#bad sentences and scribbles included

[kurocamille]

❝maybe frat boys aren’t so bad (aka miscommunication leads to makeup sex?!) ❞

Frat!Bakugou Katsuki x reader (second part of my frat!Bakugou series) mdni

part 1 / master list

5.3k+ words

after your hookup with Bakugou, somehow everyone knows. this means that you’re on mean girl Mika’s watchlist and that you’ll have to distance yourself from him. however, Bakugou gets it in his head that you don’t want to be with him, and when he sees you with Kirishima, he doesn’t think you’ll ever let him back in your life (or your bed). Turns out it was all just miscommunication…

warnings

part 2 of 2, jealous Bakugou, miscommunication trope, fingering, cunnilingus, hand job, blow job, making out, hickeys, he bites you once?, penis in vagina sex, loss of virginity, inexperienced reader, female/afab reader, creampie, “baby” as a pet name

It had been exactly one week since your night with Bakugou Katsuki. As you had expected, rumours about the two of you had reached far across campus in no time. After all, Bakugou is very popular.

Unfortunately, the result of this rumour was that everyone knew what happened… including Mika and her minions. So, last week, instead of waking up to an expected empty phone, it was instead alive with thousands of nasty messages.

When you opened them, the bulk of the message spam followed the same pattern. ‘You’re such a whore,” or “I can’t believe you’d steal Bakugou from Mika, you bitch,’ or, at worst, from the culprit herself, ‘I heard you got with Bakugou. If you think you can take him from me, you’re wrong. I’ve got loads of people who can fuck you up.’

Obviously feeling threatened, because only the lord knows what Mika can do with her money and power, you had chickened out and never replied to Bakugou’s message. No matter how much you wanted to see him again, it was not worth the damage Mika would inflict.

—-

Now, after seven days have gone by, all spent avoiding Bakugou like the plague, you finally think you can go to class and fly under the radar. You arrive on time as usual, sitting in the middle row of the lecture hall.

It’s a massive class, and although many people are already there, there are others filing in as the prof starts their lesson. You, being too engrossed in your note taking, don’t notice as a body slides into the empty seat beside you.

“Hey, what did I miss?” the voice says in a hushed tone.

You look up and see none other than Bakugou Katsuki, still very much blond and still very much attractive. Instead of replying you turn back to your notebook, tearing off a piece and quickly scribbling a message down.

You slip the note reading, ‘Literally nothing, pay attention during class!’ into Bakugou’s waiting hand. He huffs and attempts to speak to you again, but you face your paper and ignore whatever he’s saying.

“Please be quiet up there!” The professor calls him out, and he slouches down in his seat, begging for class to end.

After everyone finally gets dismissed, Bakugou tries to poke your shoulder to get your attention, but you’re already dashing out the door, praying that nobody saw you together.

“Wait, Y/N,” Bakugou calls for you, jogging to catch up to you. Damn him for having such long legs…

“Sorry, I can’t talk to you,” you reply. It comes out more harshly than expected, but no sense in trying to chummy up to him again if Mika was threatening you. So, you turn on your heel to leave him again.

“Just hear me out,” he blurts out, lightly grabbing your shoulder to make you face him.

You don’t move, instead you stand there with your hands on your hips, waiting for him to continue.

Finally, he gets the hint and speaks again. “I’m sorry if it was bad for you…”

What?! “It wasn’t bad for me, it’s just–”

“No, it’s okay if you don’t want to see me again, but I’d rather you tell it to me now, to my face,” he interrupts you mid sentence.

Ha, you think, Ironic that the frat boy doesn’t want to get ghosted, but as you had realized much longer before this, Bakugou is not your average frat boy. Although he looks like a pretty boy with no space for a committed relationship, he has much more depth than you could even imagine. Despite being a flirt and allegedly a playboy, Bakugou had only ever treated you with respect, so you suppose you at least owe him this one conversation.

“Bakugou,” you start, unsure of how to follow through to your point. “It wasn’t bad. If anything it was too good. I just– I just can’t afford to be seen with you.”

A hurt look flashes through Bakugou’s eyes before he gives a slow nod of understanding. “I get it, you don’t want to be with a guy like me. It’s alright, guess I won’t bother you anymore.”

“Wait, that’s not–” you start, but Bakugou is already walking away with his hands stuff in his pockets.

You stand in the middle of the busy hallway for a good few seconds before you hear a giggle that breaks you out of your daze. It’s Mika, she’s leaning on the wall we chatting to her friends.

“She’s almost as much of a player as Katsuki is,” she says to her friends in what she pretends is a whisper, but you know she wants you to hear.

“Yeah, but at least he’s good in bed. She seems like the desperate type.” All of them burst out into a fit of giggles. Y walk off, not even bothering to hear the rest of the conversation.

—

A month later, you haven’t heard from Bakugou at all, his one lone message still sits in your inbox, unanswered. You can’t help but be a little upset knowing it could’ve happened if not for the circumstances. It doesn’t matter, though, as far as you know Bakugou got back with Mika for a bit, dumped her, and is now moving through girls like a snowplough.

You’re sitting in a cafe when somebody plops down in the booth in front of you. He seems to recognize you, but you can’t fully place his fiery red hair and toothy grin. “Hey, Y/N, right?”

You furrow your brows. “Who’s asking?”

He laughs heartily at your question. “Sorry, I thought you might remember me. I’m Kirishima Eijiro. I was at that party a few weeks ago.”

Looking down, you see him offer a hand, which you shake quickly before placing your hands back in your lap. Even though the issue with Bakugou and Mika had blown over, and you had fallen back into your mundane life, you were still trying to avoid anything “boys and Bakugou” related.

“Well, I’ve been having some concerns about my buddy,” he thinks out loud.

“Are you really certain I could do anything about this?” you reply hastily. Maybe you shouldn't have said that so soon.

“That’s the thing,” Kirishima replies. “I’m not tryna blame you or anything, but I think you might be causing some… altercations… in his sex life.”

You smack your hands down on the table, catching the attention of surrounding customers. “What?!” You sink back down after receiving a glare from a neighbouring table.

“I didn’t mean that it was bad!” Kirishima speaks for you as you drown in embarrassment.

“Sorry, you kind of implied it though.” The flush on your cheeks doesn’t dissipate.

“Right, actually, moreso the opposite. You might’ve heard Bakugou’s been sleeping around a lot. He and Mika are officially over this time. I’m not going to tell you why, but what matters is that he’s been trying to make up for losing you, at least I think,” Kirishima spills.

You make a non-coherent splutter, but Kirishima doesn’t let you reply. “I tried to tell him this was all about Mika and her stupid followers, but he’s not into socials, and he’s stubborn as hell, anyway. He believes you’re avoiding him because of his reputation, but you’ve gotta help me. He’s been insufferable lately, and even as a member of our frat, the number of girls he’s been with is getting slightly concerning.”

Kirishima looks at you with begging eyes, and you know it’s serious if he came to see you. You look down at your lap, your heart racing with confusion and anxiety.

“I’m sorry, but how can you be so certain? I’d like to help, really, but I’m not sure where I come in,” you say slowly.

“Call him or something. Give him some closure, and let him know it isn’t because of his “player” mentality or whatever he’s got stuck in his head.” Kirishima gets up and places a bill down to pay for your food.

Just then, a familiar figure passes by and notices you through the window. You’re too wrapped up in your conversation with Kirishima to notice the way they ball their fists and huff away.

“Thanks. Hope to see you around.” Kirishima leaves you sitting there confused.

You sit there in awe at the conversation. Why are you supposed to care about Bakugou’s overactive libido anyway?

Sighing, you stare at your empty cup and decide to leave the cafe. It turns out it’s just starting to rain when you trudge back to your dorms, and you get drenched.

—

That night, you lay in bed, unable to fall asleep. Thoughts of Bakugou continue to invade your mind, and you hear yourself groaning in annoyance.

Maybe I should call him, you think. But, ugh, that’s kind of weird and pathetic.

However, the more you think about it, and him, the more your thoughts start to go back to your night in his car. You remember how it felt to have his big hands on your body, how they felt inside your–

You stop that thought before it can progress.

Again, you let your mind wander. If you think about it, if you actually wanted him again, would it really be fixing his libido? If it benefited both of you, it couldn’t be that awful to call him again.

Nevermind, you’re just thinking too much. How could you even consider it?!

Just go to bed, you beg yourself.

You stare up at the ceiling until your eyes blur out of focus, but somehow, somehow, everything leads back to him.

Flushing, you try not to think about his adept fingers moving in and out of you. Slowly, your panties get wetter and wetter, and you realize that the only way you’re ever going to get over him is by getting under him.

Finally, you decide to roll over and give in to your desires. The glow of your phone screen is glaringly bright, and it takes a moment for your eyes to adjust. When things come into focus, you unlock your phone and click on Bakugou’s number before you lose confidence

“Hello?” Bakugou’s raspy voice answers after five rings.

“Hey, Bakugou,” you whisper. “I wanted to tell you something. Don’t hang up, please.”

“Okay,” he yawns.

“Kirishima came to me today. Can we talk this over or something?”

“We are talking. And I know. I saw” is his gritted reply.

“You’re right, I’m in no place to be asking for anything. I’m sorry. I just need to talk to you in person. I need to get something off of my chest.”

“Oh, something? Or, somebody… like, Shittyhair?!” he practically seethes through the phone.

“Wait, what?!” you yelp.

“Why are you even calling me over if you’re with him.”

“What?” you repeat yourself. “I’m not with him?”

“You literally just said you saw him today,” he argues.

“That’s what I was calling about. He sai–” you start.

“If you’re coming to me with your boy problems, hang up.” You can tell he’s on the verge of leaving.

“No!” you huff madly. “If you’d let me finish, you’d know that he came to tell me he’s worried about you.”

“Oh, really? Are you sure? Because I’m pretty sure you’ve been fucking, since apparently I wasn’t good enough for you, or whatever,” he replies angrily.

“I swear, Bakugou,” you sigh. “I haven’t been with anyone since our night together.

Bakugou pauses before replying. “I don’t fully believe you. Especially when you just gave me proof you went out together”

You blush as you speak your next words, admitting something to him you thought would happen under different circumstances.

“I haven’t been with him, and I swear it, because…” you hesitate. “I’ve only ever been with you.

A sharp breath is blown out on Bakugou’s end, and you wonder what’s going through his mind.

“Seriously?” His breaths are suddenly slower and calmer.

“Yeah, I swear. Can I just talk to you in person? I really do need to tell you.”

Bakugou makes a slight shuffling noise on his end, and you hear someone’s murmuring in the background, likely one of his frat brothers.

“Fine. You want me to come to you?” he finally replies, giving in (almost too easily, in your eyes).

“Yes, please,” you reply quietly.

“I’ll be there soon.” With that, he hangs up.

After the same short drive from last time, Bakugou shows up in your dorm parking lot. He shoots you a text message that he’s here, and you greet him at the door.

It’s about one am, and despite your disheveled tank top and shorts, Bakugou is dressed as handsomely as ever. “Hi,” you say.

“Hi.” He gives you a sad smile in return.

“I want to apologize.” You bow your head shyly. “It was my fault for all the confusion. I should’ve told you what was up. I just didn’t want to mess up my chances with you or your relationship with Mika. Kirishima told me about everything that’s been happening.”

“It’s fine, I’m sorry, too,” he replies.

You look up in surprise. Altogether, pathetically, you had expected more grovelling, so this is unexpected.

“It was all Mika’s fault, anyway, and I promise things are over with us,” he says, his face pink with embarrassment. “And… I guess I could say that my judgement of you and Shitty hair was a little preemptive.”

“You think?” you laugh quietly.

“I really am sorry, okay.” He looks up at you and deep into your eyes to solidify his point.

Your face feels hot, and you’re sure he can see the growing blush across your cheeks. Even so, you smile and say, “So, are we good?”

“Yeah,” he replies, returning your smile.

There’s a long pause between the two of you, but it doesn’t feel awkward like you might expect. The gap between you feels like it’s closing, and eventually your lips are just barely touching. His breath fans over your face, and you grip his shirt, taking him in a kiss.

Bakugou holds you to him, his back pressed against the door of your dorm. When you slip your tongue against his, he doesn't decline. He gingerly holds you, squeezes your hip with one hand, and cups your face with the other.

“I don’t deserve you,” you sigh as Bakugou starts to pepper kisses all over your neck.

“You do, it’s me that doesn’t deserve you.” He moves your face so your gazes can meet.

Bakugou gives you one of his signature grins and catches you in another heated kiss. His tongue swiftly swipes across yours, causing you to moan in his hold.

When he changes the angle of kiss, you become entangled, your hips pressed flush against his, earning his groans in your ear. With his newly growing boner and your wettening panties, you feel unbearable lust growing.

“Can we go upstairs?” Bakugou asks.

You nod, keying yourselves in and rushing to your room that’s right around the corner.

As soon as the door opens a mere inch, Bakugou jumps back on you and pushes you down to the bed, a haze of desire over his eyes.

“Fuck, I’ve been waiting for this for so long.” He nips on your neck.

You can only moan in response when he kisses down your chest. Pulling your tank top over head, Bakugou, or Katsuki, you suppose, focuses his attention on your chest. Your body stiffens as he glides his tongue over your hard nipple..

“That feel good?” he asks when he pinches the other nipple while continuing to lick long stripes on your breast.

“Yeah,” you hum in reply.

You feel so good under Bakugou, writhing in pleasure as he sucks hickeys into your skin. You feel his hand sneak up to the top of your waistband and you yelp in surprise. “Ah! Katsuki”

“Can I continue what I started last time?” he says in a begging tone, lightly tugging at your panties.

“Please,” you moan equally as wanton as him, and you’re almost immediately spread bare for him.

Kissing down your chest, Bakugou gets spurred on by your moans. He gives your clit the sensation it's been craving. Slowly, pressure is added to the bundle of nerves, and you feel yourself seeping down onto your sheets.

When he sees your glistening pussy, he laughs, “So wet again, baby, and I’ve barely even touched you here.”

“I was getting wet thinking about you earlier,” you mumble into the back of your hand.

“Good.” He smiles. “Don’t think about other guys from now on, you’re all for me.”

There’s no time to reply in shock because Katsuki dips into your depths, swiping up and down your wetness. One finger slips inside smoothly, moving in and out with ease.

