house of the dragon tag list pls comment on here and I’ll add u!!

Benjicot ‘Davos’ Blackwood x Bracken!Reader.

Fluff + a bit of angst

Song inspo: I will wait by Mumford & Sons

Masterlist

Being a Bracken was hard. Well, being a Bracken girl was hard. Your brother, Aeron, was a pompous arsehole. Always acting like he was this big, tough knight, when in reality, he was a little boy who was playing as a pretend knight.

Your uncle, Humfrey, also known as Lord Bracken, was also a pompous arsehole, but he knew how to toy with people. He wasn’t a pretender, he would make promises and keep them. Like the promise that he would get one of his guards to whoop you as a child if you didn’t stop misbehaving, and as all children are, you continued misbehaving, and as you can expect, your uncle stuck to his words, even had the nerve to laugh at you when you tried to sit down on your sore bottom the next morning.

There are many things wrong with House Bracken. But the worst and most annoying of all was the ongoing rivalry between House Bracken and House Blackwood.

Apparently, to the Blackwood’s, years and years ago, the Bracken’s poisoned their dear Weirwood tree. It could be the truth or it could be another of the miscellaneous lies that both houses seemed to spew about each other to back up their rivalry. But in reality, I don’t think either side really knows why they hate eachother.

But what you did know is that you love a Blackwood.

And that was wrong.

Benjicot Blackwood was a sweet boy. Shy and caring. He was everything you wanted in a man. And he didn’t care that you were a Bracken.

Even when you were little, Benji always intrigued you. He was an honourable boy, an honourable man. He would never include a girl in a family feud that all stemmed from jealous men.

“Benji.. the war is coming, isn’t it?..” You whispered to him. You were both deep in the forest, Benji sitting up against a large tree, and you lying in his lap, your head resting on his chest as you get your large dress comfortable on the ground. Playing with his shirt, you look up at him, seeing him staring infront.

“Yes my love. I’m sorry but I must fight, it’s what I was born for. If I cannot protect my Queen then what type of Lord am I?” Benji breathed out. You sit up slightly, placing your left hand on his leg and your right on your chest, your faces inches apart.

“And what about me Benji? If you cannot come back alive then where does that leave me? Married off like a brood mare to the highest bidder? Dead at the hands of the other Blackwood’s? And what if Aegon wins? You could get executed for going against the crown-“

“And you can’t? Rhaenyra will win. And when she does she just might have mercy on the disloyal houses like House Bracken. Or she might kill you. But I know my Queen. The backers of the usurper cunt call her King Maegor with teats. She mourns her children! Her legacy! But even after all that she would spare the lives of those serving the pretender, because she is a good Queen.”

Tears brim your eyes as you stare at him. Wishing this could all be different. “Benji.. I don’t care who wins and who loses, I just want you. I want us to marry and grow old and have children, I want to not be afraid to love you Benji..”

Leaning your head against his, you squeeze your eyes closed and pressed your lips together tightly, trying not to spill tears or a pathetic whimper.

“I’m sorry my love. I promise you I’ll be back. And when I do, I promise I’ll marry you under the Weirwood tree, under the Old Gods and the New. I’ll love you unconditionally, no matter what any Bracken or Blackwood say. You are mine and I am yours. The day we get back, I either ask for your hand or take you as mine if anyone objects.”

You open your eyes and look at him, lips parting slightly. “Really?..” He adorns his sweet little smile finally and let’s out a small, breathy laugh. “Of course my love, you mean the world to me and I’d rather die than let you be used as a political piece for those piece of shit Brackens. Always have been a piece of shit, do you know what your uncle did to my father when they were-“

You grabbed his face, slamming your lips onto his, it was probably the last time that you could and you were going to make the most of it.

It had been two years. Two full Fucking years. It was over, finally. The usurper, Aegon, had been defeated.

From the start of the war ‘til now, you had matured a lot. All Noble women and children of the Riverland houses had lived in Riverrun since the war started, protecting the houses heirs and family.

Two years ago you were naïve, wide-eyed, and dependent on your surroundings to comfort you. Innocence was your very essence.

Now, post-war, you had come to terms with the world, it couldn’t change, people will continue to kill each other for power. But also, you were ‘ready for children’ according to Lady Tully. She claims your hips have widened and your breasts have grown. She is determined to find you a living husband to carry on your Bracken line but in reality, you wanted to taint that line, with Blackwood blood.

Soldiers were returning home.

Finally, your family was returning home.

Thousands of men from each houses spewing through each and every crevice, determined to get home.

Tully men made their way towards the Riverrun to celebrate their victory with their wives and children, with those who fought bravely along side with each other.

Darkmont men marched their way home, proud banner men who were eager to pray to the Seven, giving thanks for the victory that the Warrior gifted them, grateful that the Warrior answered their prayers of protection, valour and skill in battle.

The Piper men stalked towards the Pinkmaiden Castle near the Golden Tooth and the border with the Westerlands. Their loyalty towards the Tully’s unwavering in and out of battle. They make their way home while their faces reflect their words, ‘Brave and Beautiful’.

Other houses marched home, House Endymion, House Deddings, House Teague and others. They were all either matching home or to Riverrun to celebrate. You would try and pay more attention, but you’re too busy to acknowledge each and every men as you’re looking out for your man.

Your silly, crazed, depraved man that, hopefully, still has that shy, tender-hearted, gentle and loving boy inside.

You were just about to turn away, to pack up and return home to see what was left of your family, when you see it.

Three sets of flags, each having a trail of burned, bloodied and beaten soldiers following.

In the middle there rode a man holding the Clement House coat of arms on a large banner, a white flag with for blue, jagged line going down vertically.

They were loyal men of the Tully’s, Defenders of the Riverlands but there is only so much those soldiers can do before they stick their swords through their chest due to the constant bickering of the houses on either side of them.

On the left of House Clement, there was your family. House Bracken. Holding their golden banner with the Carmine coloured Stallion plastered in the middle up high as if they weren’t serving the pretender, the usurper, the loser. They had been defeated, yes. But their life long rivalry with the house over the field seemed to make them forget that.

You finally spotted your brother, Aeron. He looked utterly defeated. But that was in his eyes, his body and mouth concealed his battered condition with a confident facade.

Even from so far away you could tell they were bickering. They always were.

Finally your gaze drifts towards the right of House Clement, to your enemies.

A large, grey Stallion, big hooves, a dark matted mane with bit splotches of white and grey littering it the further you get towards its back legs moved in sync with the others at the front of the House Blackwood line. It was the most beautiful horse you had ever seen, trotting at a slow pace and showing off its regal strut. For being such a big and burley horse, it was quite elegant.

But, as beautiful as the horse was, a god sat atop it. The Maiden herself reincarnated as a Blackwood boy, Man.

Benjicot Blackwood had returned, more a man than those marching. He held his family’s banner up high, displaying their victory.

You smiled and stepped away from the window, running through the halls of the Riverrun. You stood at the front of the gates, greeting men as they trotted in.

All the other houses entered or passed and then finally House Clement entered, the banner men leading the Fyrd.

Next came your house, House Bracken. Your cousins and siblings came boasting in. Upon an auburn horse, your brother chucked the banner to the on foot soldiers and got off his horse.

“Sister!” Aeron shouted as he rushed towards you, “The fucking bitch Queen won, the little fuckers burnt half our house, I’ll fucking kill them.”

“Maybe it is for the best Aeron, we should at least be grateful she hasn’t burnt us to a crisp. And.. I’m glad to have you back brother.” You smiled and pressed a palm to his cheek. He sighs and wraps his arms around you tightly, “I’ve missed you sister, truly. It was horrifying out there, you ever seen a dragon rip a man to shreds? Well, hopefully not. Has everything been alright while we’ve been gone?”

“Of course it has brother, I’m a Bracken after all. A Bracken woman. I know how to handle myself. Now, go inside and show everyone how a Bracken stands tall, even after a loss.”

He smiled at me, tightly nodding. He let of me and started walking inside, catching up with our cousins on the steps.

Finally, finally the Blackwoods came marching. But that large stallion wasn’t matching at the start, Benjicot Blackwood, your Benji was no where to be found in fact.

Panic set in through you. Where had he gone? Had he fled? Had your family hurt him? Your questions were left un-answered as Lady Tully came out.

“Sweetheart, come inside, celebrate.” She spoke to you with great kindness, her hands gripping the sides of your arms and gently pulling you away into the Riverrun.

While the Lady Tully was coercing you inside, Benji was arguing with your uncle, Lord Bracken.

“Your false, usurper, cunt of a ‘king’ has been defeated Lord Bracken, I see no reason why you still think you can act like you have the upper hand.” Benjicot had started to lose his temper.

He had came to Lord Bracken to ask for your hand in marriage, to throw away their rivalries and start a new beginning of joint houses. Of course this was not Benjicot Blackwood speaking, Benjicot Blackwood would rather die than admit this. No, this was Benji speaking. This was the boy who loved a woman speaking.

But as time passed, his new nickname gifted to him in the war came shining through, Bloody Ben came out. He started losing his temper, lashing out at your depraved uncle, calling out his foolishness.

In reality, Benjicot was being just as foolish, lashing out at a Bracken while their large hoard pricks surround him, fucking stupid. But, he had brought Oscar and Kermit Tully alongside him, two long friends of his. So if shit went down, at least they’d die together.

As the bickering continued, both Bracken and Blackwood became increasingly more agitated and aggressive, the two Tully boys standing there like they’re ready to kill them selves and not the men coated in yellow.

“Young Lord Blackwood, do you really think I’d let your tiny Blackwood cock defile my innocent neice?”

Benji huffs, “Lord Bracken, your neice will have the taste of a real man, not a Bracken boy. The gods know we are destined-“ , “You worship the old gods! You will not say the fake gods destine you and her.”

Kermit moves forward, leaning to whisper into Benjicot’s ear, “Ben, maybe we should leave”, Benjicot puts a hand on his chest and softly nudges him away.

“Lord Bracken, rest assured, the old gods and the new know our binding of houses will avoid years of bloodshed in the future-“

Lord Bracken interrupts him, “Why would you want out houses binded? The Blackwood’s hate the Brackens and vice versa, it’s been like that for years, why would you of all people want that? You wish to take a jab at House Bracken while we are at our weakest? Belittle us?-“

“I love her.” Exclaimed Benji, Kermit looked to Oscar and Oscar rolled his eyes, just wanting to sit and feast, tired from the war.

“You know nothing of love, boy.”

Tags: @thethreeeyed-raven @lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom @tiredsleepyhead @onlyrealjoy

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niki-phoria · 2 months

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月光绽放在 midnight / 心跳漂浮起来

pairing: kamo choso x gn!reader (no pronouns used) genre: fluff word count: 709

notes: i am a long haired choso enthusiast i make no apologies, not proofread !! pls forgive any mistakes, inspo from this prompt list by @me-writes-prompts, title from wayv - after midnight

midnight. the moon shines brightly in the sky, casting a silver glow on the world below. the night is quiet; the silence is only occasionally broken by faint chirps from crickets and tree leaves bustling in the breeze.

“it’s late,” KAMO CHOSO says as he quietly steps into the light. moonlight shines in through the window, just barely enough to illuminate the tiles of your kitchen floor. “why are you still awake?”

you spare him a brief glance over your shoulder, softly smiling at him in acknowledgement. his curse mark is barely visible in the darkness. it looks like little more than a shadow that stretches across his cheeks. choso’s hair cascades down his back in waves, ending just before his shoulders.

“i couldn’t sleep,” you reply. turning your attention back to your window, your gaze studies the glints of stars that litter the sky above. “i thought some stargazing would help.”

“stargazing?” he repeats. choso’s footsteps echo throughout your kitchen as he wanders over to stand beside you. his tan robes hang loosely from his frame, missing the usual purple gi wrapped around his torso. stray strands of ink black hair frame his sharp features, free from their usual high buns.

you nod. “i think it’s relaxing - looking at the moon.”

choso quietly hums in acknowledgement. his attention shifts, following your gaze to look up at the sky above. the stars are just barely visible in the sky. they twinkle in the darkness. from so far away, the moon is little more than a small, glowing light.

“have you ever been in love?” you ask. your voice is quiet, cautious about disturbing the tranquility of the moment.

“what do you mean?” choso shifts, turning to face you. he’s standing next to you now; his body is so close that you can feel his knuckles ghost against your own when he reaches up to brush his bangs out of his face.

“you know, romantically,” you shrug. you turn to face him, studying his features in the dim light.

choso pauses, contemplating your question. his fingers find the hem of his robes, toying with the fabric. “i’m not sure. i’ve only ever loved my brothers,” he replies after a brief moment of silence. “have you?”