Testing it out, Katsuki moves down to your sex and adds his mouth to the mix. This new feeling sets your body on fire. What he’s doing to your body is more than anything you’ve ever experienced, and your core tightens uncontrollably.

“Wait, ah!” you cry out, but Bakugou doesn’t relent. Instead, he adds another finger and curls it into your g-spot.

Working in and out of your cunt, you feel yourself squeezing around his fingers. The feeling of his strong fingers moving inside of you and his lips sucking on your throbbing clit brings you to your limit embarrassingly quickly. You can’t find it in yourself to care, though, because it just feels so good.

With one last strangled moan, you cum, the pleasure sending you over the edge. You tingle all over post orgasm and feel your eyes slip into the back of your head for a second. As Bakugou continues to finger you, your body lifts off the bed into his mouth.

Then, suddenly, you feel something else coming. Something that you feel coming upon you just as fast as your orgasm. You try to sit up and stop Bakugou, but his hand keeps you pinned to the bed. The overstimulation on your body creeps up on you, and there’s a new pain that accompanies your pleasure, adding to your second high.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you cry out when Katsuki switches his fingers for his mouth.

Nimble fingers swirl circles on your clit as his tongue darts out to meet your pussy. It licks up and down, teasing your entrance with the occasional poke inside. And, when you’re least expecting it, it finally slides to your hole, working on thrusting as far into your depths as you can.

This feeling is incredible, and the way Bakugou groans into your pussy drives you mad. Feeling the finger leaving your clit, you whine, but it’s replaced with his tongue again. This time, his tongue switches between your folds and you clit, stimulating every inch of your already twitching sex.

“You’re so good, baby. Love this so much,” Katsuki murmurs when he lifts off of you for a moment.

“Kiss me, and let me touch you, too,” you moan, bringing his face to yours.

You aren’t bothered by the fact that he was just eating you out when you start dipping into each other’s mouths. If anything, the look in Bakugou’s eye tells you it turns him on more. The genuinely lewd look of his tousled hair and wide pupils raises your heartrate so high you can feel it beat inside your chest.

Absent-mindedly, you fumble with the buttons on Bakugou’s jeans. He helps you by leaning back and pulling his shirt over his head. You don’t miss the way his muscles flex and the way he flaunts his abs.

Then, with a quick tug, Bakugou’s pants and boxers slide off. His dick stands proudly, pretty and thick as ever. You place your hand on it like you did last time. He responds well to your touch and groans lewdly when you give it a squeeze.

You slick your palm with spit, and Bakugou helps guide your hand back to his leaking cock. Together, with his hand wrapped around yours, you move on his member, fingers trailing along the prominent vein down the front.

Once you’ve built up a rhythm, you meet Katsuki’s tender gaze. The red of his irises disappear as his eyes flutter shut. He leans forward and recaptures your mouth in a slow but sloppy makeout.

You twist your hand on Bakugou eliciting a breathy moan from him. He twitches in your hand signalling his impending orgasm.

“Can I cum in your mouth?” His mouth is by your ear, moaning and releasing hot breaths to spur you on.

You freeze, and your motions stop. Bakugou notices your alarm and moves to look directly in your eyes. “You don’t have to– I would never force you.”

“No.” you shake your head. “It’s just that I’ve never done that.”

Bakugou’s eyes widen in shock temporarily then fall back. “You want me to teach you tonight, baby?”

You bite your lip meekly and nod your head. Bakugou grins in return, helping you down to his crotch. As you come face to face with his cock, it twitches releasing some precum out of the slit.

“Just put your lips on it. Do what feels right,” he says and pulls your hair into his hands.

You kiss his member just like you would his lips. The wet noises coming from your mouth are so loud and such a turn on for Bakugou. His grip on your head tightens, and he has to force himself not to push you down.

Bakugou hisses when you place the tip in your mouth and give it a hard suck. Wanting to please him even more, you take more of him deeply in your throat. At this point you feel impaled by his large dick with your nose just a few inches from his groin.

Despite your struggle to take him in entirety, Bakugou doesn’t notice and instead groans every time you slide down on him. You gag frequently, and you’re more than certain your teeth have grazed his shaft multiple times, but Bakugou acts like this is the best head he’s ever received.

The longer you go, the more moans fall out of his open lips. His head tilts back when you curiously brush a finger down his balls. He’s much more sensitive than you imagined he would be, and his hips thrust up uncontrollably.

“Fuck, sorry,” he groans, he pulls you off of him to check if you’re okay.

“It’s alright.” You lick him one last time. “Do you think we could maybe go all the way?”

Bakugou blinks at you wordlessly. Then, after about a minute of silence, and worry, on your part, he replies. “You mean, can I take your virginity?”

You hum in reply, and Bakugou throws you back to the middle of the bed

“I left the condoms in my car,” he realizes aloud.

“That’s okay,” you whisper in his ear as seductively as you can. “I’m on the pill.”

“Fuck, okay.” Bakugou acts like your response is the sexiest thing ever.

He leans down and kisses your neck one last time. You feel his cock against your stomach leaving a hot trail of precum on your skin. Everything about this moment is hot, but you can’t take his slow kisses any longer. You need him inside of you, thrusting deep into your core.

Just when you’re about to take matters into your own hands, Bakugou leans forward and brings himself to your entrance. It is at this moment that you realize how big he is, and that he’s going to try to fit that entire thing inside of you.

You let out a deep breath when he finally slips inside. The stretch is rough, his cock prodding your most intimate crevices. As he inches into your depths, he grasps onto your hand, pulling you to him in a surprisingly romantic way.

The way Bakugou moves within you is gentle, far softer than he was when he ate you out. You can only assume he wants your first time to be soft and sweet. He grips softly at your waist, slowly moving in and out. When your eyes meet, you give him a sweet smile and a nod, hoping he’ll move a little faster.

He takes the hint well, and suddenly Katsuki leans over you, your hands meeting his hardened chest. You jolt with both pain and pleasure after the first deep thrust. Then, as he pumps his cock more and more, you feel the pain fading away, the stretch to accommodate becoming pleasant.

After Bakugou notices your growing comfort, he goes ahead with pulling almost all the way out and thrusting back in. Differently from before, you can feel him even deeper, and your body arches to meet him when your groins come together.

Swiftly, Katsuki moves you from your back to a position where you’re sitting on his lap. The sensation of him thrusting up into you makes your toes curl and loud moans to fall from your lips. In turn, Katsuki groans and continues to rut his hips like it’s his sole mission.

“You tighten up when I’m in you like this, did you know?” Katsuki groans in your ear, his hot breath hits your skin and makes you shiver.

The feeling in your cunt overwhelms you, but it’s so good, and you know now you won’t be able to get enough. Meeting Bakugou’s thrusts, you attempt to ride him, earning deep groans in return. Bakugou screws his eyes shut and allows you to move opposite to his thrusts. With the constant movement, and the occasional brush against your pleasure spot, your cunt tightens further.

Bakugou grips your ass with his large hands, wanting to feel your insides constrict even further. Unbeknownst to you, this is his first time going raw, and it’s making him cum like it’s his first time, too. So, unashamedly chasing your highs, you grind against each other as fervently as you can.

The air in the room is hot, but the heat in between your bodies as you ride him is far hotter. Both of you elicit loud noises from the other, your neighbours probably hearing your moans through the wall. Normally something like this would embarrass you to no end, but Bakugou’s fucking you so well that you feel you inhibitions melt away along with your innocence.

The coil in your stomach twists, and you feel your high coming. However, Bakugou stops short and leaves you bouncing on him by yourself. After only a split second of confusion, Bakugou slaps your ass, leaning back into a pillow.

“Want me to ride you?” you breathlessly say, attempting to make your voice sultry and not actually inquisitive.

It fails, but Bakugou doesn’t make any visible notice. Instead, he grunts out a quiet ‘yeah, please’ and grips your flesh, moving you against him. The pleasure of having him grind you on him does wonders for your pussy, and the new angle he’s hitting you at has you seeing stars.

Unlike before, Bakugou’s cock hits your g-spot every time now that you're fully riding him. The new feeling sends waves of heat to your stomach, quickly pushing you towards the edge.

Katsuki had been holding out strongly for a while, but as soon as he leaned back and let you ride, he was pretty much done for.

He feels himself unable to control his orgasm, which is creeping up way too fast. You don’t mind, though, as you’re equally as close. When you feel his dick twitching deep inside you, balls contracting and signalling his release, your cunt tightens more than it ever has before.

“Fuck, I’m cumming!” Bakugou grips your ass and pushes himself up so he can thrust again.

You, on the other hand, yelp in surprise at him readjusting your position, moaning uncontrollably as he goes so deep you think he’s hitting your cervix. You fantasize about how Katsuki slips in and out of you with ease, balls coming up to hit your ass, which unknowingly makes you milk his cock harder.

With a surprising bite to your neck, Bakugou thrusts into you one last time, and calls out your name.

The spurts of cum he makes into your pussy have you cumming on the spot, as well. Both of you moan as you reach your highs together, Bakugou trying to quell his own by pressing his hot mouth to your skin.

“Katsuki!” you cry one last time, slumping forward onto his shoulder.

Neither of you have ever felt this good—you especially, never having thought your first time would be this wild. But Bakugou surprises you with his sexual prowess, and has you basking in a hazy afterglow, one that you won’t forget anytime soon.

You blissfully gaze at him as he continues to thrust ever so slowly, milking out your orgasmatic pleasure.

His eyes are half-lidded, yet you know he’s still very alert of your bodies. Then, he, for the first time since he penetrated you, lets go of your body for a split second, and you miss the warmth of his hands, but you’re quickly satisfied by him going to grab your waist.

Bakugou effortlessly pulls you off of his body, his heavy breathing, muscled chest catching your attention. The genuine ‘splurt’ that comes from between you two when he unsheathes himself makes you blush and awkwardly chuckle in embarrassment, but Bakugou stares amazedly at your pulsating cunt.

You try to cover yourself, despite the fact that he’d seen it all before, but his hand pries your legs apart and dives towards your pussy.

“Wait,” you abruptly say, hoping he’s not already wanting more.

“Hmm?” he hums, curiously drawing a finger down your slit.

“I’m not sure I can go again.” You look at him as he dips his fingers into you ever so slightly.

Instead of replying, Bakugou sets your nerves on fire with his feathery touches. Then, when you look down, you see what’s caught his attention. It’s his milky white cum thatleaks out of your hole and onto your dark bedspread.

“Katsuki, I’m so sensitive. Am I supposed to be able to go again?” You stop his hand’s movement with your own.

“Oh, nah, sorry, baby. You were so good, I forgot you were a virgin.” He grins at you, and you feel heat blooming on your cheeks

He finally takes his hand off of your body and mumbles something about going to get something to clean you up.

“Ah, wait!” You stumble after him, your limbs too sore to hold you up properly. “Let me find something for you.”

You meet Bakugou in your ensuite where he’s already holding a towel. From the doorway, you take a step forward, but your knees buckle and you fall right into his arms.

“It was that good, huh?” he jokes, making you flush in embarrassment.

“Nuh uh,” you counter, but your wobbly legs betray your words.

He chuckles in response and sets you down on the counter, the cold surface strikingly frigid against your burning flesh. He gently pats you down with the towel, making sure his cum is wiped clean from your skin.

“All done,” he says once he’s finished wiping all your skin down.

You go to thank him, but stop when you notice yourself in the mirror. Bruises litter your neck and even your chest. When did those get there? you think to yourself.

“Oh my god, Katsuki!” You go to playfully punch him, but he catches your hand in his.

Placing one hand on your waist and the other on your chin, angling your head towards his, he places a chaste kiss on your lips.

Then, when he pulls away, a goofy grin breaks out onto his pretty face. “Oh my god, Katsuki? That’s what you’ll be saying next time.”

Your face bursts into flames, and Bakugou chuckles, holding you for a moment in your dim bathroom light. “So, when’s next time?”

a/n: hi guys!! i’m back with part 2. i’d love it if some of you sent prompts to my inbox or even commissioned me because i tried extra hard to finish this promptly 😃

tags @oldfruitloop @mimi53213 @cheyehc

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[csuitebitches]

2024 Planning

I started planning for 2024 today. I’ve learned a lot this year, made mistakes, had some successes and now it’s time to take all my learnings, good or bad, and go to the next level.

I prefer starting next year’s routine from 2023’s November and December so that by the time January rolls around, I’m settled into the routine. If there’s any revisions necessary, I can do them without starting my new year on the wrong foot.

I maintain my goals on mostly short and medium term basis. This includes daily, weekly and quarterly planning (I don’t do monthly because it doesn’t work for me).

This may seem complicated (actually, it looks more complicated than it is but it’s just what helps me) but let me show you how exactly I do things.

I keep two diaries. One for daily and weekly and one for quarterly. I have a habit tracker on my phone for my daily non-Negotiables (exercise, meditation, reading and language).

The quarterly diary is my big big diary. Every quarter, it lists out all the big plans, what i want to do and who i want to be. It’s all the messy thoughts I have, all my dreams, my weaknesses, my strengths, etc etc. The only “practical” part of the diary is that there is one general plan made at the end of my mad scribbling. It has the general idea, feedback I’ve received from other people and compilation of all the advice I’ve gotten from my mentors.

2. The daily - weekly diary breaks the plan into manageable bits. I write out the week’s plan (who do i need to meet, who do i need to follow up with, any major presentation coming up, any assignment, what am i reading this week) and write a one sentence daily update on it.

I can’t use a habit tracker for this because i’m not tracking meditation or exercise on here. I’m tracking my career goals, my ambitious goals, into smaller goals. A habit tracker wouldnt cut it because I would have to elaborate more on certain things.

For example:

“20-27th Nov: Weekly list

budget presentation on Monday

1 event to attend on Tuesday. Topic: XYZ

Reading: the inheritors

reach out to mentor, schedule a meeting

7 language essays and 7 videos

Monday, 20th Nov.

work presentation: complete.

Feedback received: i need to work on XYZ.

points they raised that didnt cross my mind: XYZ

follow ups required and if yes, with who: XYZ

reading: complete. Interesting point they brought up: XYZ

essay for the day: complete.

Video complete:

Tuesday, 21st Nov

mentor meeting scheduled

event went well. Met: A, B, C who work in XYZ companies. Follow up with them next week for coffee/ drinks.

essay: complete

video: complete”

Having two diaries helps me because i can find my bigger goals without having to go through the daily entry mess. I like having the two separate.

Nov ‘23 + Dec ‘23 + Q1 2024’s goals include:

Social (meeting new people, maintaining networks)

Intellectual (biographies, documentaries, industry reports)

Personal (soft skills, language studies)

Work (presentations, courses, conferences)

A major change I’ve making this year is actively working on every single weakness I have that I know is a potential strength. I’m ignoring weaknesses that I know are 100% weaknesses like coding because there’s just no way I can sit in front of a computer and learn all that, it’s absolutely not my cup of tea and does not make me happy.

I made a list of every single weakness i have and I’m embarrassed about and ashamed of. 2024 is the year of NO shame. I’m not letting my intrusive thoughts win.

Next to each weakness I wrote out a potential solution.

Ex: not picking up the language i’m studying as fast as i want to -> write 1 short essay and a 1-2 minute video of me talking about anything in that language every single day

I’m not allowing any unnecessary negative self doubt or self talk happen. Constructive criticism is one thing, being a bitch to yourself is another. I plan to learn a lot next year.

I’ve created a manageable exposure therapy plan for myself - I aim to meet 3 new people every month and follow up with 5 new connections every month, whether it’s over chat or irl.

I’ve made a list of business biographies I’m going to read. This year I reached my reading target earlier than anticipated which I’m very happy about. Next year I’m focusing on books that are solely about business, technology and psychology.

#powerful woman #c suite #strong women #ceo aesthetic #personal growth #that girl #productivity #getting your life together #balance #2024 planning #planning my year #Goals #goal setting #how to plan #diary #journal

[nepobaby08]

music and mishaps || P2 || T.C.

summary: You and Tara hit it off at her place with small talk and movies. Everything is going well. On the other hand, Sam hates you. And she hopes to do something about it.

no warnings!

part i || part ii

word count - 1.7k

It was now the next day. And you had yet to bump into Tara. If you had to admit - you did miss her. What’s not to miss about her?

From the time you’ve known her so far, she’s been nothing but hard to crack, but that’s fine for you. You took it as an excuse to get to know her more.

You knew some things about her. Through Anika of course. She would hang around Mindy’s little friend group, that friend group including Tara, and she would tell you bits but pieces about each and every one of them.

You only were focused on what Tara did.

Call yourself obsessed. Maybe you were, maybe you weren’t. But apart of you is glad that you bumped into the shorter girl, because she changed your mind schedule a lot.

Everyday was the same. eat, sleep, go to class, repeat.

Now it’s eat, sleep, (not before thinking about tara) then sleep.

You currently were outside sitting on one of the benches alone, one leg sprawled out on it while the other hung low, listening to music, scribbling down god knows what in your journal. It was a free period, and this is how you liked to spend it.

But what you didn’t notice was someone approaching you.

You felt a shove on your shoulder, followed by an “oomph” from you.

You quickly glanced up, and took your headphones off.

It was Tara.

“What the hell was that for?” You said.

“Don’t play dumb with me Y/N. How do you know my last name, hm? I don’t even know you that well! We’re only on a first name basis.” She spat.

Shit.

You didn’t mention the Anika part.

You stammered.. “I.. I- Um from my roommate, Anika. She hangs with you and your friends sometimes. I only know you because she told me and every one of you guys’ names. That plus i’ve seen you around, but I swear, i’m no stalker!”

You put your hands up in surrender. Cause if looks would kill right now, boy you’d be dead.

Tara sighed a breath of relief.

“Well why didn’t you tell me that, huh?” She asked, now giving you a smile.

“It would’ve came up eventually! I mean, that is.. if we hung we hung out more.” You smirked at her.

She squinted, “You asking me out, Y/N?”

Shit. Was this too fast? Nah.. Wait - maybe. Ugh. You didn’t know.

“I- Um.. No. i’m not asking you out!” You said wave of panic in your voice.

You could’ve sworn Tara’s face dropped at that statement.

She swung her bag a little more on her shoulder since it was falling and sighed.

“Well I would like to hang out with you more.. and i’m free today… but..” She said, dragging out the last of her sentence.

“But what?” You said a little too quickly.

“My sister, Sam. She’s so overprotective of me. And I would totally you invite you over for a movie or something, but I dunno how she’d react.”

You cocked your head to the side, “She can’t be that bad, Tara.”

“Trust me. She is.” She deadpanned.

“Okay, well.. why don’t we try it out? One night. If it goes bad, we can plan something else out.” You really hoped Tara would agree. Deep down inside you wanted this.

Little did you know she did too.

Tara bit her lip and looked down at you.

“Okay, fine. Come by at 7. Deal?” She asked you.

“Deal.”

And man, were you wrong about it not being, “that” bad. Sam let you in, only because of the pleas from Tara. Since then she’s been eyeing you down. As if she’s about to lunge at you at some point.

She was very intimidating.

But apart from that, you and Tara settled on, “The Babadook.” She stated as her favorite horror movie ever. You called it trash, saying that it wasn’t real horror, and Tara almost killed you for that.

You both were sitting on the couch unbelievably close. Too close for Sam’s liking, but the two of you didn’t care.

It was getting awkward. The tension was something.

You sat beside Tara legs touching, and fingers brushing. God you two were lost puppies.

You decided to speak up.

“So…” You couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m actually pretty glad you bumped into me.”

Tara glanced back at you. “Really?” She smiled. “Couldn’t say the same.” She joked.

“Oh, okay.. ouch.” You said, placing a hand to your heart.

“Just kidding. I’m glad I bumped into you too. You’re cool, y’know.” Tara smiled sheepishly at you.

“How come?”

“I dunno.. I just.. I like the way you carry yourself around school. You and your little headphones, and your journal, it’s just I couldn’t picture anyone I know doing that. You’re special.” You blushed at her words.

“And here I was thinking you were a tough cookie to crack, Carpenter.” You laughed. “But, seriously. I am really glad. I… fuck this is so embarrassing to admit but I don’t really have a close clique to be by here. That’s why i’m always by myself.” You admitted.

Tara looked at you wide eyed. Almost speechless.

“I thought you had Anika.” Tara said.

“Oh please, Anika’s a sweetheart. But maybe too much of one. I like a little roughness here and there.”

“Roughness, huh?” Tara jabbed you in your side playfully.

“Oh, shut up.” You laughed.

Though the Babadook was playing in the background you two were kicking it off just as fine with each others words. If anyone looked at you guys right now they’d think you were a couple.

But the two of you would never admit that you wanted that to be true.

Never.

Sam still kept her eye on you guys from a distance. She didn’t like you. She didn’t like any newcomers. And she could tell you were gonna be hard to push away, so she had to make an effort.

Execute you from Tara’s life.

If Tara was being honest, you made her forget about her past..Ghostface, Chad, Mindy.. She felt normal again. Normal since Amber. And no one thought she could get over her as easy. Considering she called her, her rock.

But she didn’t wanna tell you about that anytime soon.

Not while what you two had going on was going great.

And she hoped it would stay that way.

A/N - Jeez, Sam..

Sorry this chapter came a little later than expected. It’s not my best but considering how well the last one did I had to make a part two!! Love u guys!!

-aur

#tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x you #tara carpenter x fem reader #musicandmishaps

[harrystylesfan2686]

Revenge

Pairing: Eris x Reader

Summary: When your ex destroys your most precious thing what do you do? Cry? Of course but not before taking revenge.

A/N: First Eris fic!!🥳 Reader is Rhysand's sister. I think I went a little overboard... oh well🤷‍♀️

Masterlist

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What The Fuck?

I gasp the second I walk into my library, noticing the gaps in the shelves. My library shelves never have space. The whole room is filled with my most precious obsession.

My books.

Where the hell are my books?

When I walk deeper into the room, I notice a big box in the middle. The rectangular box is gift wrapped with a red shiny wrap, held together by a orange bow on top.

On closer observation, I see an envelope tucked under the ribbon. I take it out and open it, seeing only two sentences scribbled in perfectly fine handwriting, a handwriting I know by heart. Eris.

Seems like we are at war now, sweetheart. How do you like my gift?

My eyebrows furrow. I put down the note and envelope, and open the bow, tearing the gift wrap, I lift the lid.

I freeze upon seeing ash.

The box is filled with ash. Grey mixing with black, creating a rather beautiful image. Except it isn't admirable. When I touch the ash mixed with small pieces of paper that hasn't fully burned. My books.

He burned my books.

I intake a sharp breath, my vision blurs as tears fill my eyes but I don't let them fall. Some people might say I'm overreacting, but I'm not. My books are everything to me. I love them. I treat them better then I treat myself.

And He burned My Books.

That piece of shit.

He knew how much I love them. I've talked to him thousands of time about my books, expressing my feelings about them. I don't even let anyone so much as, touch my books. But I let him. I trusted him.

I loved him. We broke up because his father attacked us. Barron ordered a few Autum Court soldiers to parad down at the Court of Nightmares and kill innocent people, not that the people living there are innocent in anyway, but by attacking a part of Night Court, he declared War.

I gave him a choice, choose between me and his father. I was stupid enough to hope he would choose me. Of course it would be his father. Even though he hates his father to guts, he would still need him to make him high lord. And being The High Lord of Autum Court meant more to him than anything else, including me.

So now we are at War. Two courts fighting against each other. What could go wrong, eh? Apparently everything.

None of the other courts want to help any of us. They don't want unnecessary violence, which is alright, considering Night Court is much stronger than Autum Court. Barron is a fool to think he can win. And now, Eris is too, as it seems.

I blink my eyes clear of tears and stand up. I count the empty shelves where there once were books, trying to see how many I lost. Sixty–Five. He destroyed sixty–five of my most loved books.

Rage burns in my veins. Hurt overcome by anger. The need to burn him in exchange fills my entire body. But I calm myself before I do something idiotic. I take deep breaths trying to plan what I'm going to do in return. I get out of the room, taking careful steps as I go.

You want to play? Fine. Let's play.

-☆-

I twist my hand, snapping the necks of the two guards standing in front of the entrance. I slam open the doors without touching them, barreling down the halls of Autum Court Palace.

This is too easy.

Killing every guard that comes in my way, I go to the main hall. I almost feel bad for the people loosing their life over something their stupid prince did, but my mind is seeing and feeling nothing but red.

When I first described my plan to Rhysand, he was hesitant to let me leave, but realizing that we would be at advantage in this fight by the end of it, he gave me permission.

Now here I am. Walking through enemy land, like a I own it. Removing every obstacle that comes between me and my destination.

I push the doors to the throne room open, and scoff at the few high fea trying to keep me out by their so called magic. I raise an eyebrow and stand their for a few minutes, giving them a chance to stop me. I smirk at their pathetic attempts of imprison me.

I am most powerful here, and they know it.

I raise my hands and twist my wrists, snapping a dozen necks in one motion. I walk father into the room rolling my eyes at the laying bodies. Such a mess.

I take a look around the room. The red carpet running in a straight line from the door to the throne. The levels containing seats for every nobal in Barron's circle. And finally the throne Eris so badly wants to sit at.

Coloured with different shades of red, orange and yellow mixing together. Backrest shaped like fire, built so tall I have to crane my neck to see the top. It's beautiful, I'm not going to lie. Almost makes me feel bad for what I'm about to do.

I turn back around, walking out the same way I walked in. Passing the fallen bodies, I snap my fingers once. Heat explods behind me as I walk out of the door. When I turn to look at the damage I'm doing, I smile.

Fire is lined up from the throne, quickly catching and burning everything in it's way. I smile brighter when I slam the doors shut and drop a small note on the ground near them. He burned my books so I'm burning to only thing he holds most dear in this entire world.

It seems we are. Hope you like my gift.

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#acotar #acotar fandom #acotar fanfiction #eris vanserra #eris acotar #eris x reader #eris x you #eris x y/n #eris fanfic

[starryhutcherson]

clapton davis fic where hes just like, super flirty and its really cute and the reader is oblivious to this but eventually clapton is like "damn it why cant you get the hint" so he opens up to the reader?&;&:& tysmm

━━ UNSUBTLE SUBTILITY

'୧ ‧₊ pairing: clapton davis x reader warnings: swearing, brief depictions of blood word count: 2500+ ⋆ ✩‧₊

The presence of Spring in Grizzly Lake brought a lot of things; including sporadic bursts of heaven-yellow sunlight, greenery spiraled across branches of previously barren tree skeletons, and, most importantly for students of Grizzly Lake High School, the promise of the Spring Fling Formal that was set to occur in the midst of May. 

For Clapton, this prom meant one thing; achieving his goal that’s been looming over him since freshman year — ask you out. Theoretically it’s a simple process, but if it was truly as easy as it sounds it would have occurred the very moment his eyes landed on your figure that first day in beginner spanish. 

You were the embodiment of perfection, punctuated through your gleaming smile that enraptured anyone in a ten mile radius, and the way the sun seemed to spread across the expanse of your cheeks, soaking you in the rays of heaven itself. Clapton was about ready to propose that day, and he didn’t even know your name. 

Now, roughly two years later, he was still amidst the same dilemma, the one in which he actually had to do the asking-out part. He was sure by now you would have picked up on his inherently obvious attempts to entice you, but you remained oblivious, so he decided he’d have to fully commit if he wanted to capture your attention. The art of unsubtle subtility, if you will. 

And so, forty three minutes into the depths of an agonizingly dull pre-calculus lesson, he confidently taps your shoulder with a fractionally tense hand, and indulges the tug on his heartstrings when you turn around, framed by the delicate glow of mid-morning spring that he adores so much. 

“Something wrong, Clapton?” Your voice cleaves through the classroom ambience of idle chatter and textbook pages being flipped. He flashes a boyish smile in hopes to flutter your heart in the same way you flutter his. 

“Do you get any of these questions?” 

“Yeah, they’re not too bad,” you reply, offering an ephemeral that renders his throat tight. 

He glanced down momentarily at his worksheet, adorned in scrawls and scribbles, yet lacking a single legible answer. His vision trains up back to you though, as it always does. He thought you’d easily detect the unspoken question for your help, but you remained stationary in your seat, as if waiting for him to say it. He couldn’t tell if you were genuinely that heedless, or if you were toying with him. Cat and mouse. 

“Seriously? When did they even teach us all this?”

You shrug mindlessly, and a lock of hair shifts from its position on your shoulder. He’d give anything to rope his fingers through it. “A while back. Why, you need some help?” 