“it’s been a long time,” you chuckle sheepishly, almost a little embarrassed. “but i thought i was. i wanted it to be love, anyway.”

he nods. choso’s attention momentarily returns to the moon. it shines brightly in the sky, drowning out the light of the stars around it. “what did it feel like? to be in love?”

“it’s…” you pause, searching through your head for the right words. “it’s like unconditional trust. feeling safe with someone, no matter where you are. being with someone and knowing that somehow everything will be okay, as long as you’re both together.”

a comfortable silence falls over the room once again. choso fidgets with the hem of his robes, absentmindedly rolling the thin fabric between his fingers. he mulls over your words in his head.

curses are the antithesis of humans. they’re born from negative emotions, like fear and anger. it was unheard of for a curse and a human to interact without bloodshed; choso’s own existence was still heavily contested by sorcerers.

he was used to being met with cruelty and scorn, even when he helped exercise curses himself. but you were different. you were always kind. you greeted him with a soft smile and ensured that his technique was healing his wounds. you held his calloused, bloody hands in your own when you stood against the higher-ups. you made him feel safe - like everything was going to be okay.

choso turns to face you. the stars seem to reflect in his dark eyes; you can almost trace the various constellations in the sky looking back at you. blood rushes to his face, tinting his curse mark a deep shade of red. his ears burn from the heat spreading across his cheeks.

“y/n,” he murmurs. choso reaches up, hesitantly resting a hand against your face. his thumb strokes against your cheek. his touch is slow and careful. the intimacy of the moment sends butterflies swarming throughout your stomach. “i think i might be in love with you.”

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tabbedtabby · 5 months

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good luck, babe! | chapter 2

regina george x reader

summary: After the Queen Bee of North Shore makes up rumors about you taking pictures of girls in the changing room, you decide to take matters into your own hands. You didn’t think that would mean coming to a reluctant agreement with Regina George.

a/n: i wasn’t gonna add cady but now i am because it’s convenient for me so just pretend she’s in the last chapter lol. also they get high way faster than what’s accurate but i wrote this in like 4 sittings it felt longer to me pls spare me. if the picture collage thing is ugly i’m sorry i’m not a tumblr native 😭 but anyways big thanks to everyone who interacted with the first chapter mwah!!!!! (photo creds from left to right: @/mediorcesav on insta, @/marvelsgirl616, casual mv by chappell roan)

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When the bell rings after 7th period, you’re already halfway out the door.

You’re already sober enough from earlier so you’re desperate to get outside, even if Regina will be there. You bite the inside of your mouth in annoyance. You like your after school alone time; you didn’t want the person who literally ruined your social life to be there. At least maybe she’ll leave right after you smoke. You realize she most likely won’t after you remember she drives. How could you forget that bedazzled orange Jeep?

You feel the dappled sunlight sink heat into your skin once you enter the woods behind the baseball field. It really was a nice day. You make your way to your usual spot and lift up the pile of sticks and leaves that hide your forest stash. The guy who sells to you charges a ridiculous amount for carts compared to just the plant so you try to use them sparingly. Even if this shit stinks up the whole forest.

You’re not sure if Regina will care or not if you start without her, so you pull out your phone to pass the time. Besides, you want to be sober anyway when she finally shows.

After about 20 minutes of standing there, you start to get impatient. You almost pull the bag out to start without her before you finally see a flash of blonde hair from behind the trees.

“Took you long enough.” you mutter, already opening the bag without paying Regina much attention. Your patience was windeled, and you don’t especially want to talk to her anyway.

“Sorry I have a social life. I guess you wouldn’t know,” she snaps back, her voice strained.

You feel the annoyance crawl down your back like a centipede, and you have to bite the inside of your mouth to stop yourself from saying something back to her. She holds basically your life in her hands since you’d be both fucked and poor if she decided to snitch on you. Probably not a good idea to start a fight on the first day of your little deal, but she made it difficult.

You grab one of the cans from under the pile of leaves as you see Regina cross her arms a couple feet away from you. Her eyes watching your every move makes you a bit wary on instinct. You feel like a mouse being stalked by a snake. You grab a decently sized piece out of the bag and put it on the crushed can. You couldn’t be bothered to roll your own blunts, so this was the next best thing.

“How much have you smoked before?” you ask, just wanting a general idea on how much she should have so that you wouldn’t have to drag her to the parking lot. Apparently, she takes great offense.

“What are you, my mom? Just hurry up so I can get out of here,” she says begrudgingly, like being out here was the biggest possible drag on her life. She was really grating on your last nerve right now.

“Trying my best.” you respond dryly, giving her a snide smile as you fiddle with the lighter.

“Well, obviously it’s not good enough. What are you even doing, anyway? This is the shadiest shit I’ve ever seen—”

You blow the first hit out of your mouth harshly. “Can you please just shut the fuck up? I don’t want to be out here with you either!”

“That’s shocking. I’m surprised this isn’t your ultimate wet dream, being alone in the forest with me,” Regina sneers, nothing but disgust on her face. Like you were some kind of animal instead of human.

“What’s that going off of? The photo collection that you made up?” you snap, putting the can down for a minute. “Believe me, I want nothing to do with you either. But since we’re gonna be out here every day, you could at least make it a little easier.”

You can tell she wants to rip your throat out just by the way she looks at you. Pursed lips, downturned eyebrows, piercing blue eyes surrounded by eyeliner almost as sharp as the look she’s giving you right now. She’s way too tense for someone about to get high.

“Whatever.” she finally says, although the edge to her voice makes you want to scoff. Better not to sour her mood more than necessary, though.

Pleased with the newfound silence, you light the piece on top of the can once more and take another hit. It’s strong enough to make you cough, and you sit down against the foot of a tree. Regina raises an eyebrow at you.

“I thought you were supposed to be some kind of professional,” she says, but her voice isn’t quite as taunting as before. It almost sounded like a joke. Maybe she was considering not making this hell for you after all.

“It’s not good if it doesn’t make you cough.” you respond with a shrug. She looks at you expectantly, but you pretend you don’t see. You don’t want to have to stand back up just to pass her the can.

Eventually, she sits next to you (albeit, begrudgingly) and you pass the can to her, lighting it again when she puts her lips up to it. She explodes into a coughing fit the minute the smoke hits her lungs.

You can’t help but snicker at the sight of Regina George coughing her lungs out with just one hit from the can. It was almost strange to see her not perfectly arranged the way she was at school. You were up close enough to see the strings that sew her together.

She glares at you from the corner of her eye, but it only makes you laugh harder. You’re acting stupid right now and you’re aware of it, but you can’t stop. It’s a nice sort of high. Not like when you smoke too much and everything starts to blur together, which happens more than you’d like to admit. But this is nice. You lean back until your back touches the grass.

Regina has a couple more hits until she’s smoked about everything that’ll come out of it, and you both just lay there on the forest floor. You’re surprised she isn’t whining about dirt getting on her outfit. Maybe she’s too stoned to care. She never did answer your question about her tolerance.

Your thoughts go elsewhere as you stare up at the sky. The tops of the trees cover most of it. The sun from behind the leaves make them look almost as if they are glowing. It’s so beautiful. You wish you could reach up and feel it between your own fingertips, the fabric of the sky.

“You don’t care about what I think about you.” You hear Regina say, her voice only a couple of feet away from you. It sounds more like a statement than a question.

You don’t why it’s funny to you, but it is. You feel the laugh escape your lips before you can stop it.

“I guess not.” you respond, even though you’re not certain if she wanted a response. It sounded like she was just thinking out loud. You feel that.

“Everyone else does. They grovel to me like lap dogs.” she says amusingly, although her voice drags and you can tell she’s starting to get tired.

“You don’t like it?” you ask with surprise.

“It’s the way it should be,” she declares, as if you’re stupid for even asking. “But everyone else is a less hot version of me. It gets annoying talking to the same clones that hang onto my every word. Like, just be normal for once in your life,” Regina complains, an annoyed edge in her tone near the end. Somehow you could tell she was talking about Gretchen. That poor girl really did hang onto every little thing Regina said or did. It was almost worshipful. But in an unfortunate, sad kind of way.

Her problems didn’t seem all that hard compared to others, but you don’t say anything. It’s intesting to you to hear her talk about this stuff, to see what goes on in her head. You’d never really considered what her life was like. You wonder if there’s a reason she’s the way that she is. There must be. Everyone’s a product of their environment in some shape or form. Of course, it doesn’t excuse everything she’s done, but that thought makes you want to get inside her head somehow.

You shake your head at the silly train of thought. Regina George was just plain mean. Nothing more to it. You turn your head to look at her as you realize you never responded.

Her eyes are closed, hair splayed out on the forest ground. She looks stoned as fuck, her chest rising and falling dangerously slow. You snort and roll your eyes. How low was her tolerance? You already felt mostly normal again.

Somehow she still manages to look perfect, even if you could mistake her as a corpse. You lay your head back down. Your parents wouldn’t mind if you were home a little late, right?

After that, you and Regina would meet to smoke behind the school almost every day, except when Regina had plans with her friends and you would just go alone. You still wish she wasn’t there, but sometimes she’s okay to talk to when she isn’t being a priss. She complains about her friends and boys and how sometimes in the morning her eyelash curler refuses to work. It’s entertaining to hear about how shallow her problems are. You still want to punch her most of the time, though.

This time around, however, she’s complaining about math. Something about her teacher failing her on purpose or something to make her have sex with him to get her grade up. You seriously doubt that’s true, but you listen anyway.

“Like, he’s totally obsessed with me. I know how to do the work, but he always marks it as wrong anyway. That Cady girl helps me with it, and she’s some kind of math freak.” Regina exclaims, taking a huge hit from the smoking can. She immediately sputters and you take the can back from her with a slight roll of your eyes. That’s probably enough for her.

“Is she, though?” you ask, taking a hit from the can yourself. “She’s in my Calc class and lately she’s been doing really shitty. I guess you guys are rubbing off on her,” you say with amusement.

Regina takes a deep breath, an agitated sigh coming out of her. “What’s the point of her tutoring me, then? They’re gonna take me off the soccer team if I don’t start passing like all of my classes. It’s like she wants me to fail.” she seethes, and she sounds genuinely upset. She could afford to pay attention in class instead of doing her makeup if better grades is what she wants, but alas.

You kind of want to offer to help her, but it’s her own fault so you bite your tongue. You put the can down with a sharp sigh. You’d rather not smoke too much around her in fear that you’ll start acting stupid and she’ll post it all over the internet. Just the slightly more giggly high is fine for now.

Regina stares bullets through you as your stash back under the pile of leaves. You pick up your backpack and get ready to leave. You feel fine enough to walk home.

“You’re not gonna offer to help me?” she asks indignantly, as if you owed it to her. You have to bite your lip to keep from groaning in annoyance. Could she be any more of a spoiled brat?

“Why would I do that?” you respond, feeling that your distaste seeps through your voice as well as your expression. You’re tired, both from school and from hanging out with Regina for too long. You just want to go home.

“Because I’m keeping your secret?” she says with that tone that reminds you of a viper. The one she uses to get whatever she wants from people by threatening to ruin them. Your chest bubbles with that same anger as that day in the cafeteria.

“Dude, I’m literally your plug. I’ve done enough for you to keep your mouth shut.” you snap, slinging your backpack over your shoulder. She was really starting to piss you off. That’s how it was with Regina; just when you think she’s all right, she starts doing this bullshit again.

“So what? I don’t need weed. I can break our deal whenever I want. Besides, you’ll only tutor me until the end of the month. It’s not that deep.” It’s only the beginning of October, so you’d be wasting more of your time with her for the next month, but of course she doesn’t include that. God, you’re so pissed off, but what can you do? Not be able to smoke anymore? Get suspended again? You hate that she can just hang this over your head until you comply. You bite your lip hard enough to draw blood as you stare at her, one of her hands on her hip and her eyebrows raised as if you’re a dog she just told to heel that won’t listen. Your hands bunch into tight fists until your knuckles turn white. You really wish you had seen her with that bruise right about now.

“Fine.” you spit, pushing your way out of the clearing and back towards the school. Great. Now it would take even longer to shake Regina off. You shoulder branches of leaves out of your way, your feet kicking at the dirt. You wished she could just be fucking normal and that she never started any of this in the first place.

“I better see you tomorrow, loser!” You hear Regina scream from somewhere behind you. God, you were gonna kill her. Or yourself. Whichever came first.

#mean girls #mean girls x reader #mean girls 2024 #regina george #regina george x reader #regina george x you #regina george 2024 #mean girls 2024 x reader

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ratcash-wasgud · 8 months

Note

CAN WE PLS PLS PLS GET A PT2 TO NEKO OF THE WEST OMG!!!!

mdni :p

ℕ𝕖𝕜𝕠 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕨𝕖𝕤𝕥 𝕀𝕀.

When Ringo arrives back from the town, he finds Mizu curnsing under her breath and slashing trees in half.

"Master! What's the matter? And where is-" He looks around, rubbing his nibs together nervously.

"Oh, the stray cat is gone. But she left me with everything I need." Lies. She needed you too. "I'm gonna get going tomorrow." She sneers. She now has two goals. Slaying the white men, and showing you your place. You can't just leave like that after she has been so vulnerable with you! Ungrateful little bitch. Mizu is seething. She knows it probably ment nothing to you. It was just a slip up for Mizu too, she just got lost in the moment. It's just that she haven't felt human touch for years now, and you looked so pretty panting, and out of breath, looking at her in suuuch a cocky way with her blade to your throat... Oh, she'll show you.

She'll defeat you, have you at her feet, then beg her to spare you, crawling back to her lap, like a good little domestic kitten would. Yeah. Then she'll let you play with Fowler's head. She'll fucking show you.

She leaves Ringo at an inn, and she follows your instructions to find Fowler's castle. She gets through the tunnel, and starts slashing soldiers left and right. The traps are fucking cruel though and she ends up with a stick through her foot. She gets through everything, even drug monkeys, undead prisoners, and a whole ass giant. In the end though, she is met with...Taigen. Bloody, barely alive, tied to a chair in the middle of a room. She rushes to his side, hurrying to untie him. "Taigen-"

"Mizu..." Taigen croacks out, his eyes fluttering open. "N-no, run it's a-"

"Trap?" She hears a familiar voice from behind her as the door shuts. She turns around, her eyes meet yours in a glare. "Look who the cat dragged in!" You grin into her face. "Glad you could make it." You say, your eyes dripping with that fucking sly mischief.

"Wouldn't miss it." Mizu basically barks at you. "So you did come back to that dickhead? Pathetic." She says, holding up her makeshift sword she got from one of the soldiers.

You shrug, as you spin your gun on your finger. "Hey, what's home's home." You say and shoot her a shiteating grin.

"I pity you if this is home for you." Mizu says right back, glaring through your soul, as if you even have one.

"Ey, atleast I have one." You say, and quickly fire at her, the bullet shooting right next to her head, biting through a single strand of hair.

Mizu reacts quickly, attacking you withouth hesitation. You dodge, making her weaping slice through the wall. You turn, grabbing her wrist for a second, pushing her against the wall, and slamming her head against it. But the determined bitch she is, Mizu ignores the pain, and heabutts you in response. You two keep being at eachother's throats with Taigen barely not passing out in the chair, until Mizu overpowers you, and pins you down, with her sword at your throat.

"What a familiar situation." You grin at her, and she pushes her blade into your collarbone, drawing blood.

"Drop the fucking act already." Mizu barks into your face. "Just tell me which room he's in and I'll spare you."

You scoff. "Yeah, turns out, I kinda don't want you to kill him." You pout, as if it's a light thing. It makes Mizu's blood boil. "I kinda need him for like...a couple weeks more until he kills the shogun." You shrug. Lies, by the way. You don't give a fuck if when he dies, or if the shogun dies, you just don't want her to attemp to murder him.

Why? Simple. He'll kill her, you're sure.

"You don't have a choice." Mizu says, her eyes cold, but insides she's burning with rage. Was this all a damn game to you? Was she a joke? Was her moaning under you, moaning with you meant fucking nothing?

"Yeaaaah," Suddenly she feels the familiar cold of your gun, She turns her head, and see it pointed at Taigen's unmoving form. "I kinda do." You say, your eyes narrowing.

That's the moment Mizu realizes, she can't tame you. She can't make a house kitten out of you. You'll never stick by her side. Or anyone's for the matter. So...she'll need to keep you on a leash. She'll put so much catnip in your mouth you won't be able to bite, she'll cut your nails so you won't scratch, and she'll tear your whiskers out so you won't be able to run straight. Alone, that is. It'll hurt, but it will be worth it.

She then, with one small movement of her wrist, cuts through your shoulder, not deep enough to make you actually bleed out, but enough to make you weak. She gets off you, leaving you there, whimpering. "F-Fuckin' b-bitch...G-Go and d-die then! G-Go and fuckin'...die by his greasy hands...ugh!" You keep moaning in pain, depserately pushing your palm against your bleeding wound.

Mizu looks at you, wanting nothing more than to comfort you, but she knows that'll do her no good in the long run, so she just picks up Taigen, and leaves the room. She'll come back for you when you're unconcious if she's lucky.

It takes her a long while to get to and find Fowler's room all while carrying the deadweight of Taigen, but still, she does. After the fight, she does not have time to go back for you though, since she's fallen into the ice cold river along with that fat bastard.

Ringo rescues her and Taigen, bringing them back to master Eiji. The time she spends there while she recovers can only be described as a storm. She's mad. Her sword is broken, she didn't kill Fowler, and she left you there too. Ugh, what a failiure.

"So," Mizu lazily sits next to Taigen inside the little house, staring at the fire. "How did you...keep Akemi?" She mumbles under her nose, Taigen almost not even hearing it.

"Hm?" Taigen reaises an eyebrow. "Jealous?" He says with a smug smirk and Mizu groans loudly.

"Fuck no." She says, shooting him a glare and then rolling her eyes. "It's just seems...hard, to tie a woman down." She shrugs.

Everyone left Mizu when they had a chance, so this time, she won't take chances. She won't give you one. You left her once already, and to your own shit-luck, she wan't you to stay more that she realizes.

"You can't really tie a woman down, only with marriage." Taigen answers simply. "But before that, you have to convince her that you're worth it. That you can give her a good life."

"Well that's not really an option for me, is it?" Mizu groans. What a useless answer.

"Wait...you wanna catch a wife?" Taigen's eyes widen. "Oh, don't tell me, you already have someone you want? Oh, that's funny!" He snickers.

"You're fucking annoying. I don't even know why I was asking you." She grumbles, ready to stand up, but Taigen stops her. "Wait, no. Okay." Taigen steadies himself, putting on a straight face. "I'm sure if you keep your glasses on, and keep your mouth shut all the time, she'll like you." He finishes with that bitch-ass smirk.

Mizu just yanks her arm away and walks off, grumbling. Taigen is stupid. She'll show him too. She'll show everyone. She'll slay down Flower, then she'll walk away with you, crying for her in her arms. Great plan.

You even accidentaly told her that he's planning on killing the shogun, so she'll know where to go. You're already playing right into her hands. Yeah, maybe she's obsessing over you a little, and yeah, it's probably unhealthy, but do you really expect any healthy emotions from that woman? No, the answer should be no.

So, on the day when she meets Fowler again, she marches into the room he's in with the Shogun, but when she gets there, the Shogun and his family are already gone, and she's met with Fowler's gun to your forehead, yours to his heart with Heiji Shindo's body still fresh on the ground. She gasps out your name.

Fowler's head turns to her, and Mizu glares. "Hm? Ye two know eachother?" He asks casually, motioning between you two. "So that's why yer betraying me, eh? Foolish little girl." He scoffs.

You just roll your eyes. "I'm not betraying you, dumbass." You say, liglty poking his chest with your gun. "I'm simply dethroning you."

"And you wanted the help of this demon right 'ere?" He nods towards Mizu. "Is that why ya were gone for days? Ya were with the guy tryin' to kill me? Pffft!" He says with mock offense.

"No, he just happens to be here." The banter between you two is amusing to Mizu. You're talking to this piece of shit while holding eachother at gunpoint like you'd talk to an old friend after they stole your lunch.

"Hey, demon," Fowler says to Mizu, getting her attention. "Ya don' wanna team up with this girl right 'ere. See? She's betraying me too, she'd do the same to you."

"Oh, shut up." You roll your eyes. "First of all, I'm not teaming up with him. Second of all...can you butt out of my personal relationships?"

"She's not even from 'round here. Found her back in London." Fowler says casually, ligtly poking your head with his gun. "Is' true. Her parents are japanese though, they got captured during the war, but couldn't help but fuck like bunnies in their cell and make this lil' bitch."

"Ugh, that was unnecessary." You say, fireing a shot into the wall to silence him. "Next one's gonna be in your heart, shithead."

"Now now, let daddy handle stuff." He says with a chuckle.

"You're not my fucki-" but before you could protest any further, Fowler's other hand swings up, hitting you in the head, almost crushing your skull, making you lose conciousness.

The next time you wake up, the harsh sun invades your eyeballs, making you groan. When you finally manage to accommodate your inveroment, you look around. You're on a ship, which is definetly moving. You see a siluette in the sun, and as it notices that you're awake, it walks closer. It's Mizu. She looks different though. She looks a lot more...relaxed. She has her bangs down, and she's wearing a simple kimono. She looks...very feminine. And beautiful, if you do say so yourself. You understand why you lost control and slept with her that night.

"Hey," You squint at her. "Can I ask, if it's like, not too much...what the fuck is going on?" You sit up hazily.

"We're leaving. To London." She says casually, sitting down next to you. Your eyes snap wide opening, shining in the bright sun.

"Are fucking serious?" That's wha Mizu wanted to see. You lighting up, eating all of her words up.

"Yeah...Fowler's tied up down there, but he'll help me. He'll help me find the other white men." She says, looking ahead to the seemingly endless water.

"And you're taking me...with you. To London. I can finally leave." Your smile becomes bright, almost more blinding that the sun. It's the first truly genuine smile Mizu saw from you. And fuck, it does things to her.

"Mhm...you're not leaving my side after this." Mizu breathes out, leaning back on her hands, turning her attention to the cloud.

Your eyebrows knot together. "What? I'm not gonna stick around to watch your boring ass quest. I wanna find my own path."

"Yeah, no...you're not doing that. You're gonna stay by my side, and you're gonna love it." She says like it's a well known fact. And to her, it is. She's not letting you leave her, and wander off again. Not on her watch.

"What the fuck do you think I am? Your pet?" You scoff.

"You could be. But no, I'm being nice right now." She says with a small smile, still staying completely calm about the subject. "And when I'm done, you will come back to Japan with me. And then we'll live peacefully, and you'll help me forget about how much of a terrible person I am." Mizu shrugs, but you just rolls your eyes.

"As if. I'll tell you everyday that you're a shitty person." You can barely finish the sentence before Mizu gets on top of you with one swift motion, straddling your lap.

"Yeah? You're gonna tell me how much you hate me?" Mizu whispers, her breath hitting your face, but the only thing you can do right now is just stare at her, not even blinking. "What? Cat's got your tongue?" She teases you, running a finger along your lower lip.

You gulp. "What...are you even doing? What we had was just...a one time thing." You say, averting your gaze finally.

"You think that?" Mizu says as she harshly grabs your jaw, forcing you to look at her. "You must be confused then." She says, her voice now lower with more edge. "Because that day, whether you like it or not, you tied yourself down. You became mine. You can try to run though, but I'll find you eventually." She slowly leans down, breathing right against your lips. "Take your little fuckface of a man, Fowler for example. He couldn't hide, so why could you?"

You can't even respond as she firmly kisses you, pushing her tongue down your thoat, one hand gripping your jaw, the other harhsly undoing your clothes.

"F-fuck, Mizu, wait a second-" You try to croak out, but her hands are already all over you, and you love it. It's just...so damn sudden. And it feels different from last time. It's as if this time, her touches have more emotion. More want, more need.

"No. I waited enough." Mizu murmurs into the kiss, her hands kneading your breasts. The last time, you fought for and kinda even won dominance, but now you can't even try and enter the competition for some reason, and to Mizu's liking.

"Ugh...you're an asshole, you know that?" You back arches into her touch as you feel her start pinching your nipples. "I...I'm still mad at you though...for cutting my shoulder. That hurt...like a bitch." You mumble, feeling your whole body heat up under her touch.

Mizu can feel her head reeling. She finally done it. She has you under her fingertips again, and she won't let go ever again. And this time, you look different too. You look more vulnerable, your eyes narrowing and becoming hazy, you cheeks flushing as you lips part. You look vulnerable, and very fucking cute. The fact that she knows what you're capable of, and still managing to have you in this position is...enthralling. She loves it. If she'd feel this everyday, her soul would be at peace.

"Not my fault you only respond to violence." Mizu says, pulling away from your mouth to place her lips in your nipple, which you reward with a small moan, which makes all of Mizu's nerves dart to one place between her legs.

Her tounge swirls around your sensitive little bud, all while her hand sneeks between your thighs, feeling around your underwear, which is now slowly turning wet.