Yes. He’d like your help, your compassion, your hand in marriage…

“Wanna walk me through it?” He tosses you a hopeful expression, and you answer back with a simple nod, sliding your chair along the cheap linoleum floor with a scrape, until the pair of you are sharing his desk, impossibly close. 

Your velvet voice is stringing sentences right down the expanse of his spine, though your attempts to help him understand logarithmic differentiation were ultimately futile— how was he supposed to concentrate on anything when he could feel your words blooming on his skin? See every freckle and divot etched into your face? He could taste his own heartbeat as it melded against his throat.

“So, this helps to avoid complications like the product rule and the quotient rule when— Clapton?”

He cocks his head up, trying to ignore the swell in his stomach when he hears the way his name sounds braided between your sentences, it suits your voice so well.

“Yeah? What’s up?” 

“Are you even listening?”  

Shit, no he absolutely wasn’t. How could he? Your proximity allowed him to see you. Like, properly see you. 

“Yeah. Totally. Logaramic thingyation,” he murmurs with overt certainty, and a puppylike grin. 

You snicker. “Couldn’t even get the name right?” 

He’s internally collapsing, though he manages to force some words out of his struggling brain. 

“Hard to think when you’re here.” He doesn’t dare sever the eye contact between you, hoping to hone the tension as long as possible, until he shatters you. His lopsided grin shrinks in a moment of brevity; you’re so close and he can smell you and your very essence. He’s sure that his ulterior motive is conveyed, through the way his eyes explore the breadth of your figure, never leaving, never faltering— yet to his pure irritation, all he gets is a blank expression and a confused chuckle. 

“Why is that?” You ask, and he wants to grab you by your shoulders and shake you. Are you really that dense? Your face is about as expressive as a rock, and you seem not even partially affected by the flirty wink he sent your way moments prior. 

“You’re kidding, right? Come on.” He fires back, raising a brow with a daring smirk. He wants you to inquire. You don’t. He realizes that trying to get you to take a fucking hint was about as impossible as teaching him calculus. 

You force out an awkward laugh that makes his skin crawl with defeat, but he doesn’t back down. “Come on what?” 

He refrains from the urge to say “me”, and instead huffs a sharp exhale through his nose. He’s moments away from spouting some lame compliment when the shrill cry of the bell interrupts his train of thought, and a tide of students eject eagerly from their seats and spill out into the corridor for lunch. 

Your friend approaches the desk with a quirked brow, reaching for your arm and mumbling something into your ear that’s intelligible to Clapton, tugging on you to try and steer you away from the classroom. And from him. You nod in response to her comment, before momentarily glancing back over to Clapton.

“I gotta go, Clapton. See you soon though, see you in History!” You send him a parting wave with a gentle flick of your wrist, before turning off and disappearing down the long stretch of corridor beside the classroom. His eyes follow you for as long as possible before your figure is consumed by the wandering horde of students, and he lets a grumbly sigh escape his parted lips before he packs up his belongings. This was going to be harder than he anticipated. 

*:･.・゜゜・

Clapton’s second attempt at alluring you resulted in more or less the same outcome. He’d entered the cafeteria, instantly bathed in the overwhelming odor of lysol and lard. His prior plan was to grab a doctor pepper, maybe a sandwich, and head over to his typical table to talk a painfully uninterested Sander’s ear off about you, but he scrapped it upon spotting you waiting in the cafeteria line, immediately changing course and veering over in hopes of a successful conversation.

He cuts in front of an unsuspecting freshman, ignores the irritated “What’s your deal man?”, and ‘accidentally’ brushes up to you until your bodies knock, and you spin around in confusion. 

Your face mildly relaxes in recognition, and he takes this as progress.

 “Hey. Getting lunch?”

“What else would I be doing?” You ask. Swing and a miss. 

He clears his throat a fraction, not allowing this to throw him off his game. 

“I dunno, maybe you just really like standing in lines,” he teases, and you laugh back. 

“Especially if the line is for overpriced cafeteria food,” you add with a grin.

The pair of you share a laugh, and Clapton marvels at the fact that you can look so irresistible even in the harsh fluorescence of the cafeteria’s artificial lighting. The pair of you fall into a partially awkward silence, and he follows your line of vision, watching as you observe some students hanging a hand painted banner advertising prom for the entirety of the cafeteria to see. ‘Spring Fling Formal, get your tickets now!’ glistens in white gold lettering. He prays he can take the banner up on that offer. 

“Are you doing anything for it?” A bit of a jump from the casual conversation, but he was itching to entice you and couldn’t risk missing his chance. 

“Hm? For what?” His lips twitch into a gradually familiar downwards smile. “Prom,” he says, gesturing at the banner, obnoxiously pink in hue and decorated with scatterings of hastily painted daisies. 

“Oh. Maybe— I’m not sure, it’s kinda ages away.” Yup. An impossibly distant period of two weeks. Clapton’s jaw ticks uncomfortably at the prospect of the narrowing window of time. He can’t afford to screw this up.

“Right. Sure. Are you… interested in anyone in particular though?” He probes, hoping that you notice the searing spark of desperation that lingers in the loop of his irises.

“Eh. Not really. Are you?”

His ego suffers a blow at your total ignorance to his pining. He’s on the brink of combustion; unable to endure the cosmic irony of having you so close yet so far. He pictures you for the umpteenth time, glittering in a dress that matched your eyes and his tie. A slow dance to a Sting song, his eager hands situated either side of your waist. You’d stare up at him with a dazzled guise, illuminated by the scintillation of indigo disco lights, and his tongue would delve into yours as he soaked up the saccharine flavor of the fruit punch lingering on your lips. 

“Yeah.” He states bluntly, staring at you as if you hung each and every star. “Yeah, I’m interested in someone.” 

You raise a brow. “Oh yeah? Who?”

He clears his throat. “Someone special. Someone super special.”

“You should ask them!” “Easier said than done,” he chuckles humorlessly. 

Your lips part as you go to investigate further, but are interrupted by the scowl of the lunch lady barking at you for your order. He notes it, mac and cheese plus a diet sprite— you’re handed it moments later, and your vision is torn from him and towards your small circle of friends seated across the cafeteria, who are waving you down. You’re gonna leave again? 

“I better go sit down, but, uh, you should definitely ask that person to prom. Be upfront and everything. Y’know, you only live once, and all that, right?” 

He swears he’s going to implode at the unbridled irony of this entire situation. Be upfront. He’s been upfront! 

“You know it,” he quips weakly as you slink away. 

He’s been showering you in signals for months, and you’d always abandon them, his attempts for your acknowledgement left festering as sour memories in his head, things that made him roll over with shame in bed at night, and all for what?

He brainlessly orders his doctor pepper with a monotone grumble, feeling the frigid prick of the can’s condensation gather in his palm as he wonders what the hell it’s gonna take for you to take a damn hint. 

*:･.・゜゜・

After yet another failed interaction, Clapton had spent the span of the rest of the week stripping his words to the marrow. Every conversation he indulged in with you involved his inner thoughts spouted in their rawest form— cocky compliments, lingering touches, looks of intense pining and yet somehow you continued to miss them. Every. Last. One. 

He was nearing his wits end, teetering on the cliff of insanity and seconds away from taking the plunge. Maybe he was the one who needed to take a hint. Maybe you were trying to tell him that you weren’t interested and he wasn’t giving it up. It was a sickening notion, one that thrashes wildly in his stomach. He didn’t know much, but he did know that he’d never be satisfied until he knew your stance on him for certain.  

He was just gonna say it. 

In hindsight, it wasn’t Clapton’s smartest move to deliver the question in the midst of a dodgeball game, but his thoughts were warped and he decided now was as good as ever. His voice was barely even audible beside you over the screech of tennis sneakers scraping the gym floor and the continuous sound of rubber balls coming into contact with student flesh. 

“Hey!” He exclaims. 

“Hey?” You say back, turning to him momentarily. Yet again, he wonders how you do it. Hair blown back effortlessly, skin glistening with a fragile sheen of moisture that is hardly off-putting, if doing something it aids to soften your otherworldly glow. Meanwhile, he was panting like an old dog, hair matted to his forehead in sodden chunks beneath his obnoxious sweatband. 

“I needa ask you something!” It’s sink or swim. His teeth graze the inside of his cheek for a moment, his gaze varying between you and the opposing court, to prevent a dodgeball to the head. 

“Yeah?” Sink or swim sink or swim sink or swim. “What’s up?” He melts at the sight of your semi-breathless smile.

“Are you still dateless? Like, to prom?”

Your forehead creases, and you return the sideways glance. “Um, yeah. Why?”

With a delayed exhale that rings heavy in the pits of his lungs, he turns his entire body to face you, which in turn makes you face him as well. 

“Look, I’ve been trying to say this for months. Well, not months. Maybe weeks. Whatever– point is, it’s been a while. Like seriously, a long fucking time. And I swear I’ve been so obvious, but clearly not obvious enough because you’re still, like, totally unaware or whatever. But, like, basically, I was wondering— I’ve been wondering if—” “Clapton!” You exclaim hurriedly, splintering his stammered sentence in an instant. He barely has time to cast his visage front on, before a dodgeball with an extremely strayed trajectory soars gracefully through the current of the air and hits Clapton square in the face. Guess he wasn’t paying enough attention after all. 

An expletive leaves his lips, muffled by the wail of your gym teacher’s whistle. His head is temporarily a warped whirlwind resembling TV static, though the feeling fades fairly quickly.

You turn to him in a mild panic, noting the faint trickle of glossy crimson that has started to spill from his nose. “Holy shit! You’re bleeding! Lemme take you to the nurse.” 

He can’t help but twist his lips up to form a slight smirk as you place a worried hand on his bicep. The touch scars on his nerves, your fingers like an angel’s caress. 

In all honesty, he feels fine, but you offered to take him to the nurse— was he going to give up that delightful invitation? No. He was not. 

The pair of you are excused from the gym, trekking down the hallway in an atmosphere of silence so thick it’s practically tangible. Upon arrival at the nurse, Clapton’s seated in a shitty plastic chair, holding a paper towel held to his nose and tipping his head slightly backward. He couldn’t believe that his one chance of actually spitting his desperate question out was interrupted by a stray dodgeball. A goddamn stray dodgeball. 

You linger in the doorframe, taut as a coiled spring. The nurse, underpaid and painfully unsympathetic, leaves the pair of you once she deems Clapton to be ‘good enough’, in her exact words. 

You approach him, taking the scarlet-spotted tissue and holding it to his face for him, a gesture which turns his insides in on themselves. 

“Hey Clapton? What were you saying before?”

Shit. 

“What?” He croaks gutturally, trying and failing to play dumb. He knew damn well what he was saying. Prom with him. 

“You were asking me something. Before you got, y’know, obliterated by a flying dodgeball.”

He snickers feebly, even if for a moment. “Oh, yeah.”

You open your eyes wider as if to say, “Well?”

The climate in the room seems to sink heavier, cradling the scent of antiseptic and drying blood. Clapton’s words fizzle out on his tongue no matter which way he arranges them in his head, but he knows he just has to get it out—- rip off the band-aid, break the ice, all of that. 

His eyes, big and wide and drinking in your face so dangerously close to his, melt into an unmistakable question. He counts himself down in his head. Now or never. 

“Prom. I was asking if you wanna go to prom.” He takes a staggered breath. “With me, I mean.”

Oh. 

Oh. 

The genuine beam you erupt in subsequent to his words is enough to ease his nerves. It’s enough to make him soar, actually. 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” That wasn’t a no. That wasn’t a no. His heart hurts with hope. 

“I tried to. You’re just… you kinda suck at taking hints.” He chuckles. 

You roll your eyes, picturing every moment leading up to this one that you spent with him. Upon further reflection—- yeah. Yeah, you clearly did. People don’t look at friends the way he looked at you.

“Shit, I kinda definitely do,” you murmur. 

He doesn’t let the quiet last long.

“So…?”

“Oh. Right, yeah. Clapton, I’d love to go to prom with you.”

The smile he wears is irresistibly contagious. Finally. Finally. Two long years of craving you; two years of memorizing every quirk and curve and contour. He knows it’s sort of ridiculous to get so elated about some forgettable high school dance, but the image he can see so vividly in his head; the lights and the dress and the swarm of butterflies that comes with your killer smile… it’s worth every awkward exchange, every word that’s fallen on deaf ears.

“Seriously?” He asks, reaching for your hand and wallowing in the way you so brainlessly accept the touch.

“Seriously.”

“Good. You won’t regret it.” 

And something inside you tells you that he’s absolutely right. 

reminder, my requests are always open

masterlist

✩‧₊˚

#clapton davis #clapton davis x reader #clapton davis x you #josh hutcherson #detention 2011 #clapton davis x reader fluff #clapton davis fluff #mike schmidt smut #mike schmidt fluff #josh hutcherson x reader #josh hutcherson imagine

[batxmasisrjuice]

Dear Diary

A fun collaboration with @obsessive-ego 💚

InvisibleBeej x FemReader

Slightly NSFW

And a big thank to @beetled-juice for running through this journey with me!

Beetlejuice finding out your secret thoughts about him! 👀

Dear Diary

So, you have a diary. Big deal. As an adult, you need to vent sometimes and writing has always been a nice outlet for you. But with Beetlejuice living with you rent-free and having boundary issues, you knew you needed to hide this diary well away from his grubby hands and prying eyes. Luckily, you had the perfect spot in your apartment. Somewhere he'd never want to venture: behind the cleaning supplies.

Yes you were both smitten with each other. But you've both been too scared to ever confess these feelings. So on a daily basis, it's nothing but strong flirting from him, and butterflies in the tummy for you.

But it's getting to the breaking point, and you have to get these thoughts out before you completely snap. It feels like this past week he's been extra flirty and handsy with you.

It was rarely a quiet evening at home with Beetlejuice always around keeping you constant company. However, he was nowhere in sight tonight. A little out of the norm, but you guessed he was out doing his usual activities. Either spending time with the Maitlands, annoying Lydia, or off scaring your neighbors. So you decide it's a perfect time to write! You retrieve your diary and pen, get all set up with a cup of tea in hand, and snuggled up on the couch under a cozy blanket ready to write out all of these pent-up emotions.