"You want more?" Mizu whispers as she switches to the other nipple. "Tell me you want more...say it. Use your pretty little voice, and ask me nicely."

"Fuck...fuck why are you like this?" You croak out, your thighs closing around her hand, letting out another moan as she starts rubbing you through the thin cloth. "O-Okay, fine fuck, I want more...p-please, just...do more." You say, covering your face with your arm in shame. "Mizu..."

And she fucking snaps. How could she hold back after that? She rips down your last remaining clothing, which happens to be your underwear, and her lips latch around your clit. Oh, it tastes so good. She didn't have the chance to taste it last time, what a shame. But knows she knows how your slick tastes, and it's honestly perfect. She makes sure her tongue hits every spot it can reach atleast once before she plunges her fingers deep inside you.

"Fuck...I missed you fucking much...come on, show me you missed me too. Grind on my lips and fingers." Mizu demands against your clit which you reward in a drawn out moan. You slowly obey, grinding weakly against her. "Take it...take all of me." She pushes knuckle deep. "Your pussy loves me...it fucking wants me. It's...fuck, it's sucking me in." Mizu slurs between slurps, getting lost in the moment and just mindlessly rambling. She loves this. She loves feeling you at two points on herself: her fingertips and her tongue. She wants you to moan louder, to squirm and beg more, to arch your back and grind harder...

"Gonna cum...f-fuck, I can't...slow the fuck down..." You whimper out,hands feeling around on the floor, looking for anything to grab for support, but meeting nothing but Mizu.

"Yeah? Cum then. Do it...doitdoitdoit, I want it, come on..." Mizu doesn't even notice that she begs, but she doesn't even fucking care. As she feels you spill your climax into her mouth, her mind flashes white, eagerly driking everything up. After you come down from your high and lay in the afterglow, Mizu stays in pleace, cleaning your innerthighs while softly humming.

"You did so good...you're so pretty when you cum. I wanna see it again." She murmurs, fingers trailing back to your folds, but you groan and push her away.

"F-Fuck off..." You say weakly, eyes slowly fluttering closed. Mizu smirks and climbs up to cuddle you, her arms thighly around you, and her legs keeping you in a lock.

"I love you." She says casually. "You'll stay with me forever, okay? I'll hunt you down if you don't. You're my sepcial girl...you'll see me succeed."

#bes mizu #blue eye samurai #bes x reader #blue eye samurai mizu #blue eye samurai x reader #mizu x reader #mizu fanfic #fanfiction #bes smut #smut #enemies to lovers #toxic behavior

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the-monkeies-girl · 3 months

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26 and 32 with Anaya pls?

26. play fighting 32. neck kisses

Do you want me to die huh huh

Balance was not your strong point as was evident as your legs tangled themselves into a knot and you found yourself falling onto your back with a soft ‘omfph’ against the leafy ground of the woods that encased the village so lovingly, brushing the outer edges in the casted shadows in the late summers that beckoned you into the canopy much like you found yourself in as you sat up onto your forearms, Anaya skidding his sleek body in front of your own, only a foot from splayed feet as you let out a laugh, Anaya tapping his right hand against the ground as a delicate warning of the impending attack as you smiled innocently at him, hoping the cheeky grin would spare you from the Ape leaping his body weight onto yours and toppling both of your forms down the embankment that rested behind you.

“I tripped. You wouldn’t attack me when I’m defenseless,” Looking around, you smiled again, this time using a bit more teeth in a silly fashion, “R-right?”

Anaya tilted his head to the side in faux contemplation as he drew himself even closer, his hunched body trailing directly above your own and you fell back slowly onto your back as he perched himself atop you, ample gaze meeting green and golden flecked eyes that swirled with mischievous intent. Not pressing down hard enough that you were without breath, but enough to keep you from escaping, his tiny waist pressing to the lower part of your navel. Giggling nervously, Anaya rolled his shoulders and felt the fur rising on his shoulders from your compromised position. All the more enticing to the Chimp, all the more easy to over power you after what he had learned a few minutes ago.

“Bad for Echo, good for Anaya.”

“No!” The shriek was torn between a laugh and actual fear for what he was going to place on your skin if Anaya actually caught you in his hands.The hot, leathery and commandeering in ways that were not known upon first glance with the Ape, the assumption being that he was always careful and gentle but you knew better as you narrowed your gaze along his own in anticipation. You needed to move first, it was your best chance. On one… You counted in your mouth and smiled at your courting Ape. Two… He tilted his head curiously at the crossed determination that ran against your expression. Three!

Rolling onto your side, you were fast to get yourself propped onto your hands and knees to skirt yourself away from his larger frame, Anaya’s body lifting to let you go and though there was skepticism that ran in your mind at your form trailing away from him as to why he was releasing you from the torment that was waiting at the very tips of his fingers wanting to rack themselves down your curved sides and traced their way down your ribcage to the more fleshy delectations of your waist and hips.

Anaya had just figured out in those previously mentioned minutes when you two were deliciously drenched in the shade of a nearby tree, enjoying a grazing nap in the afternoon as you waited for Noa and Soona to join before trailing to communal dinner, that you had an adverse reaction to that. To his hands on your side. On your bare skin, under the thinning of your t-shirt and you were cackling, reddened in the face, unable to catch your breath and trying to push yourself away from him. Anaya liked it, commencing once again as you thrashed against him. Successful in the most part, you had gotten away from Anaya at that time and dashed away with a laugh as you held your sides, but not for long.

He lunged at you, leaving a trail of leaves in his wake from the quickened nature of his agile body, your own falling flat on the ground as you rolled a few times before teetering onto your back with another rocketed chortle, eyes shut as Anaya grasped at you to get you below him to keep the tears from leaking out from intensified laughing. Anaya pinned one hand down, his face hovered too close to your own, to the point where you could see the yummy gleam of his teeth in your line of vision as a lick of exhilaration danced down your spine and rested uncomfortably but pleasurably on your tailbone. “It-It doesn’t ne-need to be this way, Anaya.” Shoulders moved with a loud hoot as Anaya tilted his head back in amusement at your plea. It was so nice to hear, the wispy tone coming from the back of his throat as he was enjoying himself. “Want to hear you… again… Beg Anaya to stop.”

Struggling below him, you watched in baited agony as he brought his hand upwards so you could see it, so close in proximity that you were able to see the delicate sweep of the wrinkles on his palm. “P-Please no! Anything but that I---”

Your eyes widened in surprise at the overjoyed feeling of Anaya’s hot lips against your neck. Slowly and assuringly, the hand that he had teased you with disappeared as you tilted your own head to the side for a bit more--- Anything but the tearing of his hands against your side in torture. You were willing to subside that for this split second even though your conscious mind was telling you otherwise, it was a ploy. Something to get you distracted… A good one, you bit your bottom lip harder than intended as Anaya dragged his mouth, tugging his top lip against your skin before muttering into the shell of your ear, “Anaya… Is not merciful.”

“Wh---”

Without warning, you were being petted along your sides, Anaya huffing loudly as he brought his touch against your fabric clad skin, but on the way back up they tucked themselves onto your bare skin for even more undiluted punishment as you laughed hard, unable to breathe or catch yourself from flailing under him, “N-No!!! Th-This is not fa-" The touches got rougher as he trenched from your hips all the way upwards towards your armpits, the birds echoing in the sky along with your screech, "AAAAAANAYA!!!!!!!”

#anaya #anaya x reader #pota #planet of the apes #kotpota #kingdom of the planet of the apes #planet of the apes x reader #x reader #anaya pota

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fleuraimer · 6 months

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…. perhaps a harry x reader blurb to spare 🤲 i will take anything u want to give me. fluff or smut or both or neither ❤️❤️❤️❤️ u rock and my name is also evelyn so i feel bonded to u

u've absolutely made my day with this evelyn :((( i hope you like what i've concocted bestie, she's kinda all over the fucking place, but nonetheless, i hope you enjoy <33

wc: 2k

cw: not much, super fluffy, mildly (perhaps majorly) suggestive. not suitable for ramadan!! not proofread. lmk if i missed anything pls!!

Spring is here.

Fucking finally.

All the seasons were lovely to Y/N, each offered something the others didn’t—couldn’t. But spring was different. Special.

Like him.

Like Harry.

Perhaps that’s why her love for it blossomed like the tulips lining her bedroom window; there was something about seeing her usually soft boyfriend get ten times softer as leaves started to sprinkle branches, blades of grass flashed a vibrant green once more, and the sun kissed the earth that got to her tender heart.

It was especially difficult to not melt when he’d planned a small outing for them, centered around the perfectly warm weather. Instead of waiting until nightfall and driving to some stuffy restaurant (although their dinner dates were never anything less than exquisite), they walked hand-in-hand down the boulevard in broad daylight, gentle wisps of wind the only thing surrounding them, as well as the quiet conversation of other passersby.

They didn’t talk. They didn’t have to. They were perfectly content to relish in the mere presence of one another—soak in the rays of sun, and warmth. Love.

Thumbs gave mindless, delicate strokes against the back of palms, rucking up rings, kissing knuckles in apology, and putting them back in place, just to repeat it all over again. The knitted fabric of Harry’s cardigan is soft when it brushes against Y/N’s bare arm (she decided that it was absolutely perfect weather to slip on her favorite flowy sundress, cinched at the waist and flared at the hips, printed with obnoxiously serene-looking flowers and hummingbirds, with a square neckline that farmed the intricate necklace Harry bought her for their second anniversary quite stunningly), but his hand in hers was softer. Better.

Said hand tugs on hers, urging her away from the beaten path and into the ravine of tall, never-ending trees—willows and oaks; sycamores, birches, and maples, too. She resists, no less. Looks down at the cobblestone beneath her soles, and the cute kitten heels that (in her humble opinion) tie her whole spring-era look together.

She pouts.

And then a head of chocolate obscures her view of the pristine, white triangle toes. A hand placed both respectfully and salaciously on her ankle, coaxing her foot to slip from its confines, makes her breath catch in her suddenly dry throat.

Her kind eyes glaze over, ever so slightly.

“Y’don’t have’t—”

“I want to, Bellissima.”

Her shoe slips from her foot with a soft clatter on the ground when he manages to pry her sole from the earth, but it barely registers in her brain. In fact, everything else seems to fade away into the lovely spring that encompasses them when Harry guides his hand further up, along her fleshy calf, and leans in to place a chaste, staggering kiss to the bridge of her foot.

She wobbles, but they both know it’s not because she’s been left to balance on one foot.

Harry smiles, faint—the crater in his stubbled cheek is nearly invisible—and nudges his nose along the smooth skin of her leg.

He works diligently (as diligently as one can when removing a shoe) to rid Y/N of her footwear, relieving her of any worry or pain.

He looks pleasantly boyish when he looks up at her, smiles all cheeky, and winks for good measure. Kneeling on cobblestone in a worn pair of jeans, suede, dirty Adidas, and a vintage band tee that smells of stale coffee, Chanel No. 5 (one of many preferred perfumes of Y/N), and sex no matter how many times they run it through the wash; the green of his seafoam eyes twinkling in the sunlight, sunnies pushing his hair back, and yet one rogue curl still bends and twirls with the wind, falling in a perfectly aesthetic spiral when it settles…

Soft. Boyfriend. Hers.

Her Harry.

He stands to his full height, and they’re much closer than she’d thought they would be, but she’s certainly not complaining. Where before she stood at (about) Harry’s collarbone, now her head barely reaches the underside of his pecs. Her neck strains to keep eye contact as he slips his free hand back into her awaiting palm, the latter of which occupied with their stuffed picnic basket, and now her precious kitten heels.

“Need me to carry you?” He asks, ready to suffer at least a week’s worth of back pain if it meant he’d keep that love-struck, glowy, adorable (subby, stupid, filthy) look on his girl’s face.

Y/N’s eyes widen subtly, though enough for Harry to notice, and he can’t help but have to stifle a chuckle at her bashful demeanor.

“No, thank you,” she squeaks, and now she’s the one tugging his hand, urging them into the abyss of greenery, away from the hustle and bustle of the city.

The grass feels soft, ticklish, between her powder pink painted toes; she feels her lips stretch into a small grin because of it. They walk idly until they find a soft patch of vividly green grass directly under a tree, kissed fleetingly by the rays of sunlight peaking through the gaps of branches and leaves.

Harry lets his hand fall from Y/N’s (and can’t help but feel slightly colder because of it) to unpack their picnic basket. He grabs the signature red gingham picnic blanket from its place in the basket, releasing its folded form with a flourish. The material floats gracefully through the air until settling on the grass, near gingerly with the way it stops at just the very tips of the blades.