Little did you know Beetlejuice has been in the apartment this entire time. In invisible mode. Just watching what you'd do if he'd left for an evening, and to see outside your usual routine when he's around. Now shocked to discover you own a diary!

"I fucking knew it! You little minx. And hiding it in the best place too, you naughty girl." 😈

He knew you had to have one, and damned if he didn't try hunting for it in the past. He notices you getting comfortable and decides to get closer.

"Now! What naughty thoughts have you written down in this bad boy, hot stuff?"

Being the curious demon he is, he peeks over your shoulder as you begin to write. Starting out with the usual day to day stuff like work and family things. A nice warm up before getting to the feelings you've kept buried for months.

"Oh c'mon babes. Get to the good stuff! I know you have dirty little secrets you'd never like Mr. Beebleboose to find out about you."

He squats down to your eye level, wanting a better view while you're in your element. So fascinated with your look of contentment, and how beautiful you look when you're at ease and in your own headspace. Strands of soft pink begin to spread across the tips of his hair. You're beginning to drive him mad and wants so badly to just lean in and kiss you. He's frozen in place for a long moment as these fantasy thoughts of you kissing him back come to him.

Snapping back into reality, he slowly stands back up with a low sigh. Hair shifting to purple. Now saddened by this unrealistic idea of why would a breather like you ever be interested in a demon like me come to his mind as he gazes down at you. He begins to pace around for a bit as you continue to scribble.

After a moment, he sees you stop to take a sip of tea. You pause and look up, taking in a long deep breath before repositioning yourself, now leaning in more focused as you go back to writing. His curiosity always getting the better of him, he walks back behind you and quickly halts. Wide-eyed seeing his name has been written! Your personal thoughts... ABOUT HIM!

He's panicking! Now rushing to look at your previous writing to catch up on what you've said about him so far. Stomach tightening from anxiety of what they might be. Then settling on the first sentence that included his name reads:

And damn... then there's Beetlejuice.

He continues to read on, not knowing...or sure if he wants to know where this is going.

Reading on:

He's just driving me completely crazy! I'm at my limit here and dont know what I'm going to do with him. He's just getting to be too much, to the point I can't be held responsible if he keeps this up any longer!

He instantly slouches... not knowing if he wants to continue your next thought pouring from your still-moving hand. He looks down and feels absolutely heartbroken.

What was it that he's done specifically to make you this upset with him? What can he do to fix this and make it better? His thoughts are stopped short when he hears the movement of your pen halt, and you pause to let out a small whine, border lining into a moan.

He immediately shoots his gaze back up towards you, baffled why you'd make such an arousing noise. Or was it a depressed sigh that his perverted mind mistook for an erotic noise?

You lean your head back, eyes worried and scanning the ceiling. He has to see what else you added to the diary so he can get a handle on what made you react like this. Slowly, he glances back down at the diary entry, your hand paused at the last bit of paper, showing the last unread sentence:

He's making me so horny and riled up with all his teasing, touching, and flirting. I just want to pin him down and have my way with him!

For a moment he's convinced he's dreaming. This is too good to be true! His purple hue instantly fades back to pink. Looking at you in a deep stare and mouth hanging open, he pinches himself. His daze is cut short as he hears you moan again, making his eyes widen as he bites his lip, his color now snapping into a deep magenta.

Tapping your pen at a quickening speed, you finally place it down on the surface next to your tea. You take a sip, trying to calm yourself. Feeling tense, you put the tea back down and bring your hands to your upper arms, dragging them up and down a few times while in deep concentration...almost worry. You take a long pause. With your eyes closed, you slowly move your hands toward your breasts. Resting them there for a moment, then begin to caress and massage them slowly. Quietly moaning.

Beej is in awe, his jaw nearly hitting the floor! Knowing he shouldn't be seeing this, and you're doing this because of your thoughts...of him!!! He takes a big swallow and whines, resting his wide, unblinking eyes on you as he adjusts his hardening cock in his pants. His breathing getting heavier and begins to loosen his tie because damn... was it just him, or was it suddenly getting hot in here? Watching you do this to yourself was pure eye candy for this demon, and he wasn't missing a moment! Drool starting to form on his bottom lip as he continues listening to you moan and gasp as you touch yourself. God how he wishes you were nude right now. He's nervously fidgeting as the drool starts to drip down his chin. Sweat starting to form at his brow, he loses his striped jacket, tossing it to the side with a grunt. He bites his lip and begins rolling up his sleeves, eyes never leaving you.

You suddenly stop. Beetlejuice frozen in place, with his back now hunched and leering over you, feeling completely predatory. He sees you begin to sit up and grab your pen, the scribbling now more frantic and yearning in your eyes. He quickly paces back behind you (or as well as he can pace considering his cock is now rock hard) to see what you're adding.

I mean yes, I've always felt something for him, but these past few days have been killing me! All his touching and incessant flirting! But he's a demon. Is this just a default mode for him? Is he even interested in someone like me? Would he even care for a relationship? Or would it just be about sex, I don't know if I could handle that.

Beej's excitement dwindles reading your doubts. Now replaced by feelings of yearning. Wanting to prove himself to you. He could totally do the relationship thing with you! Plus sex with love? Something this virgin demon has always wanted!

You pause to think about your last few thoughts as he looms over your shoulder. He's curious if you'll continue. Nervous eyes darting back and forth from you to the diary.

He's fallen so damn hard for you.... and now he's seeing he actually has a chance at something with you!! He doesn't want to fuck this up.

You put pen to paper again. His entire body growing stiff, shoulders rising closer to his ears and arms pinned at his sides. He's becoming explosive with tension and practically vibrating with anticipation. He wants you, and he wants you bad. In the best and worst way. Yes he wants to fuck your brains out and fantasizes about this every hour on a daily basis... but he also wants you for a loving partner. Unable to imagine his afterlife without you, and he's completely head over heels. Finally admitting the most powerful words to himself. "I love you"

He's dripping sweat and looking at you instead of the diary, terrified of what it will say. Trying to gather the strength to read it, he walks to the side to study your face for any clues first. So desperate to know if this will be good or bad news for him. But you're so focused, making it hard to get a clear read on you. With his stomach in knots, he pushes himself to see what you've written.

He nervously approaches with a slow side step towards you from behind. Getting the nerve to read more with extreme caution.. as if he's about to be struck. Tilting his head and biting his lip, he slowly leans in over your shoulder, looking down at the diary.

Ok.... I'll have to really be careful here, but willing to take a chance with him. I can't believe how badly I want this demon, but don't want to get hurt again. I need to be careful, knowing if he wants something real. But how can I find this out without being obvious? I love him. But does he love me?

Beej feels like he's about to pass out. YOU LOVE HIM?! AND HE HAS A SHOT!!!

His mind is racing! What can he do? How can he get you to be his? Now in a frantic, flustered mode. It's making him involuntarily pace around you as he watches you sit back, deep in your thoughts. Slowing to a stop, he gets down on his knees closer to you at your side. His hands placed on the arm of the couch as he gazes up at you with hopeful eyes.

"I'll show you, y/n"

A quick poof and he's gone to the Netherworld to run some errands. He has big plans for tomorrow.

Fin!

#beetlejuice #musicaljuice x reader #beetlejuice x reader #fanfic #beetlejuice fanfic

[seung-scrittore]

hey ji, — jisung x reader

📻 … hel- … can anyone … kkchh .. WC: 866 … GN! READER … GENRE: heavy angst, ex-boyfriend! jisung … WARNINGS: arguments, mentions of drinking, mentions of marriage, generally toxic relationship, cursing, mildly suggestive(?) … -over … kchhh ..

a/n … hihi !! so, initially this was for @fae-renjun for kfn’s member exchange event! but they’ve respectably stopped writing, so i let the fic take any direction it pleased. this was angst-ier than i meant it to be… + i was also a super condescending narrator… not proofread… sorry 🫶

throughout your relationship, you’d said countless words to each other. some good, some bad, most meaningless.

though, now that the two of you had separated, the only words that mattered were the things you didn’t say. the unspoken hopes, dreams, truths. your mind yelling at you to reach out, to come to some sort of closure, but your heart ached, far too bitter to make the first amends.

maybe it was for the better, that’s what you told yourself, if you kept your unspoken thoughts to yourself they’d eventually die down. they had to, right?

wrong.

now here you were, months later, the same regret lingering in your mind.

that’s why you’d decided to talk to him, well, if you could call this talking.

hey ji,

writing a letter, isn’t that too old school?

maybe you should’ve called him.

it’s been a while, yeah? i’m doing good.

you missed the way his hands fit perfectly in yours; the gentle forehead kisses he’d give you before he left in the mornings; the way his body felt against yours in the dead of night; you missed jisung. everything about him.

you’d tried your hardest to distract yourself, but you found yourself succumbing to loneliness the second you stepped foot in your house.

you struck out your last sentence with your pen.

i’m not doing too hot, and i don’t mean to bother you about it but damn. ji, i miss you.

on your quest to be a better person, you never considered it would’ve included jisung.

then again, you never would’ve considered that you would regret breaking up with him after everything that's happened. could you really put up with the arguing for the sake of familiarity?

your relationship had put the both of you through unimaginable trouble, all because you were hooked on the feeling of each other; the adrenaline rush that surrounded your relationship.

i don’t think i’m supposed to miss you. i don’t even know if i want to miss you, but i do.

or would it be different… you hadn't considered that. jisung wasn't the type to have a drastic change, neither were you.

god, ji, i miss your smile. i miss it so damn much.

you loved the way his nose would crinkle when he smiled, just like it was crinkling as you looked at it on your lockscreen.

you’d meant to change that. you just hadn’t gotten around to it. or at least that was what you told yourself.

you picked your pen back up, saying what you knew you didn’t have the courage to say to his face.

i miss you.

were you being too naive? writing these letters was one thing, but god, did you miss him? did you actually miss him after everything?

his face appeared in your mind, then his voice was in your ears. he haunted you. he has since he left.

and i hate you for leaving me here.

maybe you were so hung up on jisung because he truly was the one that got away. you don’t think you’d ever feel as satisfied as you did when you were dating jisung.

maybe it was because he managed to make everything feel so… real. it was intense.

intense is the perfect word to describe it, you think. it was intense last summer, when jisung had made you so angry that you’d thrown out his things from your third story apartment window. that was after you kicked him out for getting home shit-faced at two a.m., hah.

or maybe it was because the two of you made each other miserable.

don’t come back.

did the reason really matter? all that mattered was that jisung was gone, for good.

you scribbled over those last few words again.

you make me feel so crazy. so, so crazy.

…maybe he really had changed; maybe if you called him, or met up with him, the two of you could talk it out; maybe he would come back.

your head hurt.

crazy enough to miss your stupid, beat-up converse by the door next to mine.

you thought back on your relationship.

the two of you had been through just about everything a couple can go through.

well, the bad more often than the good. but those good moments— they made up for the fights, the break-ups, the crying.

ji, i can’t tell if that crazy is good or bad.

you could. just like you could tell you were being irrational the time the two of you’d almost gotten married. drunk and hitched in las vegas. lovely, huh?

to this day, you’re still glad minho was there to talk you out of it.

honestly,

glad. yeah, you were glad you hadn’t married jisung.

why hadn’t you thought about that earlier?

i’m sorry for everything, and i forgive you. i don’t know if we ever sat down and said that to each other.

you would never marry jisung, you wouldn’t grow old with him. you would meet someone else. someone that you wanted to marry; someone you would miss more than jisung, that would fill that loneliness you were feeling now.

you hoped he forgave you too. for everything.

goodbye, ji.

… is anyon- … kkkch .. TAGGING: @liumoonlight , @sunoo-bby , @tbzloonar , @noramoons , @hangyeomcult , @septabuspass , @kflixnet , @kwritersworld , @k-labels @straykidsland-main , @kdiarynet … pleas- … -you copy? … kchhh …. 📻

#kflixnet #kdiarynet #straykidsland #k lables #kwritersworldnet #skz angst #kfn: the exchange event #skz suggestive #stray kids imagines #skz imagines #stray kids jisung #skz scenarios #han jisung #stray kids scenarios #stray kids #stray kids angst #jisung angst

[stvrlighttgabss]

JJ BLURB BASED ON LOVE GROWS WHERE MT ROSEMARY GOES ☝️☝️☝️

LOVE GROWS. (JJ MAYBANK BLURB)

notes☆: i'm so sorry if this is bad or it seems rushed 😭

@satelitis

warnings☆: none in particular <3

in which JJ is in love with a girl that's a little odd, but he doesn't care

You were quite different from the other girls in the P4L group, which is why JJ seemed to be so drawn to you. 

No one was truthfully surprised when you and JJ started dating. His lobelia eyes would dilate anytime you were near him, trailing you to any place around the Chateau that you frequented. He would always find ways to be close to you, whether it was simply handing you a beer or just going with you to the thrift store each Saturday afternoon.

As you both wandered through the thrift store, you would eagerly point out unique items that lined the numerous aisles. He saw stars watching pure excitement adorn your face as he held up a vintage record player, knowing your love for music, or a worn-out jean jacket that perfectly matched your style.

JJ learned to translate your sometimes slurred sentences and lets you draw on his arms

JJ had asked you out while the two of you were painting vinyl records. You stared at him for a few moments, scratching your cheek with a scribbled-on hand before smiling. "Sure."

The blonde teen took you stargazing near the dock, where you two shared food from The Wreck

Late nights in your room would include JJ lying on your bed, observing you walking back and forth as you attempted to brush your hair despite its resistance.

There was something about you that was utterly intoxicating to the pogue. Maybe it was your chipped nail polish, the baggy jeans with holes in them that you swore by, your obsession with The Smiths, or one of the other many complex things about you.

He didn't exactly understand you fully (yet), but because of how much he loved you, he'd be willing to try.

#˗ˏˋ ꒰ ✮ ꒱ ˎˊ˗ my work ˗ˏˋ ꒰ ✮ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

[plzu]

Cold Brew - (Adrian Chase/Vigilante x f!barista!Reader)

part three ☕️ part five ☕️

i'm nervous about posting this after months of no updates. also, hayyyy peep my canva hearder lmao. i couldn't keep searching for gifs i hadn't used yet so i was like, fuckit. let me dip my toe in canva. also, excuse the exaggerated depictions of what caffeine does to a mf. it's all for funsies. if you relate to the way the barista or Adrian reacts to coffee, then, like, yikes. i'm so sorry.