He kicks his chin toward the blanket in invitation as he settles on top of it himself, beginning to remove the contents inside their basket. Sandwiches, fruits, veggies; assorted cheeses and meats, cake, and, arguable most important, wine. He wastes no time in popping the cork from the rouge, pouring a generous amount into each of the pinot noir glasses he’d carefully tucked in the picnic basket.

Y/N kneels onto the blanket, walking on her knees until Harry is within reach, and his incessantly grabby hands are (surprise, surprise!!) grabbing her. He hands her her wine glass and sets his off to the side for the time being, sliding his bear palms up the full of her thighs, the swell of her bum, small of her back…

She shivers as they pet down again, nails biting at her hips to grip and pull her into his lap.

“Too far,” he grumbles, nuzzling in the space where her neck and collarbone meet. He peppers soft kisses along the strong bone, inhaling the natural, overwhelming scent of her. His girl.

Y/N goes easily, sipping slowly at her red wine while her free hand comes up to his hair, fingers threading through the fluffy tendrils. She snatches his sunnies away when they block her half-hearted scalp massage, muttering delicate apologies when the bend of them gets stuck in his hair and he hisses at the sting.

“Sorry, Baby,” she winces herself, chucking the damned glasses onto the blanket when she’s gotten them loose, kissing along the crown of his head to soothe any ache.

She sips more, tart grape hitting her tongue, sugary plum sliding down her throat, strawberry slicking her lips. She’s borderline greedy with the way she downs it, but they’ve got nowhere to be. Only here. Just here. Now.

She twists in Harry’s laps to grab one of the homemade BLTs, offering the half she won’t stuff her fat gob with to Harry, which he politely accepts. They munch quietly, sharing soft smiles and love-sick kisses in between bites. Conversation is sparse, but not bad. Never bad. If anything, the weight of their words is heavier because they’re so few and far between.

They both like it that way, anyhow.

When their feast has dwindled down to nothing but a few fruits and cakes, Harry fishes his phone from his pocket, and reaches in the picnic basket to grab his trusty pair of wired headphones. Hooking them up to his phone, he looks expectantly to Y/N. She raises her brow, never one to move unprompted.

Harry smirks, “Come, Bellissima.”

Her heart flitters, her stomach flutters, and her eyes round out (Harry tries not to think about how fucking easy—). She crawls back to him, in a way that is unnecessarily intimate and innocent, and simultaneously astoundingly nasty, but he tucks the image into the deep, deep, dark recess of his mind so he doesn’t get arrested for public indecency. Saves it for later (call it his spankbank).

He tucks a loose strand of her hair behind her ear before handing her and earbud, and lying down on his side. She follows, the two inserting the device into their ears at the same time. Her head instantly floods with staggered strings and piano, static, and then bass. Saxophone and acoustic guitar being delicately plucked, followed by a heady, gentle voice, similar to Bowie (but never as iconic).

“About You,” she whispers to him, her lips quirking.

Harry nods. Smiles, “The 1975.”

As the music progresses—the subtle vibrato of Matty Healy’s croon, the crescendo of each instrument and sound blending together to create one beautiful, extravagant, mind-bending symphony—Y/N swears she can see all five oceans in his eyes. The clear, breathtaking reefs, the lines that separates it from the rest of the water, dividing the calm from the chaos, the serene from the danger. She sees the deep, the unknown she wishes the dive further into, explore and discover, treasure for nothing but her own heart. And the seafoam that crashes up against the shore, the way it bubbles with joy and glistens in the light of the sun at the horizon, ever so fleeting as it washes back down the grains of sand.

She sees it all.

“S’pretty,” she mumbles, scooting closer as much as she can.

Harry wraps the arm not tucked under his head around her waist, pulling her closer. His eyes flit dazedly between her two.

She may see the ocean, but he sees the sky. The constellations, laid out for him beautifully, his for the taking. His.

He nods, “S’pretty.” Bumps his nose childishly against hers, smiles softly, triumphantly, when it scrunches up. His eyebrows pull together in the center, and he huffs a breath through his nose, “S’fucking gorgeous, Stellina.”

His mouth is on her before she can ask for a translation (there’s only some many Italian pet names a girl can recall) tongue prodding at the seem of her lips until they give way and he can slide the wet muscle against her own. She tastes of their shared wine and vanilla buttercream, and he tastes of fresh peaches, mozzarella, and tangy balsamic vinegar. And yet, somehow, it mixes together to create something new, something better, arguably. He fits her bottom lip between his two, nipping and sucking at the plump flesh, pulling breathy whimpers and faint moans from his lover. His grunts and groans in response are no less self-deprecating (they were both, admittedly, getting extremely hot over a couple of third date level kisses).

Neither paid it much mind, however. Especially not when Harry flips around so he’s lying on his back and she’s pressed firmly against his torso, belly’s melding, chests grazing. Y/N can’t stifle her soft gasp at the heavy weight of Harry against her inner thigh, but she can’t reprimand him, for she is no better—there’s a puddle in the gusset of her panties.

“Harry,” she whines, lashes fluttering when his hands find the swell of her bum and squeeze through the flimsy fabric of her sundress.

“G'na take y'home now, Bellissima,” he husks against her open mouth, tongue flicking at the swollen mess. “Fuck you the way y'deserve for being such a good girl today—” She bristles, rocking into him and crying out softly because of it. “—and if y'keep it up, we’ll go to tha’ cute little flee market y'keep tellin’ me about, yeah?”

She’s being bribed with his (impeccable; divine; otherworldly) cock and her love for all things vintage.

“Can we go to the botanical garden, too?”

Harry snorts, issues a teasing spank to her bum that makes her squeal, but smiles, nevertheless. “Sure, Baby, whatever y'want.”

(Impeccable; divine; otherworldly) Cock, a flee market, and a botanical garden?

She’s in heaven. In happiness. In full bloom.

She fucking adores spring.

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ladybirdswritings · 10 months

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Silken Webs & Pirouettes - Miguel O’Hara x Reader

Summary - It’s your first day on the job, and Miguel doesn’t make it easy for you. Ballerina!Reader & CEO!Miguel. Alternate Universe with most of the characters included as seen in "Across the Spiderverse." Many cameos ahead. Miguel is a successful business owner but personality is canon. This is a steamy reader insert, Miguel x You! Enjoy and pls leave me lots of love and comments as it keeps me motivated <333

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four

Only a day. You’ve only been here for one day and it’s the best job you’ve ever had. Katerina isn’t bruising your ankles with wire each time your posture slips, no sprained feet or bloody toes. Just soft work… morale. You can tell why this place needs it after your interview.

Miguel O’Hara, also known as suffocating, broody, handsome, infuriating prick in a chair as you’ve named him. You had only a moment to cope with the fact that it was the CEO who’d be picking apart at your answers. Before you could even attempt and soothe yourself at the very high possibility that said CEO was scruffy and gray; Latino Adonis opened the door.

Why do you know he’s Latino? You googled it.

Your face stuffed with stale cereal and your hair in an old bonnet made of silk to preserve its straightness. 4 AM, the glow of your phone making your eyes squint rather tightly together as you scrolled through photo after photo of two big auburn eyes and a straight line for a mouth. Expressionless, cold. None of it compares to the real experience.

He’s Mexican and Irish, he’s single, he only dates red heads and blondes (this building is filled with them) it looks like and he has a daughter, though you couldn’t read much more on that before it was time to grab your coat.

It seems suffocating, his presence. Like the scent of jasmine flowers sprouting in your skin. You have so many questions, perhaps you’ll entertain them to another google search later tonight. It isn’t as if you’ll be spending any more time with him apart from that mortifying interview he punished you with.

So, another search can’t hurt… right?

You shake away the obsessive thoughts with a huff as you pull another pink ribbon from your bag. Step one of morale? Warmth. What color is more warm than pink? Light ribbons like the ones in your hair. You’ve been gathering décor with a company card all day and god, it feels so good to shop. You’ve been living off of your depleted savings for a year and it’s all but afforded you cheap cereal and spring water. Though none of this décor is yours, at least you can admire it for the short amount of time you’ll be here.

This floor, his floor has much work to be done. It’s the gloomiest, the most vacant, and the one you’ll start with first. You’ve already hung a garland kissed with snow and smaller pink ribbons upon the desk, Cindy helped you with stocking the fridge full of eggnog and peppermint creamer. Now? You’re busying yourself with this pathetic tree. It’s alive, but barely. On its last stem. You didn’t have it in your pretty heart to toss of it, so you tasked yourself with wrapping green garland round the stem to make it appear fuller. Maybe, just maybe if you drown it in enough ornaments and pink bows— it’ll look alive again.

You make quick work of the garland, using a door stopper to help keep the tree upright. When that awful, bent wooden stem is all gone, you manage the lights. The front desk ladies spare you glances of curiosity, the same way you do at Mr. O’Hara’s door. He’s been locked away all day, not leaving once. Maybe he’s busy… maybe he hates everything. The latter seems more true.

It takes you another hour and change for the lights. Though the tree is sad, it’s nice and tall, tall enough for the need of a ladder. Twlelve strands and you’re satisfied, sparkling warm gold. The ornaments then, and then you have to-

“Um… miss?”

You peek your head from behind a branch to see the red head from the front desk looking concerned. Her embroidery reads: Mary Jane.

“Miss, sorry to interrupt but your shift ended thirty minutes ago. You’re okay to go home.”

The branch pokes you in the face as you push it further to the side, managing excellent tip toed balance on the small ladder. Evidence you were a ballerina, once.

“Oh it’s okay! I’ll go home once I finish. And don’t worry, I don’t expect any overtime for this. I just want the tree to look perfect.”

You mean that. If it doesn’t? It’ll itch at your skin for the rest of the night. Just like every imbalanced pirouette, just like every failed plié.

Mary Jane only offers a nod and wince before scurrying off with her bag. You don’t see the rest of the office leave or the lights dim as you’re too busy working on the back of the tree. You’ve begun to tinker with the bows, you’ll add those first before you find some ornaments. They blanket the front and sides of the tree, now to manage the back. You tie them as you go, placing them upon the bed of emerald like north stars, still balanced effortlessly on your tip toes.

Though you’re not done, it looks lovely. You’ll blanket white pearl and ornaments tomorrow, but the ribbon and gold shimmer is enough to warm even the coldest of hearts.

You’re immersed, so immersed you don’t hear that dreadful oak door open. You don’t hear the Italian leather clicking against the shiny tile. You don’t hear the huff of breath and tug of a silk tie. No. But what you do hear?

“Díos mio… ¿Qué carajo es esto!?”

You can’t stop the grinch before he steals your Christmas tree with a tug at a bow snuggled in its blanket of green. This tree, this graceless tree must despise him or rather, you back because it moves to topple over.

“No no no!” You exclaim with a gasp, still tucked away from his sight. Your hands shoot out to stable the tree before it destroys itself. You do, but at the cost of your balance.

The ladder slips from under you, and graceful as your fall is, you’re still falling. Closer and closer to a cracked skull until an arm slips round your stomach tight, stopping you from dying at the cost of pink ribbon.

God…

Your breaths are heavy, filled with a lovely scent which you can’t even admire because you’re far too suffocated with the fact that you almost went splat.

Him.

Mr. O’Hara breathes out in exasperation, running his eyes over your body to check for any broken bones or bumps, you assume. When he’s satisfied, he lets you go. His arm is bigger than your head, and a coldness bites your midsection once it’s gone.

You turn swiftly, your eyes wide as they scan over your tree. You sigh in relief, it’s mostly perfect still.

Your shaky hands shoot out to straighten a bow that’s been turned and a branch that snaps off when you try and fix it too. Your index and thumb immediately pinch at the place between your brows as stress etches its way into your soft features. Maybe it’s not so perfect anymore.

You turn to him, the broken branch clasped tightly in your fist. Your eyes are wide and your jaw is tense.

His eyes are cold, emotionless. Your chin is upturned so you can face him.

“Take this shit off.” He commands, voice chillier than than December snow.

Oh you’re angry.

You’re angry because he’s taken your beautiful tree and destroyed it by snapping off a perfectly snug branch. And now? Now he’s telling you to toss away all the ribbons you’ve spent hours preparing?

You take a breath, voice deep and barely in control of your own frustration. The stem of the branch digs tightly into your palm.

“No.”

His jaw ticks.

“I wasn’t asking, sweetheart.”

You blink, exhaling through your nose as you allow your eyes to fall closed. A shake of your head and you turn, ignoring his tower of a presence all together as you angrily stuff the branch back into the tree, desperate to fix it.