Summary: Dates and darts and secrets. A new coffee drink. Small prickles of jealousy, and an appearance from Vigilante himself.

Warnings: 18+ !!!!!, no Y/N, hair mention, assault (not graphic, but there nonetheless), graphic depictions of violence, blood, rape mention, alcohol consumption, bad relationship with parents. several mentions of peacemaker (whatever could THAT be about 🤔) possibly OOC. not beta read. i open the google docs the following day and catch all my typos and bad sentences in horror all on my own

and--this is important, to me--brief gender talk (reader now has established she/they pronouns). i hope this doesn't deter anyone, as this is something i added to the story for me, but i would understand if you want your reader-inserts to be a complete blank slate, pronouns included. i apologize if this alienates anyone.

Word Count: 6.78k

The plastic cup sitting on Adrian’s nightstand steadily grows fuller with mementos from spending time with you. 

Movie tickets from some horror movie that had you giggling nervously as you gripped the sleeve of his sweater in fear. (He didn’t think it was that scary. But he still liked the physical reminder that you felt safe with him.) 

A d20 die--black, the inlaid numbers neon green--that you used to roll your first natural 20 in the Dungeons & Dragons one-shot he set up for just the two of you. It was after hours, in the cafe. Your eyes had widened in pleasant surprise, the grin stretching your face into brilliant exuberance as your successful roll snuck your half-elf ranger past some guards to rescue another NPC.

Receipts from fast food places you had grabbed a bite to eat at, each one crumpled and special. He had hastily stuffed them in his pockets each time, even insisting on paying for most meals so you had no reason to keep any of them yourself. You looked at him funny the first few times but acquiesced. 

(His favorite receipt was one you convinced him to let you hold for the night. When you returned it to him, there was a messy scribble of a smiling face, round and cute with big circles for glasses, and soft swoops of curls on the forehead. “Is this supposed to be me?” he had asked. You smiled and nodded, demeanor suddenly quieting. “Yeah. Hope you like it.”)

(He adored it like he never adored anything before.)

This clear plastic cup, with his name written on it and a growing treasure of trinkets, is the first thing he looks at when he wakes up in the morning, putting on his glasses. It’s the last thing he gazes at when he drifts off into sleep, limbs aching and heavy, both from standing on his feet all day as a busboy and from scouting the nights as Vigilante.

Adrian never considered himself the religious sort (and maybe Peacemaker was the closest he’d ever come to worshiping anything), but hell if looking at his name in your handwriting (with a heart dotting the ‘i’) doesn’t invigorate him the way a prayer might.

If you are not making out in Adrian’s car, you’re making out at the cafe, after hours. Sometimes during lunch. You latch onto each other with the sticky brazenness of horned up teenagers. 

You cannot invite Adrian into your home. He understands your parents wouldn’t be too thrilled if you two were to hole up in your room. He doesn’t fully comprehend why, though -- something about how you barely talk to them? Offhand comments about avoiding them, without any explanation as to why. 

He cannot invite you into his apartment. Something about a roommate that doesn’t like guests over.

(Adrian doesn’t have a roommate. He just worries you’ll stumble upon his secret somehow--the ammo. The blades. The helmet with the sick prescription visor).

It was a lie he told as badly as any other: 

“Yeah, my roommate's a huge germaphobe. He doesn’t like it when people come over and contaminate his living space.” You quirked an eyebrow at him. “Not- not that you’re dirty, or anything. I mean, based on the things you do to me in my car, you’re a little dirty-” he chuckled here, eyes closing briefly. You had just rolled your eyes and walked away, at that point.

You have the good grace not to push further at the time (you didn���t even necessarily push to begin with- Adrian is just compelled to explain himself whenever he feels threatened the truth about Vigilante is about to be revealed).

Adrian delusionally thinks that he’s getting good at lying since you do not question his stories.

(Really, though? You’re scared of finding out whatever secrets Adrian may be keeping. Worried it might be something that will shatter this perfect, precious thing you have. The only thing keeping you sane; keeping your head bobbing just above the cold, crushing waters of depression.)

Adrian comes up with a way to show off his killer sharpshooter skills without having to bring you deep into the woods where he does some of his target practice with Peacemaker. He takes you to a bar downtown, one that doesn’t really scream ‘bring your date here!’, but at least has darts and billiards and half-decent bar food. 

He carries two beers over to the high-top where you’re seated towards the back, scrolling intently through your phone. Shoulders hunched. It is only once he places the drinks down, signaling his presence, that the tension in your shoulders loosen, and your face opens up to him in a warm, gooey smile. 

(Your smile isn’t gooey, necessarily; more like, it turns his insides gooey. Weirdly. But not unpleasantly.)

Adrian situates himself on the stool across from you, noticing the grimace you make after taking the first sip of your beer. 

“I thought you said you like beer?”

Your face scrunches up as you settle the glass back onto the sticky surface of the table. “I said I don’t mind it. Still tastes kinda gross, though. Like piss.”

Adrian blinks, startled. “You know what piss tastes like?” 

The question comes out louder than intended, drawing some attention to your table. He can’t help it. He doesn’t want to judge you, but he wouldn’t be too pleased if it turned out he’s been swapping spit with someone that knows what piss tastes like for some weird, fetish reason.

“No, you ass,” you grit out, the glare you send him softened by the clear amusement in your trembling lips. “I’m just saying. Like, the general aroma of beer is very. Piss-like.”

“Oh, okay,” he shrugs, relieved. “Well, this is a bar, you know. They have other drinks.” Adrian lifts his own glass to take a sip. The entire time, he’s careful to keep his arms off the table. The hand not holding his drink rests on his lap. It’ll drive him crazy later if he comes across any sticky spots on the sleeves of his sweater. 

You grin and roll your eyes at him, like he told a joke. “I know they have other drinks here, Adrian. I just…” your gaze falls to the space between you before you continue: “I haven’t really drank much since coming back. I’m worried that anything other than beer might, like, awaken something in me.”

Adrian’s eyes widen behind his glasses. “Ooh, why? Are you a mean drunk?” One of the line cooks at Fennel Fields is a mean drunk. His mom used to be a mean drunk, but then she stopped drinking.

You snort. “No.” But then pause. And then blink. And the amused tone of your voice becomes more uncertain. “I mean, I don’t think I am. I didn’t used to be.”

“Well, in any case,” you shrug, “I don’t wanna find out tonight.” 

Adrian watches as you lift the beer back to your mouth, taking a bigger sip this time. The way the rim of the glass presses to your lips (lips he still can’t believe he gets to kiss!). The sweet swell of your throat as you swallow (which he gets to kiss, too, and enjoys the quiet noises you make when he does so). It all has him gulping himself, eyes still glued to your face.

And, look- okay, he knows he has a bit of a staring problem. But usually, at this point of knowing someone, they would tell him to cut it out, it’s creepy or something equivalent. But you haven’t seemed to mind so far. You even smile at him, sometimes, like you’re sharing a secret. 

It still baffles him, that you smile like that at him. That you willingly spend time with him, even in a place like this with its murky yellow lighting and beer-stench on every surface. He texts Peacemaker about it every now and then (despite the whole being in prison thing), about how he gets to make out with the hottest girl he’s ever seen- except, wait, is that even right?

He realizes you’re asking him a question. “Huh?”

“Can we get french fries?” you repeat, mouth still hovering just above the rim of your glass. Eyes glittering in the crappy bar lighting, voice small like you’re worried he’ll say no. 

As if he could say no. Like, why would he? “Yeah, sure,” he responds. “The wings here are pretty good, too, if you want. Bar food makes beer taste better, at least.” 

When you perk up at his answer, he feels like he’s won something. Which is why he hesitates before speaking again, afraid he might ruin the moment.

“Hey, can I ask you something? And please don’t get mad,” he rushes to add, eyes growing big.

You stare at him for a few silent seconds, eyes narrowed in a slightly suspicious squint. But then you nod, once, after taking another swig of beer.

“At the cafe, sometimes Ashe and the others use ‘they’ when talking about you.”

Adrian can’t tell if you look relieved, or if you’ve gone more rigid. You just sit there waiting for him to ask the question.

“Is that- is that something I should be doing, too?”

You take in a deep breath through your nose, as if to steady yourself, and then kind of deflate. You don’t seem mad, though, which is good. 

“You can call me whatever you want, Adrian. She, or they, or both. As long as it’s just the two of us, or in front of the other baristas. But it’s not something I’m open about with, uh, most people.”

Adrian understands a thing or two about keeping secrets. “Like your parents?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “When I started at the Evergreen Bean, I felt safe enough… telling Ashe and Matty. Y’know, since they’d be able to relate. But also, they’re young enough to, like, not know me and my family, or anyone else our age. So, less chances someone that knows me will find out.”

“I know you,” Adrian points out. “You’re okay with me knowing?”

You hesitate for only a second. “Maybe I’m crazy for this, but I trust you.”

He doesn’t know what he’s done to earn your trust. Doesn’t understand why you’d allow him into this part of your world when you wouldn’t even allow your own parents. But he has enough sense not to broach that topic, and he got the answer to his question, so he leaves it at that, and gets up to go order the food at the bar.

When he returns after placing the order, he points out the dart boards hanging on the opposite wall. “Wanna play?”

You glance between him and where he’s pointing. “Hah! You’re kidding, right? What if I hurt somebody?” Despite all that, you slip off of the stool and follow him towards the dart boards.

Adrian starts picking off the darts from the pockmarked surface, smiling. “You’d have to be pretty bad at aiming to hurt someone.” There weren’t any tables around for patrons to sit at, and people knew to steer clear of the area and not walk through. 

He hands you a dart.

“Okay,” you say, closing your fingers around the black stem of it. “Alright. It’s all in the wrist, right?”

Adrian laughs, and if it comes out mocking it’s only because he’s so used to doing something like this with someone as skilled and badass as Peacemaker, he forgot normal civilians sometimes don’t know how to, like, aim with accuracy. 

He carefully extricates the dart back out of your hand, taking no notice of your now-deadpan stare. “On second thought, let me show you how to throw one first.” His original plan was to have you go first so that he can go next and dazzle you with a bullseye or few.

You fold your arms across your chest and watch as he positions himself. Turns his body towards you so his throwing arm is facing the wall with the dart board. He’d be distracted by how close you are to his chest if his mind wasn’t already in excellent marksman mode. 

He talks you through what he’s doing, and why, muttering in a suddenly-serious, very focused tone. Arm a taut L shape with the dart held delicately between his thumb and forefinger. Careful to swing his arm back at just the elbow. Once. Twice. At the third, he releases the dart at just the right moment, and pierces the center of the small red circle. 

“See?” he says, looking back at you. “Just like that.”

“Lucky shot,” you say, teasing. Feigning disinterest. 

Adrian is already in too deep, overtaken by the cocky self-assuredness that’s typically present as Vigilante. So he doesn’t think to keep it casual as, holding eye contact with you, he quickly tosses two more darts and has the pleasure of watching your eyes widen. When you rip your gaze away to look at where the darts landed, and sees the way you lick your lips, he knows without checking that both hit dead center. 

“Pretty hot, right?” he asks, remembering how you had mentioned how hot you find things like this- marksman, hitting targets, barely having to aim.

“Adrian Chase,” you start, eyes glittering in his direction, “are you showing off for me? Did you bring me here just to impress me?”

He doesn’t know how to tell you that he brought you to a halfway decent bar because he’s addicted to the way you light up for him. That you’re the only person he lets touch him. Likes the fire that licks up his veins when your fingertips graze against the back of his hands sometimes. 

He thought banging chicks with Peacemaker was cool. But nothing beats the feeling of you pressed against him, of your hands in his hair and your mouth on his neck and the way your waist feels trapped between his own hands. Even if he does end up with blue balls at the end of a night with you.

So instead he just says something stupid about wanting to get your panties wet.

Which is, like, close enough to the truth, anyway.

“Dude!” You unfold your arms to shove playfully at his shoulder with one hand; he hardly budges, and so finds the action inoffensive. “You can’t just say things like that in public!” You’re laughing as you say this, so he decides you can’t be that mad.

“Why not? This is a bar. The guys sitting a table over from us have been saying worse things all night.”

You scoff. “Whatever. Hand me a dart, I want to try now!”

Adrian obliges you, but then has a flash of a memory:

Him and Peacemaker bringing a couple of tipsy girls back to Chris’ trailer. One of the girls coyly admitting, “I’ve never shot a gun before.” Them corralling the girls out back into the woods, where they keep targets pinned to trees and other garbage used for target practice littered throughout the forest floor. Peacemaker angling the one that made the comment in front of him, ass flush to his pelvis, steadying her arm out as she aimed the pistol he lent her. Peacemaker looking back and winking at Vigilante.

So he whips a hand out to your waist, trying to copy what Peacemaker did that day, and turns you around. Presses your back to his chest so you’re both facing the same direction. Other hand gently encircling your wrist to raise your arm. 

It’s clumsy and awkward, at first. How quick and sudden the movement happened, the fact that Adrian never touches you this intimately when other people are around. You stiffen, and hold your breath, but then over your shoulder he asks “Is this okay?” and you shiver at the way his breath tickles your neck and melt into his touch. Muscles going lax as you sigh, and nod.

Adrian revels in the warmth of your body against his and thinks about the thumbs-up Chris would give him if were here right now, and draws your hand back towards your shoulder. You let go of the dart when he tells you to, and you both watch as it lands a few spaces below where his landed. 

You beam back at him from over your shoulder. He hopes you do not feel the semi he’s definitely sporting in his jeans right now.

You throw a few more darts, just like that--fixed to each other, movements gliding together. When the food arrives at your table, you’re reluctant to peel away from him. 

“Wanna take the food to go?” you suggest. 

So, maybe you did feel him half hard against your ass.

“Adrian!”

It’s just ten minutes before close when Adrian walks into the cafe a few nights later. He, unfortunately, cannot hang out with you tonight. There’s been too many murmurings of a group of relentless creeps that kept hanging around the club downtown, hiding in alleyways to snatch at staggering drunks. 

One too many nights without interference from the ever infamous Vigilante had made them bold. Adrian plans on gleefully making them regret it.

You called his name from behind the counter, bouncing animatedly. A stark contrast from how he usually finds you at work with tired, sloped shoulders. Your energy is electric, and his grin slowly spreads to match your own, albeit confusedly. 