You feel the tears poking at your eyes but you do as you did when Katerina used to mortify you in front of your classmates. You bite your tongue so hard it bleeds. The tears don’t fall.

“Are you trying to lose your job?”

You ignore him again. The way he talks to you, it reminds you of her. Her if she was good looking, warm even in December and smelled delectable. Regardless…

“The tree is supposed to welcome people-”

“People not children.” He interrupts.

“Wouldn’t your daughter like to admire something like this?” You snap back before you can stop yourself, with a sarcastic tilt of your head.

Oh…

Oh… big mistake.

His jaw draws together so tightly it might just snap. His eyes narrow to slits, hands to fists and body to tension.

You don’t think he even has it in him to say more words than simply,

“Out.”

You immediately comply, scooting past him and grabbing your pink duffel bag from where it lay at the base of the tree. You leave your tote of ribbons lonely, only dead set on going home. That look, you’ve seen it before. When Katerina found out. It runs a chill up your spine.

Your Ugg boots, old and lined with matted fur and frayed pom poms practically stomp their way out of the devil’s den. Into the glass elevator and down to the first floor. You’re grateful to see that the snickering girls have left. It’s only you and him in this big, lonely skyscraper.

You whistle louder than you ever have for a cab and one brakes so quickly it makes your head spin. Even in pink ribbons and pom pom boots, you must look furious.

A huff as you make your way inside and tell the scruffy man where to go, mind preoccupied with the fact that you’ve most likely just lost your new job on the very first day you’ve had it…

🏷️’s: @laysmt @needybitez | chap 4 song 🎧:

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anakin-pilled · 1 year

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SILVER SPRINGS (Lo'ak x Fem! Reader)

pairing: lo'ak x fem! reader

wordcount: 7.6k

warnings: angst, fandom cliches, amateur writing, bantering, unrequited love (?), complex family dynamics, A LOT OF CLICHES IM SORRY, bad pacing (my bad bro idk how to pace a story im new to this), not sure what else as this is pretty tame

rating: SFW! though my blog is 18+ because i interact with nsfw content, anyone can technically read this?

taglist: @teyamsatan

author's note: okay hi this is my first fanfic that i've ever written before? not counting fanfics i wrote in middle school anyway i got the idea for this fanfic after listening to silver springs by fleetwood mac and i was so obsessed with this idea that i had to make it come true? im a huge neteyam girly so this is a shocker that my first fic ever is about lo'ak (he's my babygirl, just not the LOML like neteyam). uhhh im only familiar with academic writing and this is my first time EVER dipping my toe into the waters of creative writing so pls bear with me if this is not perfect. i actually think this is quite flat and tbh i hate the pacing like its actually awful and there is so much room for improvement, but hey what can i do? IM A NEWBIE AT THIS!! with that being said, if you do decide to read, please treat me with some grace because i am sensitive and i did this purely for fun!!! i know my lo'ak stans are starving for fics and im here to deliver!!!! i am not a professional or seasoned writer by any means but i really tried my best to create something enjoyable ): i don't know why this ended up being so long but it did and there WILL be a part two, i already have it outlined. SO WITHOUT FURTHER ADO, here is my first avatar fanfiction!!

proofread and edited but i got lazy toward the end LOL if you see any mistakes, please tell me kindly <3

You could be my silver spring

Blue-green colors flashin'

I would be your only dream

Your shinin' autumn ocean crashin'

The forest blended into a mixture of vibrant colors as you ran away from the incoming threat. Beautiful shades of blue, green, and purple passed around you. The feeling of the bare ground, soft and pliant from the morning dew, normally imbued you with a sense of stability and peace. As long as your feet were on the ground and connected to Ewya’s bountiful moon, you knew everything would be alright. However, this time, the feeling of the bare ground underneath your feet felt the opposite of stable and peaceful. The ground served as a reminder of how much longer you had to run until you reached the safe confines of the Omitikaya clan.

You stopped running with a quick halt. Your chest heaved up and down as you tried to catch your breath. The beads in your hair clacked together in a cacophony as you looked around in different directions. The sun broke through the tree canopy and highlighted the forest like a kaleidoscope. Swish. You quickly turned your head to the other side to catch sight of what made the noise but all you could see was the rustling of the bush–as if whatever you were looking for was looking for you too before running off. Without a second to spare, you dashed in the direction of the village. But you only made it a few feet ahead of you before you were tackled by something heavy and shoved to the forest ground.

“I win.” said the voice from above in a triumphant, but annoying, manner.

“You got to be faster than that, ‘eylan.” As you shaded your eyes with your hand, you were met with the illuminating picture of Lo’ak on top of you. The sun shone above on Lo’ak and cast him in beautiful rays of light. He looked like an angel–like a celestial being sent straight from Ewya’s heart and into your eyesight. Though you have never seen an angel, Norm described them as ethereal and pure religious beings. And at this moment, Lo’ak was an angel.

“Get off me, fatass.” You said as you pushed Lo’ak weight off your body. You secretly loved the weight of his body on yours and how it radiated a warmth that hugged your body and soul. Lo’ak rolled off with ease and laid next to you on the foliage. “Hey! No need to insult me because you lost yet another round of hunter and prey.”

Hunter and prey. A game that all Omitcayan children played growing up. And though you and Lo’ak were no longer children, you continued to play this game. Lo’ak claims it’s a great way to burn energy and let loose. You suspected he liked playing so often because it allowed him to avoid whatever daily chores his father, the Olo’eyktan, assigned him. And while you could think of better ways to spend your time, you indulged in Lo’ak’s childish whims because it brought him happiness. What type of best friend would you be if you didn’t?

“I’m not insulting you because I lost. I could care less about losing,” You explained. “I’m insulting you because tackled me to the ground and put your entire weight on my body. Lay off the yovo fruit and I might insult you less.”

Lo’ak scoffed at your response and stuck his tongue out in a mocking manner. “You mean the yovo fruit that Spider and I specifically collected because you asked for it? Yeah, I got put on ikran pen duty for a week after that since we missed curfew.”

You simply rolled your eyes and aimed your middle finger at Lo’ak. Yeah, you definitely spent way too much time around Lo’ak.

You both basked in the sun and listened to the sound of the forest: your home, your comfort place, the lifeline of the People. You thanked Eywa every day for the forest and the way it provided for you endlessly–from the delicious yovo fruit, to the medicinal herbs, fauna, and everything in between. There was a gentle rustle in the air as it approached low afternoon. If closed your eyes and listened hard enough, you could hear the faint buzz of the insects and the leaves fluttering.

As you turned on your side to face Lo’ak, you noticed he still had his eyes shut. Your eyes raked over his stripes–the stripes that would forever be engrained in your brain–and focused on the armband that fits snugly on his upper arm. The weaved armband was made out of dried, violet stalks from the tstxa'a plant and braided into a traditional, intricate Omatikayan pattern. You added tiny clay beads that you hand-molded and painted a color very similar to a marigold–you captured copious amounts of juice from the banana fruit just to have enough pigment to create a dye. A small smile appeared on your face as you recall how long it took you to make the armband.

Your eyes slowly made their way toward his face. They widened as they realized Lo’ak’s eyes were open and staring at you too. The air was charged with tension as you both continued to stare at each other in silence.

You and Lo’ak always had this weird ability to communicate through eye contact alone. Your friendship, which was forged in childhood, ran so deep that words failed to represent what your eyes could. He was your other half as much as you were his. In these small moments of intimacy, you remember just how much you love Lo’ak. There was an unspoken bond between you two–a bond that went beyond friendship and teetered on the edge of romantic love. And while it was undeniable that there was something more happening between the two of you, your relationship stayed on that flimsy edge.

“What are you thinking about,” you whispered in a tone so soft that it reached Lo’ak ears like a tender caress.

“Oh, nothing. Just thinking,” Lo’ak replied with a teasing lilt in his voice and a glitter in his amber eyes. While everyone in the Omatikaya clan had the same shades of bright, yellow eyes, you thought Lo’ak had the prettiest. You raised the muscle on your face, where your eyebrows would have been if you had, and furrowed your forehead in suspicious knowing.

“Thinki-” “I’m thinking about how funny it would be if I beat your ass in another round of hunter and prey! Last one to the village has to take over foraging duty!,” Lo’ak shouted with a boyish smile as he got up quickly and ran in the direction of his kelku.

You got up from the lush grass and ran after him with another exacerbated breath.

The day drawled along as you patrolled the forest for the dandetiger tree. You looked for its long, azure leaves and armored trunk. As a healer in training, you were tasked by Mo’at to look for the tree for samples of the resin-like substance that it leaked. The sticky substance was extremely helpful to the Omatikaya clan in many ways as it behaved like an adhesive. It was especially important to healers as they used the dangetiger tree as part of treating wounds and ensuring bandages stuck and protected healing wounds. The healing hut ran low on its supply, thus you found yourself wandering through the forest. Kiri offered to accompany you, but you could tell she rather focus on perfecting the paste she was mixing. A major perk of being best friends with Lo’ak is that you also became close with his family and found a small niche within the Sully family.

You were an extension of Lo’ak, but also the opposite of him in some ways. Whereas Lo’ak was more energetic and impulsive, you were calmer and sensical. You both balanced each other perfectly; you were the yin to his yang. While Lo’ak’s nature often got him in trouble with his family, namely his father and older brother, you loved his high energy and zest for life. Sure, he could use more pragmatism in his daily thinking, but you saw Lo’ak’s personality as a blessing more than a hindrance, especially in times of war and destruction. If Lo’ak was your sun, then you were his moon–stable and outer-worldly. You were unwavering. Your nurturing nature and kind soul always amazed Lo’ak, even in the worse of times, you took it upon yourself to think and act as an optimist. You carried yourself with a sense of dignity that Lo’ak wishes he could replicate.

Though none of you ever admitted it out loud, you and Lo’ak knew that you loved each other in a way that best friends didn’t.

Despite your differences, you both had a passion for exploring and adventure. If Lo’ak went anywhere, you followed. And if he got in any trouble, you were only a few steps behind him. While Lo’ak intention for mischief was partially caused by the motivation to piss off his father, you believed that Eywa made Pandora for the purpose of exploring. Why would she make Pandora so magnificent and rich in life if not to experience every single crevice, nook, and cranny of it? While the forest would always be your home and the place you want to spend the rest of your life in, you could not deny the appeal of a nomadic lifestyle like the Olangi clan. However, with the return of the sky people on Pandora, your exploring had been cut to a short. Unable to venture into the unknown parts of the forest, the parts that resulted in a scolding or two from both your mom and Mr. Sully, you were forced to stay within the clan’s boundary lines.

Your thoughts were cut short as your heard movement in the background. The bag on your shoulder was discarded to the ground as you took out your bow and arrow. You were no warrior, but you begged Lo’ak to teach you enough to be able to defend yourself. Any Na’vi should know this little. You prayed to Eywa that it wasn’t a palulukan, or worse—a sky demon. A bead of sweat rolled down the side of your face as you aimed your bow in the direction of where you heard the noise. You aimed at the bushes before letting your final finger release the bow.

“Relax, syulang! It’s just me, Lo’ak!,” he said as he came out from the bushes of loreyu and walked to where you were standing. “Lo’ak,” you huffed with annoyance in your voice. “Don’t scare me like that, you skxawng! I was really focused on finding a dandetiger tree. Tsahik’s orders. What are you even doing here? I thought you were training with your father.”

“Lo’ak,” you huffed with annoyance in your voice. “Don’t scare me like that, you skxawng! I was really focused on finding a dandetiger tree. Tsahik’s orders. What are you even doing here? I thought you were training with your father.”

As Lo’ak walked closer to you, you noticed the downturn expression on his face. Your immediate heart softened. He must have had another fight with his father, you thought to yourself. Lo’ak turned his face toward yours and you saw the unshed tears in his eyes that threatened to fall any second now.

“I, uh, I was training with my father until we got into a fight and I stormed off,” he said with a shaky breath. You could tell Lo’ak was trying to keep his composure, not wanting to show that vulnerable side he desperately tries to hide away. Yet, you knew better than that. Every time Lo’ak tried to shut down and hide his emotions, you came running after him and knocked down the fragile walls he built around himself. The walls were fragile because Lo’ak knew he would and could never shut you out completely. He took a deep, shaky breath before continuing, “I’m just so sick of it. He expects me to be this perfect son and soldier all in one, but I’m not Neteyam. I’m just Lo’ak.”

You always thought Lo’ak was the most complex person you ever met. He was the second-born son of the revered Toruk Makto and mighty Palulukun Makto. But, Lo’ak was so much more than that to you. He was more than both of his parents. Though he would never admit it, Lo’ak was a lost soul. Not quite like Neteyam, the mighty warrior and dutiful son, or the spiritual Kiri who was literally like Ewya’s disciple. Hell, even everyone knew Tuk would grow into a fine, strong-spirited woman! Lo’ak didn't know where he fit in his family. Of course, the Sully family loved him, and Lo’ak loved his family just as much. But that still didn’t stop the gnawing, deep feeling in Lo’ak’s subconscious from telling him that he would never amount to greatness like the rest of his family. You wished Lo’ak wouldn’t be so hard on himself because you also had a deep feeling in your subconscious that Lo’ak was destined for greatness–the feeling was embedded so deep in your bones that you would bet your left on it.

“I know that I’m a fuck up.”

“You’re no-”

“It’s okay, syulang. I know I’m a fuck up. I can see it in the tribes’ faces every time they hear my father lecture me, or worse, hear Neteyam lecture me. I can see it in my fathers’ eyes and in the way the rest of my family pities me.”

“Your family doesn’t pity you, Lo’ak. If anything, they pity the way your father has been forced into this weird dichotomy of the punisher and protector ever since the sky demons returned and how it’s taken an effect on your relationship,” you tried to explain as sweetly as possible.

You took a step closer to Lo’ak and examined his face. Though his tears had dried and his eyes were now puffy, you could still tell there was a great sadness within him. You wished you could take all his pain and suffering so he didn’t have to.

“I don’t know who I am besides the fuck up, or the troublemaker. I feel like my entire existence is defined by all the things I am not. Defined by the way I’m different from Neteyam or Kiri. I want to be defined by who I am, but I don’t even know who that is most of the time,” said Lo’ak. “I try so hard, but it is never enough to satisfy my father. Or myself. I feel this heavy pressure in my chest and no matter what I do to relieve it, it stays. If I am not meant to be the next Olo’eyktan or the next Tsahik, then who am I meant to be? Sure–I am training to become a warrior, but I’m not sure if this is something I want or if it is a role I am forced into. I know I’m impulsive and reckless and irresponsible, but I try so hard, but what if that isn’t enough to look over all my flaws and mistakes?”

You moved even closer and tucked one of Lo’ak’s front braids behind his ear. You always loved his hair like this. It suited his face so well. His braids were adorned by various beads, each with its own significance and memory attached to them. The beads he wore today were a pretty amethyst color. Your mind quickly flashbacked to the day you both created the matching beads. You both swam all day in one of the forest’s ponds trying to find the purple stones underwater so you could both craft new beads. Lo’ak almost passed out from lack of air twice and your hair was so tangled by the end of the day that it took your mother three hours to undo the gnarly knots. It was totally worth it, however, because you gained new accessories and memories to match. But before you could let yourself get too far away in the past, you shifted your attention towards Lo’ak and began to speak.

“I see you, Lo’ak. I see all of you. I know that you feel like a lost soul and that you get too caught up in comparing yourself to the rest of your family. And I truly wished you didn’t compare yourself to others so much because you are so special.” Lo’ak’s face grew warm at your words. Before he could respond, you interrupted him and continued to talk. “You feel like you are too different from your family and think you do not fit in, but you do! You are the light of your family; you bring laughter and happiness. The Sully dynamic would not be the same without you–it would be too serious and no one would have fun! Lo’ak, you have a strong heart like your father. Even though you could use some impulse control, I know you never have ill intentions. We are still so young and have so much more maturing to do. Do not let yourself be defined by the mistakes of your past. Mistakes are bound to happen–they are as natural as birth and death. You’re the light of my life too. Without you, there is no one else in this clan that could make me smile as much as you do. No one to explore with and quench our thirst for curiosity. You say that you are impulsive, but there is too much excitement in your body to contain it. I love seeing your excitement and wander–it is a reminder of Pandora’s goodness and the way Eywa intended us to live. You are not irresponsible, you are just learning along the way like we all are. There is no one like you, and my heart is torn because you do not see yourself in the same way. I pray to Eywa that you could see yourself through my eyes.” You then placed one hand on Lo’ak’s chest, right above his heart.

“Nga yawne lu oer, Lo’ak.” There was no going back now. You said it–the words that would either be fatal to your soul or make your heart sore higher than the Hallejuah Mountains. And though there was a risk of Lo’ak rejecting you completely, you jumped off the fragile cliff that your friendship lived on. All the intimate moments, the knowing smiles, and the lifetime of shared memories led you to this moment.

A moment of silent pass as you waited for Lo’ak’s response to your confession. Lo'ak did not expect you to confess, but he knew at some point it was bound to happen. Just not right now, under these cruel circumstances, in a time of devastation.

You shouldn’t have confessed. Lo’ak wasn’t ready for it.

The look in your eyes was so sincere and so full of unconditional love. You are the only person who could truly see Lo’ak for everything that he is and everything he was meant to become. The light hit your eyes in the right way and Lo’ak could swear they were glittering. Ewya blessed her with both heart and beauty, he said in his head. Lo’ak could only stare as he still reeled from your heartfelt speech. He wasn’t an idiot—Lo’ak knew that there was a special chemistry between him and his best friend. And he also knew that it was the type of chemistry that only two people in love have. Lo’ak has known ever since he was a small child that you were his endgame. Your years spent together only solidified his hypothesis.

Life on Pandora could be unforgiving and unrelenting, but you were the complete opposite. You were forgiving, always ready to accept Lo’ak back into your arms and heart after every mistake he made. Though these mistakes were rarely made towards you, you still welcomed him every time. You were always there for him. But, Lo’ak didn’t fall in love with you because of the fact you were always there for him. It did play a big part, but Lo’ak knew that would be a selfish reason for falling in love. Instead, Lo’ak fell in love with you because you were…well, you. You were kind and always treated your fellow clan members with the utmost consideration and respect. You were perceptive, never wanting to misconstrue a situation and analyzing all nuances before speaking on something. Because of this, everything you said or did was genuine. Lo’ak loved this the most about you. Where Lo’ak felt everyone in the clan (excluding his family and Spider) give him fake niceties, you were 100% authentic towards him. You never condescendingly spoke to him or treated him like a chore that had to be put up with. Compassion and understanding were what you treated Lo’ak with. These are all things he rarely experienced with other Na’vi. Yet, you also weren’t afraid to call out Lo’ak on his bullshit and humble him. You somehow balanced outspokenness and tenderness all at once. This lit a fire in Lo’ak soul.

This thought both excited and scared him. The thought of loving someone unconditionally, and being loved unconditionally, seemed like something too good to be true. Only something reserved for people who deserved it. Lo’ak knew you deserved unconditional love, but it couldn’t be with him. Despite everything you said about him and the way it almost glued together his broken self-esteem, Lo’ak could not return your confession in good consciousness. It’s not that Lo’ak didn't love you–hell, he loves you more than anyone or anything on this moon! But, his insecurities would not allow you to love him or allow him to love you. He didn’t deserve to love or be loved, not when his insecurities kept up awake at night, taunting his brain with “You’ll never be good enough” or “You’re a failure of a son and brother.” You deserved better than Lo’ak and all of his broken parts. You needed someone who was the best–someone like Neteyam, but not Neteyam himself because that would be the final nail in Lo’ak’s coffin. Lo’ak knows his recklessness, impulsivity, and natural gravitation toward the unknown was acceptable because he is young. These may be the traits you love about Lo’ak now, but he knows very well these are the same traits that can make you fall out of love with him too. After all, you won’t be young forever and it won’t be cute forever. But what if he never grows out of this? What if this is who he is meant to be? No, Lo’ak would not subject you to this fate.

And so, for once in his life, Lo’ak let fear take over his decision. Your face morphed into an expression of shock and confusion before settling on a still face.

“I am sorry, syulang. I can’t do this right now.”

You watched Lo’ak retreat from the spot you both stood in. What the fuck just happened?

You spent the next few days in a strange haze as you processed what happened between you and Lo’ak. At first, you were angry. How could Lo’ak just leave you hanging like that? For Ewya’s sake, he could have said anything else and it would have been a better response than what he said. You laid your fucking heart out on your sleeve, waiting for Lo’ak to take it and claim it forever. After your initial response to the situation, you started to worry. Maybe you misinterpreted your relationship. What if Lo’ak didn’t love you and you just thought he did because of how close you were? No, that didn’t sound right. You knew Lo’ak loved you too. Not even in a delusional way to comfort yourself, but there was no denying you both loved each other. Did you just confess at the wrong time? Perhaps it would have been better if you confessed when Lo’ak wasn’t fighting with his father. But, you didn’t even mean to confess! Well, you did mean to confess but not at that exact moment. You were trying to comfort Lo’ak and reassure him that he was wrong, that someone could love him. It just seemed like the right thing to say. What if it wasn’t? What if it overwhelmed Lo’ak and pushed him away? Now you felt like the jerk for confessing at such a moment. But Lo’ak was a jerk too for just leaving you! You really wished you could talk to him, or that he would talk to you, but the timing was horrible. The war party went out a few days ago, and it was Lo’ak’s first time joining the mission. But of course, things never go as planned. Over-enthusiasm from Lo’ak’s and an injured Neteyam caused Mr. Sully to put Lo’ak on lockdown for the last few days. This was the first day Lo’ak was allowed some freedom to explore, that’s what Kiri told you before she left with her brother, Spider, and Tuk. You wanted to join them in their adventure today, but you were still reeling from your last conversation with Lo’ak and decided it would be better to stay in the village. You needed one more day to unscramble your thoughts before approaching him.

The tension between you and Lo’ak had been festering, but it quickly came to a stop once you saw him walk back into the village with his entire family. Jake and Neytiri walked walk in front of their children with heavy looks on their faces. Jake looked angry, yet worn at the same time. His mouth was pressed in a tight line and the wrinkles in his forehead looked more apparent than they ever have before. Neytiri walked beside Jake with Tuk’s hand in hers in a tight grasp, as if she never wanted to let her baby go ever again. Her expression was harder to read, but you could tell the tsakarem was worried by her stiff posture. Kiri trailed behind her parents with a slouchy form and arms across her torso. She looks dejected. And finally in the back were Neteyam and Lo’ak. Spider was nowhere to be seen, which you found odd as he went with the rest of the Sully children into the forest, but you assumed he must have gone back to the human outpost before curfew.

I wonder what happened. Something must have happened if the entire family walked in like that.

Jake and Neytiri quickly made their way to their kelku and closed the opening flaps before any of their children could come in. The Sully children then made their way toward the side of their kelku and leaned forward on their hands as they attempted to listen to their parent's conversation. You wanted to make your way towards them and figure out what the hell happened. Just as you were about to walk over to them, Lo’ak turned around and his eyes scanned the village as if he were looking for something or someone. Lo’ak’s eyes then met yours and with a small nod, you understood what he was trying to say. Later. At our spot.

Your stomach turned to bubbles as a feeling of cold anxiety washed over your body. You weren’t sure if it was because of Lo’ak or something else, but you knew whatever it was, it was not good.

Lo’ak was already sitting on the bioluminescent forest floor when you arrived at the small clearing which was designated as our spot. It was a hidden clearing–away from any of the main trails and hunting and gathering spots that the clan used. You first found the clearing one day after playing a round of hunter and prey with Lo’ak and Spider.

Flashback

You were both 12 years old. Your hair was cut in a sharp, shoulder-length bob because you claimed long hair only got in the way. A bright orange and yellow ombre feather decorated the underside of your hair. A simple beige-toned weaved top and matching ‘tewng adorned your small body as you ran away from Lo’ak. He loved playing the role of hunter–you assumed it because of the way Lo’ak looked up to his father. He wanted to be like the Olo’eyktan in every way possible. This was before their relationship had a strain in it. Both you and Lo’ak were unmarred from the harshness of war. The only thought that filled both of your minds was what adventure you would get into next.

As you giggled profusely and thought of where to run next, you noticed that you were in a different part of the forest that you never visited before. You searched for any familiar landmarks, or plants that would signify where you were. The giggles that previously escaped your mouth quieted down as the situation dawned on you. You were lost in the forest all alone! Your mom was going to kill you, but only if a nantang or palulukun didn’t kill you first.

“Lo’ak, are you there!!!!!,” you screamed at the top of your lungs. That probably wasn’t the smartest move. A predator could be attracted to your sound. But you figured it would be better to call for Lo’ak. If any predators came, you could climb a tree and wait it out.

“Lo’ak!!!” you continued. Worry was starting to creep in. If you didn’t find Lo’ak soon, there was no way you would be able to survive the night in the forest.