Ashe shuffles out from the back, slipping into their jacket. Adrian blinks in their direction.

“Oh, hey Ashe. You’re not usually still here at this time.”

They grimace. “New product launch. Had to help prep.”

Ashe glances back at you, and Adrian follows their gaze. Are you… vibrating?

“Good luck with them,” are Ashe’s parting words to Adrian as they dart quickly out the front door.

Adrian frowns at the barista’s back as they leave, even more confused. When he turns his attention back to the counter, you’re gone. He steps closer, calling your name out into the store. Maybe you snuck off to the back for something?

Out of nowhere, you pop back up, quite literally, from behind the counter again. You begin telling him something, talking as if you’ve been mid-conversation this whole time, but Adrian can’t focus on anything you’re saying. He’s trying to calm his suddenly-rapidly beating heart. His hand had instinctively flown to his waist, where he usually keeps his pistol on his suit. 

Did he just get fucking jump-scared in a perfectly normal, well-lit cafe? 

You pause, finally noticing his slightly rattled state. Your eyebrows knit together, trying to piece together what could possibly be wrong. Adrian watches in dread as your face slowly morphs into that of diabolically tickled realization; your eyes are bright and your grin reveals your teeth.

“Did I just scare you?”

“No,” he stresses, much too quickly and very defensively. 

Laughter bursts out of you at his denial. “Dude, I totally just scared you!”

Adrian finally moves his hand from where it was poised at his hips, around a gun that isn’t there, and crosses his arms firmly in front of his chest. “Uh, no,” he repeats. “I just- I was worried because I just remembered I left the stove on. In my apartment.”

You snort, disbelieving. “Uh-huh. What’re you still doing here, then?” He cocks his head at you. “Don’t you have to run back home and turn the stove off?”

“No, well.” He clears his throat. “I just remembered I did. I remembered to turn it off, actually. So, no need to leave.”

Your responding giggles come out jittery. Seriously, there’s something off about you tonight-- your eyes are wider than they ought to be this close to the end of your shift. As happy as you usually get when Adrian comes to visit (something he is apprehensively proud of), there’s just something chaotic emanating off of you right now.

“Now, as I was saying,” you continue, slamming your hands down on the counter. “The owners of this joint decided they wanna keep up with Starbucks. So, I have a special treat in store for you tonight! Something that’ll really help with your weird little all-nighters.”

Some dots begin to connect in Adrian’s head. Your restless movements, and too-wide eyes (still shadowed by exhaustion--a sign of being unnaturally Too Awake). Ashe looked like they were in a rush to leave, like they didn’t want to be part of something. What did they say? New product launch?

And your first words to him in over ten years were, “I dunno, cocaine?”

Holy shit, are you coked out of your fucking mind right now?

No, no, no no no no- Adrians claps his hands over his ears and screws his eyes shut and begins humming as loud as he could, very off-key. If he doesn’t hear about the drugs then he has no evidence, and without evidence he doesn’t have to kill you- well, not like he would at this point. But he’d have to tip off the authorities and have you locked up for selling cocaine for the piece of shit owners of the coffee shop (whom he would have definitely killed. Absolutely and without hesitation, especially for getting you involved in something so illegal and being the reason someone else he cares about is taken away from him-)

He feels something light thud off his chest, and blinks open his eyes in a startle. Your arms are crossed across your front, face bemused, and a little annoyed. A plastic cup now rolls against the toe of his sneakers-the thing that apparently bounced off his chest. 

You huff, “Adrian. What gives?” You tap your foot agitatedly, the energy in your system shifting from excitement to irritation. “I was just telling you about our Cold Brew-”

“Cold brew?” Adrian cuts off, hands hovering away from his ears now, face scrunching up in confusion. “Is that what the new street name is for it?”

You search his face, utterly lost. “What?”

“I mean, I guess it makes sense?” His arms fully lower back down, gears turning in his head as he parses the name. “Considering some of the other names for it are related to snow. So, something cold, and because this is a coffee shop, tack the word ‘brew’ onto it. Huh. Y’know, if it weren’t illegal, I’d be totally impressed with the creativity.”

“Christ, Adrian-” You roll your eyes. “How many times do I have to tell you that was a joke? We don’t sell crack here! Cold Brew is a drink.”

Adrian’s relief is palpable as he smiles, letting out a breath that relaxes his shoulders. 

“Okay, good, because-” he pauses to chuckle- “it would have been bad if word got out that you were dealing drugs here! Imagine if that Vigilante guy-” (he says ‘Vigilante guy’ with such comical exaggeration, he misses the way it makes your eyes narrow in suspicion)- “he’d probably- probably have to kill everyone that works here!” 

He continues to laugh, jarringly loud, in an attempt to assure you he’s joking. He’s not, like, threatening you, or anything. Like, how would Adrian even know for sure what Vigilante would do? Not like he knows the guy. 

A beat of silence passes between you both before you continue dismissively.

“Anyway. Back to what I was saying. We have Cold Brew now! It’s like iced coffee, except better. Stronger. Faster.” The light returns to your eyes as you promote the drink to Adrian like a good little barista. 

“Faster?” questions Adrian.

“Yes!” you affirm. “That’s gonna be my pitch to customers to convince them to go for the more expensive iced coffee.” 

“But how is it faster? A drink can’t be faster. That doesn't make any sense.”

“It’s about how it makes you feel, Adrian. Don’t question my methods. Look, I even taste tested the drink myself to better sell it. And now, I believe what I’m selling because I’m faster!” As if to prove your own point, you run around the counter to the front door and lock it, and then run back. 

It just kind of looks like your typical running speed to Adrian. Which isn’t terribly fast, all things considered.

That’s when it dawns on him that this super caffeine is the reason you’re practically vibrating out of your own skin.

“Is this Cold Brew worse than the Americano?” he asks, remembering the adrenaline that pumped in his veins that night.

“No no, it’s better!” you promise, misunderstanding his question. “Tastes better, too! I’ll still put caramel in yours, though.”

Adrian then watches you quickly make him one of your new drinks while explaining the process. That, unlike iced coffee, the coffee is brewed in cold water. And how it’s stronger, yeah, but smoother, and sweeter.

(You are pouring him a large. He does not know if he should find this concerning yet.)

After you hand him his drink, you turn back to focus on closing tasks and begin counting the money from the till. 

After taking a sip from the drink (which doesn’t really taste any different from a regular iced coffee. He’s not about to tell you this, though), Adrian says, “Sorry we can’t hang out tonight.”

“Oh, that’s alright!” you say, keeping your eyes on the money. “I’m meeting my friends from Seattle, actually. We’re gonna have a ‘Girls Night,’ so to speak.”

“I take it they don’t know about your other pronoun.”

“No,” you say, glancing up at him with half a smile. “They don't. But that’s a hilarious way to put it.”

When you finally come around the counter to walk Adrian to the front and unlock the door for him, it’s with a sort of rushed giddiness. “C’mon, c’mon, you gotta go so that I can get ready!”

You’re excited. You’re actually excited about seeing these friends of yours. There’s a part of his brain that tells him he should be happy for you, but the curious, agitated feeling of jealousy stirs within his ribs instead.

The idea that you might light up for someone other than him makes him uneasy. What friends are Peacemaker making while he’s away? Are they cooler than him?

“Alright, what do you want?” you ask, pulling Adrian out of his thoughts.

“Huh-?”

“You’re standing there with that pathetic puppy-dog look you get sometimes. What do you want?”

He perks up. “Can I get a good-luck kiss before I go?”

You raise a brow at him. “Luck? For what?”

Adrian blinks. Back-peddles. “Uh, did I say ‘luck’? I meant ‘bye.’ A good-bye kiss.”

You’re smirking at him when you say, “has anyone ever told you you’re kind of needy?”

His shoulders kind of slump a little. “Yeah.” Chris. “But, I mean, you’re one to talk!” he continues, raising his voice. “You throw yourself at me, like, all the time.”

“Excuse me?” you scoff. “Don’t act like you don’t like it.”

Like it? Adrian fucking thrives in it. “Yeah, I like it, but that’s not the point!”

You just stand there, smirking and stubborn and devestangtly pretty in your milk-splattered button-down and undone apron. Frustrated (and still riled up by jealousy), Adrian groans and grabs your face between his hands (warm cheeks, a splotch of some unidentifiable syrup somewhere under his left thumb) and kisses the arrogance out of your smile. 

All your kisses taste like coffee. He pulls your bottom lip between his teeth and licks the flavor there. Soft and sweet--caramel. You moan softly into the kiss, and he takes it as a sign that you hopefully won’t forget him tonight when hanging out with your other friends. He deepens the kiss for good measure, though; traces his tongue on the sharp edge of your teeth, your tongue, tattoos himself into your mouth. 

When you pull apart, Adrian is reassured by your breathlessness that he won’t be soon forgotten. The confident grin as he leaves is softened by his own flushed face. 

Downtown isn’t spectacularly bustling. Really, the nightlife in Evergreen isn’t much of a buzz for tourists. But there’s a club and a (now-closed) Starbucks and a 24-hour diner and other late-night eats, so the locals have something fun to do when they don’t want to take a trip to Seattle, save money on gas and let loose. 

Adrian finds he’s running just a smidge behind schedule. Vigilante was supposed to get to the club just before the intoxicated people started spilling out past midnight, one by one, into the night. Seize the creeps just as they snatched up some drunk and unassuming passerby. Swoop in, break some bones, make the bad guys regret being born, save the day, et cetera. 

But he got distracted along the way. The coffee his favorite barista made was making him antsy, and when he was ready to zero in his focus on his plans for tonight (just the 1 crime, thankyouverymuch), he found he could not sit still long enough. His jittery mind had him scouting the streets looking for trouble, and what he found was a carjacker that he beat within an inch of their life, a couple of vandals that gave him a chase, and a little old lady that he volunteered to help cross the road.

 (“You should be careful being out this late on your own, ma’am,” he told the old woman, seeing her safely onto the sidewalk. “You don’t know what kind of weirdos are out at night!” He laughed behind his mask, an attempt at lightheartedness. The old lady gasped, “oh my.”)

Adrian nears the club. Can feel the bass of it humming in his bones as he approaches. (Or was that the Cold Brew?) He’s on the side of the street that sees less traffic--the entrance of the club faces the main road, but the alley where the creeps lurk in waiting for their next victim is hidden away on the dismal, desolated side street. The street that houses abandoned industrial buildings with shattered windows behind chain link fences that make people think about tetanus shots in passing. Broken glass decorating the grounds, where weed grows in the cracks of the asphalt.

It’s the kind of street people in their right mind know not to walk alone once the sun sets.

But sloshed club-goers aren’t typically in their right mind, are they?

He picks up the clear sound of struggle as he gets closer to the alley way, and the start of a scream that gets quickly muffled. The blood pumping to his heart thud-thud-ing with giddy anticipation. Adrian starts skipping, eager to dive in and save the day and watch the life drain out of some eyes. 

Adrian enthusiastically rounds the corner into the alley, an exultant, “Hey, motherfuckers-” dying on the tip of his tongue as he skids to a halt. 

It’s three of them, of varying heights and weights and yet all similar in their hideousness, and the matching sneers they send his way. It’s not the number or size of them that makes Adrian balk (three is child’s play, really). No, what makes him freeze is the figure that they’re crowding, whose hair is clutched in one of their big unworthy fists, mouth covered by his other hand; whose eyes are familiar, but wild with fear; whose short black dress has ridden up, and whose knees are skinned bloody through torn stockings. 

The one holding you by your scalp--the biggest one--lets go of your hair to pull out a knife, and tightens his grip on the lower half of your face as he pulls you harder against his body. You whimper at the abrupt roughness, and when he draws the knife to your neck, your shriek gets caught between your mouth and his grip.

“Don’t come closer!” he threatens, “or we’ll slit her throat.”

The shock of seeing you wears off, and something cold and other falls over Adrian. Over Vigilante. He notices not a single one of them pulls out a gun. Guess you don’t need guns when your victims are inebriated. 

When Adrian speaks, there’s a smooth, calm chill that enters his tone. “I can’t promise not to kill you if you let her go, but I can promise it’ll be fast, which is more than you three pieces of shit deserve.” His head dips forward. “Which is a shame, because I was really looking forward to making it slow and painful for you fucks.”

One of them is actually visibly nervous, eyes darting back and forth between Adrian and his companions, hands fidgety. This is the one he decides to shoot in the knees.

Adrian whips out his pistol and pulls the trigger twice before any of them gets the chance to react. The nervous one cries out as the bullets fly through his shitty kneecaps. 

A flurry of chaos and movement unfurls in the dark alley like a domino effect as the Nervous One collapses to the ground, howling in pain. The Big One holding you suddenly roars, a sound of fury and pain, as he reflexively shoves you aside against the hard brick walls. He yells out something unsavory-(“You bitch!!”)- and the way he shakes his hand indicates that you may have just bitten him amidst all the commotion. (Adrian feels a quick burst of pride at that.)

At the same time, the third guy pulls out his own blade and rushes recklessly towards Adrian in what can only be considered a pure act of idiocy. Adrian chuckles, deciding to entertain the man and not shoot him in the face. He quickly holsters his gun and side steps just as Shitty Pervert #3 reaches him. The attacker trips forward, unable to stop in time, and Adrian  grabs his shirt collar and tugs, so that the creep is forced towards him and his nose connects with Adrian’s gloved fist in a satisfying, sickening crunch. 

The knife clatters uselessly to the ground as he stumbles, cradling his gushing nose with a groan. 

The cacophony of wailing grown men fills the dark alley way.

“Hah, man you guys are a bunch of crybabies. I would’ve thought all of that toxic masculinity meant you’d be able to take a broken nose and bullets to the knees like a champ.”

At the sound of heavy footsteps charging behind him, Adrian twists his body and sticks out his foot, tripping the biggest one, who crashes into the one with the broken nose. They collide in an ungraceful, painful heap to the pavement. 

The big one is quick to struggle getting up, but Adrian pins him down with a knee to his back, further squishing the other guy into the ground. Adrian grabs one of the big guy’s flailing arms--the one that was clutching your hair--and folds it behind his back. He takes out one of his blades with his other hand.

“Hey,” Adrian mutters, tone gravelly, “I’m going to cut off your fingers, one by one, so that you can feel even just a shred of the fear and pain you’e inflicted on others with these  despicable fucking hands.” 