As you looked around the clearing again, you noted that it was quite pretty. A small pond, decorated with pink paysyuls, sat in the middle of the forest. The sun streamed through the trees and you could see the fishes elegantly swim in the water. A pack of loreyu sat directly across the pond, along with eanean bushes right next to it. The clearing was simple, but you knew that it was much more than that. Like everything else Eywa created, the clearing served a purpose and was spiritually connected to the Na’vi. Perhaps its purpose was unknown until this moment. You decided that the purpose of the clearing would be a secret spot only known to both you and Lo’ak. The thought excited you, and you quickly imagined a lifetime of moments here.

Flashback Over

Lo’ak sat with his arms extended behind him with his back facing you. You could see the tension in his back muscle as he sat there, looking up towards the night sky. One of Polyphemus’ moons was shaped like an ikran claw. Despite the moon’s brightness in the sky, the stars still twinkled. A soft, minty green glow emitted from the bioluminescent leaves Lo’ak sat upon. His tanhi, patterned perfectly on his body like Ewya directly hand placed each freckle herself, glowed like the sky above him. Lo’ak was lost in his thoughts as he silently spoke to Ewya, questioning what her intention was. You cleared your throat to grab Lo’ak’s attention.

“Hey…” he muttered under his breath. You replied with a soft hello before taking your place next to him. There was still an awkward tension lingering between the two of you, but you pushed it away. Whatever happened a few days ago didn’t matter anymore. You knew something serious happened in the Sully family and you knew your best friend needed you right now.

“Do you want to tell me what happened this time?” you quoted Lo’ak as you looked into his eyes for the first time in a few days. The dark lighting only enhanced the rich shade of his honey-colored eyes. They glowed brightly in the dark. His eyes resembled the shiny topaz glass jewels located deep in the rainforests’ many caverns–both were a sight to behold.

Lo’ak thought he should rip the bandage off. There was no point in delaying the traumatic news he just received from his parents.

“My family and I are leaving the forest.”

You were confused by his statement. Leaving where? There was no other place to go. The forest was your home, his home. “Do you mean that you’re visiting another tribe for diplomatic reasons,” you asked with a slight tilt in your head to match confusion. Why would this be so important that he needed to meet you at your spot? This wouldn’t be the first time the Sully family has left on diplomatic retreats.

“No, (Y/N). My family and I are leaving the forest permanently,” Lo’ak replied. Your heart dropped into the pits of your stomach. Now you were just getting annoyed. You haven’t spoken to Lo’ak in the days, and the first thing he does is try to pull at your leg. “Lo’ak if this is a joke, then it’s not funny. What are you talking about?” you said with a stern voice. Lo’ak stared at you as if he didn’t want to explain further. It’s true, he didn’t want to explain further because it meant that what was happening was real and there was no way to delay or stop the situation.

“Earlier today, when we were exploring the forest, we saw footprints in the dirt that didn’t belong to any Na’vi. It was sky demons. We followed the footsteps to an abandoned shack. I knew we weren’t supposed to be there, but then we spotted a group of uniltìranyu in military gear. I quickly paged my father and let him know what we found. But as we were trying to leave back to the forest, the uniltìranyu captured us and held us hostage…”

“What?” you let out in shock. The magnitude of Lo’ak’s words hit you like a poisoned arrow. Dreamwalkers? How could that be true? The last dream walker to walk the ground of Pandora was Jake Sully…and that was 14 years ago.

“I-I thought we were going to die. They treated us like we were animals. As if we were the ones who invaded their planet and deserved to be captured and hung. All I felt was primal fear and the instinctual reaction to protect my family. We were held hostage until my parents and brother came to our rescue. But, it was too late by then. They figured out who were and our relation to my father. They even captured Spider…” Lo’ak had to stop speaking. The familiar tightening of his throat began. You could tell he was about to cry, but you pushed further. Honestly, your brain was fuzzy at this point. It was so fuzzy to the point that you didn’t even process the news of Spider, your tiny human friend, being captured. It completely slipped your mind. You didn’t have time to think about the implications of this news as you could only process one thing and one thing only: Lo’ak was leaving. The Sullys were leaving!

“What does that have to do with you leaving the forest?”

“Don’t you understand, syulang? They know who we are. Our lives are at risk! The whole clan is at risk if we continue to stay.” Lo’ak explained in frustration. “I don’t want this, I don’t want to leave the only place I’ve ever known. How can I leave the forest while Spider is out there, going through Eywa knows what, with those demons? How can I leave you?” Fat, wet tears streamed down Lo’ak’s face as he spoke.

Crack. The sound of your heart breaking reverberated in your ears. All you could hear was a dull ringing. Your best friend, the love of your life–how could he just leave like that? You questioned the will of Eywa. How could she be so cruel to tear you both apart? Especially after your confession the other day? You wanted to curse and scream and cry all at once. However, you knew you had to be strong for Lo’ak.

You held Lo’ak’s body in silence. You were both in a catatonic state. An hour or so had passed since his initial confession. The atmosphere was serene, a heavy contrast from the dark storm brewing in both of your minds. This may be the last time you would ever get to hold Lo’ak like this and fully enjoy his presence. All of the years spent together slowly meshed in your mind as you tried to calm yourself down with memories of happier times. You honestly didn’t know how you could survive this life without your other half.

Lo’ak wasn’t faring any better than you. His continuous sniffles vibrated on your body. He barely looked up, wanting to savor the feeling of your bodies pressed together in such an intimate way. His mind was in a haze as he processed the situation. This wasn’t real life, it couldn’t be real life. His life was perfectly balanced with you. If Eywa sought to protect the balance of life, why would she take you away from him? Why would she take away Spider?

Tomorrow is never promised. That is a cruel lesson you learned today. It was probably best that you and Lo’ak head back to the village and sleep, but you didn’t want this night to end. You wanted to savor every last moment. Memorize every stripe on Lo’ak’s body, every green speck in his eyes, the way his eyebrows moved, and how his body felt right next to yours. How could you say goodbye to 14 years of memories in one night? It seemed impossible.

As you stared at the light reflecting off the pond, you knew there was one topic you had to broach. You weren’t sure if this was the right time, but it was the only chance you had. After all, Lo’ak only had one more day in the clan before his family set off to Eywa knows where. You knew the forest of Pandora held many clans, but you suspected his family would be going somewhere even further than that. You tried to calm the rapid pace of your heart, but your nerves refused to settle down. So, you sent a quick prayer to Ewya, turned to Lo’ak, and quietly said, “The other night, when I said I love you, why didn’t you say it back?”

You didn’t want to fight with Lo’ak–not on a night like this, where blood has been shed and a family has been torn from normalcy. But, you had to talk to Lo’ak about this. What if you never saw him again? You couldn’t live the rest of your life with unresolved feelings. It would drive you utterly insane and wreck your soul for as long as you live.

(Y/N)...”

“I’m being serious, Lo’ak. Why did not you say it back? I know this is the last thing on your mind right now, but you cannot leave me hanging. You owe me more than that and you know it,” you said with determination in your voice.

You then stood up. This was not a conversation you could have sitting down. The anxiety coursing through your veins made it impossible to sit still. Lo’ak followed your actions and stood up too.

“I was afraid,” he replied.

“Afraid of what Lo’ak? We have always been so honest with each other.” You thought you would always understand Lo’ak, but perhaps you were mistaken. You didn’t understand what there was to be afraid of. You both loved each other, shouldn’t that be enough? You failed to realize that love isn’t enough sometimes. There are forces beyond your control that make love unsustainable and out of your reach, despite how close you are to it. Eywa did not teach you this lesson. Lo’ak did.

Lo’ak was faced with two choices at this moment: he could confess his love to you or he could deny it. He so desperately wished he could choose the first choice. Something within him would not allow himself to whether it was because he was about to leave and he could not promise himself to you, or because he was so far deep in his inner turmoil. Lo’ak felt anger bubbling in his chest. This anger wasn’t directed towards you, but himself. He cursed his inability to allow himself to fully love you because of his internal issues. No, he justified the second choice in his mind with weak reasons as to why he could not confess his love.

If he said confessed, Lo’ak knew you would spend the rest of your days waiting for his return. If he ever returned. You deserved more than that. You deserved someone who could love you now. The prospect of you waiting for him, only for Lo’ak to stay the same Na’vi he was now, a version of himself that wasn’t proud of, haunted him. Yeah. Lo’ak framed his reasoning to focus on you, rather than himself because it made the harsh reality less painful. Damn the fact he was leaving, he would wait 100 years for you too if he confessed. The reality was Lo’ak could not confess his love because he couldn’t give his all to you, not when his judgment and self-worth were clouded by thoughts so dark that Eywa would be heartbroken to learn one of her children, whom she created with love and adoration, did not love himself.

Either way, he was about to break your heart for the second time within days.

“You are the other half of my soul and if there is any person who can understand me, it is you. But, I cannot love you. I’m sorry syulang.” There was a sorrowful look across Lo’ak’s face. Your body deflated at his words and the familiar sting of tears gathered in your eyes. He didn’t want to continue, but if was going to break your heart, you at least deserved a proper explanation.

“You are the most lovely and wonderful woman on this planet; the idea of you not being in my life hurts more than a palulukan attack. But I swear on my life to Eywa when I say this, but it is not you. It’s me. You have always been this positive being in my life, and I always hoped it would rub off on me and make me a better man. I thought, maybe if that ever happened, we could be together in the future. I would finally be worthy of all the love you have to offer. I am not good enough for you. I would only drag you down with the weight of my heavy problems,” Lo’ak finished.

“But it’s not your choice to decide who deserves me,” you let out with an exasperated tone. “How can you stand here in front of me and deny the bond we have? The love we have? The other day when I confessed that I see you and you ignored it, I brushed it off my shoulder because I was sure, with every fiber of my being, that you see me too. That you love me. But now you are leaving, and Eywa knows when the fuck you are coming back, and you can't even admit it out loud?” you questioned.

“Don’t you get it? I am not doing this because I want to deny the bond we have. I feel our bond every day from the time I wake up to the time I go to sleep. Even in my dreams, you are there. Your essence is built into the foundation of my bones. I just can’t love you. No good would come of it. I’m the clan’s outcast. Yes, we are best friends and we know each other like the back of our palms. But I won't let you carry the burden of my imperfectness,” Lo’ak choked with a sob at the end.

Without missing a beat, you tirade, “I think everything you are saying is complete bullshit. How could be absolute about something that has not been realized? We have spent the last 14 years together. I know you better than I know myself, Lo’ak. And I know you see me too, so what are you so afraid of? There is nothing that you could ever do that would scare me away from loving you. I love you for who you are–flaws and all. I notice everything about you, the good and the bad. I know you have feelings so big and nerve-wracking that you do not know how to handle them except by convincing yourself that they are true. But you cannot stand in my face and claim that this is for my own good. No, you are saying all this because you are too scared of the possibility that I might see through all that and decide that you are not worth the trouble, that every judgment the clan and your father says about you is right.”

You stepped a few feet away from Lo’ak and then turned towards the direction of the village. He hadn’t said a word since you finished your speech. Your entire back was facing Lo’ak until you turned your head over your shoulder to look back at him. The tears that pooled in your eyes began to flow like a sad waterfall that was dying, the tears slowly rolling down your stripped cheeks in an antagonizing matter. Your golden eyes stared into Lo’ak’s. He could see the hurt etched across your iris and he was sure his eyes looked just as pathetic and broken. It was a moment that would forever be engrained into Lo’ak’s memory. You opened your mouth and delivered the final blow to this already crestfallen night,

“Maybe I was wrong, maybe you don’t see me. Because if you truly did, you would know that I would not care about your weaknesses. I don’t even care about them now. I refuse to believe that you cannot love me too. You are a lot of things Lo’ak. A coward is not one of them. I’ll see you tomorrow to say goodbye.”

And at this moment, Lo’ak knew this was the biggest of all his fuck ups. He had managed to ruin a lot of good things and moments. Never knowing when the party is over and when the business began. When it came to you, his sweet tìyawn, Lo’ak never made any serious mistakes. So why was he doing it now? Lo’ak’s eyes burned as he stared at your figure walking away from him and the future you could’ve had together.

translations: eylan - friend, Olo’eyktan - male clan leader, tstxa'a - canalyd, kelku - home, palulukan - thanator, syulang - flower, loreyu - helocordian, skxawng - moron, Toruk Makto - toruk rider, Palulukun Makto - thanator rider, Tsahik - clan spiritual leader, Nga yawne lu oer - i love you, tsakarem - successor to the tsahik, ‘tewng - loincloth, nantang - viperwolf, paysyuls - water lily, eanean - blue plant, tanhi - bioluminescent freckle, uniltìranyu - dream walker, tìyawn - love

credits for dividers: leafs (x) green line (x)

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