The man growls underneath him, and continues struggling. This does not deter Adrian, who further cements his hold and starts sawing off his thumb. “This little piggy went to the market…”

Five dismembered fingers later, Adrian pulls away to take out his pistol again, and kills two birds with one stone; the barrel of the gun pressed firmly against the back of the big one’s head, he pulls the trigger and both bodies beneath him fall still.

Adrian rises and turns around, noticing that the one that’s left has been trying to drag himself further into the alley. And he’s sobbing. Gross, warbly, pathetic sounds reverberating off the brick walls. 

“Where ya’ going, buddy?” Adrian stalks towards him and grabs the crying man by the shoulders, dragging him back towards where you sit, trembling against the wall of the alley, attempting to look as small as possible. Adrian crouches, and makes the guy face you with a firm grip on the back of his skull. “You weren’t going to leave without apologizing, were you?”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, please, God-” The words ooze out wet and weepy.

Adrian looks at you. “What do you think? Was that a good apology?”

Your eyes fly to Adrian’s face, as if surprised he’s addressing you. Your mouth is hidden behind both your hands, and you do not lower them to speak. Instead, you glance back to the face of the guy he’s holding, and finally, slowly, nod.

“Good!” Adrian says. 

Cozies the nozzle of the pistol right under the man’s quivering jaw. 

And blows his brains out. 

You jump slightly, squeaking behind your hands, eyes squeezing shut as a small spray of blood decorates your face. Adrian lets the lifeless body drop between you.

“Hey, you’re okay now,” he says. “They’re all dead!”

He gently pries your hands away from your face, unaffected by your flinch. Holding your shaking hands in his gloved ones, he slowly stands up and brings you with him. He realizes this is the first time he’s ever seen you in any kind of jacket. If it weren’t for the short dress, you’d almost be appropriately-dressed for the weather. 

The look on your tear-stained face is queasy. Uneasy. He remembers you do not know it’s him under the mask. 

“Where are your friends,” Adrian asks, remembering your planned Girls Night. For some reason, this question makes your face crumple, and you begin to cry. “Hey, whoa-” Adrian goes rigid, letting go of your hands- “I didn’t- what’s wrong?”

You hide your face behind your hands as sobs begin to wrack your entire body. You say something unintelligible into your open palms. He can’t parse a word of it. 

“Hey, okay,” Adrian’s hands hover uselessly over your arms as he begins shushing you. “There, there?” He’s out of his element here. You’ve never cried in front of him before. He’s seen you sad, or distant, or grumpy, but this is unfamiliar. 

“Is there, uh, someone you can call? Someone you trust to come get you?”

The crying slows, then quiets into a hiccup, and you peek at him from between your fingers. “Someone I trust?” 

“Uh-huh. Someone that can get you home safely.”

Your hands drop completely from your face, and something in your expression changes. Softens a bit. “Yeah, there is someone…” Despite the blood now smeared across the bridge of your nose and your cheeks, and the smudged makeup, your lips curve into a small smile. It is very, heart-achingly lovely. And for whatever (drunken) reason, you begin rambling.

“He’s great, actually! The best, most sweetest guy I know. I don’t even know what I did to deserve his attention, let alone his friendship-hic!- he’s just, like, really silly and he’s so, so nice to me-” 

Who the fuck is this guy? Adrian thinks, a little annoyed. A lot jealous.

Your phone is in your hands now, grinning stupidly at your screen as you pull up some guy’s number. What the fuck? He’s the one that’s supposed to be making you smile like that. Adrian crosses his arms, head cocked to the side in irritation. 

You raise the phone to your ear, muttering, “I hope it’s not too late,” to yourself, starting to chew your bottom lip.

When Aqua’s Barbie Girl starts playing from his back pocket, you both freeze.

Your eyes slowly drag themselves up until they rest on his face, brows knitting together as you make eye contact with him behind the visor.

“S-stay right here,” Adrian says, throwing his hands up as though it will cement you to the wall you’re leaning against. “I just- gotta take this real quick.” 

He turns and half jogs out of the alley, and rounds the corner before pulling the phone out of his pocket. He’s a little breathless when he answers the phone and says your name. “Sorry if I sound out of breath right now. Just got back from jogging a half mile, if you could believe it! I know it’s, like, crazy to run at this time but I figure I’m safe at night, y’know, since I’m a man, and I’m white-”

“Adrian?”

His name comes through a rattled whisper on the phone. But loud and clear from his left. He whips his head around.

You’re standing at the mouth of the alley, gaping at him, stunned. The blood flowing from your knee shines wetly now under the glow of the street lamp. In the light, he also notices a tear at the hem of your pretty dress. 

Your cell phone falls from your hand. 

A second later, you’re bent over. Hurling on the sidewalk.

taglist: @whatevermonkey

#peacemaker #vigilante #adrian chase #adrian chase x reader #writing #fanfic #vigilante x reader #mine

[dunnswrld]

brainrot incoming....imagine while they're traveling they obvi eat out alot and go to many restaurants where they find reader a bartender/server and they can't help but fight over who can talk to you more...yk?

THIS EEK! also ik i didnt include wee man and preston it’s just that im not really requested to do them so i just wrote for the main people im requested to do.

all the guys went to hooters just to film random stuff they did. the whole idea was just to make themselves look like fools in front of pretty girls.

while they waited for their waitress steve-o might snort salt and pepper and have to hold back throwing up cause he really didn’t want to embarrass himself in a hooters. his red face and closed mouth gagging had the whole table laughing. rick of course filming steve-o on a smaller camera.

all the guys were being loud and rowdy like usual, johnny’s laugh booming through the restaurant as other customers looked at their table with a annoyed expression. 

rick was smiling because they were actually getting good footage, he thought the idea of filming in a restaurant would be bad because of many factors but it was going really well surprisingly.

but that idea went down the drain as soon as you walked up to their table.

“hi boys im yn and ill be your waitress today. can i get you guys started with any drinks?”

your orange shorts and practically skin tight top had every guy at the table fall silent and just admire you, everyone but rick and jeff of course. only because they knew how to keep it in their pants

“ill take a miller light.”

“yeah ill have the same thank you.”

the rest of the guys watched closely as you scribbled down their drinks, they were taking in how nice your hair was, how smooth your skin looked, and how lovely your sweet smile was.

“anything for you guys?”

all the boys began to stammer until bam- the youngest out of all them- spoke up over all the mumbling sentences being spoke.

“ill have a rootbeer.”

“cant handle the real thing yet?”

“uh- no ma’am.”

half the table couldn’t help but laugh at bam’s sudden manners, ma’am? he had barely just met you and he was already whipped.

“yeah he’s just a baby. only 20! so he legally can’t have any, sucks right? but anyway im actually 23 and will have a beer.”

bam kicked ryans leg from under the table for ratting him out that he was only 20. the kick caused the silverware on the table to jump up. ryan trying to keep the best poker face infront of you as he could, getting kicked in the was a very tough kind of pain.

“ill have a beer too.”

a very smiley chris said as he looked over others at the table to see you. his smile reminded you of a kid in a candy store so you couldnt help but give him a small nod with a smile.

“one beer for mr smiley.”

you said earning a giggle from chris, his cheeks flushed a red.

“are you on the menu?”

you looked up from your notepad to see the boy with the buzzcut make the silly pick up line that earned several scoffs from his friends at the table.

“unfortunately not, but beers are.”

“yeah that’ll do too.”

you then looked up from your notepad after writing the last guys order signaling you were ready for the next orders.

“i’ll have just a beer sweetheart.”

“just a beer for the cowboy got it.”

johnny couldn’t help but laugh, he was glad such a pretty girl like you had a sense of humor.

“two beers for us please.”

you looked over at the blonde man who had just spoke, a brown haired boy next to him. the brown haired boy didn’t look a day over 19 and his rosey pink cheeks didn’t help that factor.

“what year were you born in sir?”

“uh- me?”

“yes you, you don’t look a day over 19.”

“‘76 miss.”

“you sure got a baby face for being 26.”

you trusted the boy and wrote yet another order of beers. and when you looked up from your note pad you saw the whole tables eyes on you, other than the nice two gentlemen who ordered first.

“well i’ll make sure they get those out for you boys quickly.”

a rush of thank yous was heard from the table, each boy wanted to be the first to say it to you but instead they all said it in union together.

when you walked away rick and jeff quickly hursted out laughing. the rest of the table knowing exactly why they were laughing and rolled their eyes at them.

“you- you guys were like a bunch of vultures circling their pray but except being vultures you all are virgins!” 

jeff said in between laughs, his sentence only making rick laugh even harder than he was before.

“im so glad i got that on camera!”

#jackass #johnny knoxville #bam margera #ryan dunn #steve o #chris pontius #dave englad #ehren mcghehey #jackass x reader #jackass fanfic #jackass forever #jackass imagine #jackass imagines #jackass fic #jackass headcanons #jackass one shot #jackass headcannon

[pluckyredhead]

Red Hood and the Outlaws #2 (2011)

I'm continuing to make choices.

At least Roy remembered to string his bow this time.

When we last left our hero, he had returned to the headquarters of the All-Caste to find a dead old woman named Ducra. Issue #2 begins with a flashback of Talia taking a recently resurrected Jason to "the Hundred Acres of All," which I guess is supposed to sound cool but just makes me think of Winnie the Pooh. Jason meets Ducra, he sasses her, she kicks his ass but agrees to train him.

Cut to "three hours ago" and Jason and Roy on a plane:

Jason dresses extremely formally in this run and it does feel pretty incongruous to me because Jason doesn't strike me as someone who cares for formality or appearances. I've chosen to headcanon this as Jason rigidly emulating Alfred and Bruce's notions of adult male fashion, especially in situations in which he's uncomfortable, because if he can project wealth and power the way Bruce does, maybe people won't see his painful backstory and soft underbelly. It doesn't really work with Jason's love of telling everyone his trauma to make them feel bad for him, but...look, man, RHATO is incredibly bougie, I don't know what to tell you.

Roy, meanwhile, is essentially just a series of scribbles. "Stage three clinger" is kinda funny, though.

(Roy is actually historically very, very good at not clinging to the people who are constantly abandoning him, but he latches onto Jason for dear life. I know that's because this Lobdell has never read a Roy comic before this, or anything at all including a cereal box or his own sentences he has just written, but I choose to believe it's because Jason is special.)

Oh, Isabel, honey. Don't bother climbing unprofessionally into the next seat like a lunatic. The man is Undateable.

(I'm not posting every panel but on the next page she gets him a second drink - "Soft drink, extra ice" - and Jason's like "Good memory!" "SOFT DRINK" IS NOT THE NAME OF A DRINK. "Liquid in a cup." "Good memory!")

Anyway Isabel hurls herself at Jason for a few more panels and then gives him her number and Jason fully and completely cannot process it for some reason:

I know Jason is supposed to come off in this series like a cool macho dude getting all the ladies, but scenes like this just...don't work? If Jason is supposed to be a stud who has already hooked up with Talia, Essence, Rose, and Kori, why can he literally not complete a sentence here? I feel like this reads much more like a very, very young man who missed most of his teen dating years to death and vengeance and has very little experience.

They arrive in Hong Kong, where Kori meets them in a limo. Why fly away from Kori and then meet her in a limo? Apparently just to show Jason and Kori both spending conspicuously so that readers will know they are rich and therefore cool, and for no narrative or characterization purpose. How did Kori get money? Hush your mouth.

Is the "gorilla" in the room Dick? Both Kori and Jason explicitly stated in the previous issue that she doesn't remember him, so why would she be upset here? Is it that Jason and Kori have supposedly slept together and now Roy and Kori are sleeping together? Both Jason and Kori have ALSO explicitly stated that they don't care. Is this dialogue meaningless? Yes!

Jason refuses to take them to his safe house because last time he did they "soiled [his] sheets," which I'm taking as confirmation that they did in fact fuck in his bed last issue. In the safe house, he finds a woman named Suzie Su and her henchmen, who he quickly shoots a bunch and seemingly kills. We don't know who Suzie is or why this matters.

Cut to the team jumping out of a helicopter over the Himalayas during a freak thunderstorm, where we learn that Jason has gloves with metal wings that allow him to fly or at least glide. This is dumb, but it's extra dumb when you remember that Lobdell gave Tim an almost identical gimmick at the same time in Teen Titans. (He writes Jason and Tim identically in general: hyper competent and extremely bougie Gary Stus with the comebacks of a dull 12-year-old.)

They land in the All-Caste HQ to find everyone dead.

NOW HOLD ON JUST A DING-DANGED MINUTE. In issue #1, we explicitly saw Jason leave Roy and Kori in bed and come here for that scene in the middle panel, alone. Now supposedly Roy and Kori are there? We are an issue and a half in and there's already a massive continuity error? WHY DID THIS MAN GET PAID TO WRITE THIS BOOK FOR TEN YEARS???

The All-Caste come back as zombies (why? not explained) and the Outlaws fight them while Jason flashes back to being trained by them, which is just another generic fight scene. At one point Jason calls the All-Caste warriors "the greatest people I have ever known," but like...we haven't gotten a chance to know any of them, so who cares.

Anyway. Jason is sad, and then tells the others "Let's go kick some ass...team." THE END.

Here's the thing. Whenever you're starting a new story, a new comic, a new universe, whatever, there are always going to be things the reader doesn't know, and gradually learns as the story unfolds. It's not a bad thing that there are some unanswered questions.

However, we don't have any actual sense of who the All-Caste were, what they can do, or how long Jason stayed with them. We aren't shown any significant interactions or relationships between him and Ducra or the generic warriors, none of whom have names or distinguishable faces. There's a little uncreatively quippy dialogue from Ducra, but no actual reason for us to care. To follow this plotline, we need to either like Jason or understand the importance of this relationship or the stakes of the Untitled, and none of that has been sold in these two issues. In fact, I don't think the Untitled are even mentioned in this issue. (I mean, I do like Jason, but not because he wore a fat suit, bragged about fucking Kori, and killed some people, which is all he's done so far in this book.)

We also don't know who Essence is or what her history is with Jason or the All-Caste. And we don't know who Suzie Su is, why she was in Jason's safe house, or whether it matters that he (apparently) killed her. We know nothing about Kori except that she knows nothing about herself, and even less about Roy.

Again, some questions are fine and even good, but this many questions makes the book a parade of disconnected, uninteresting events we don't have any reason to care about. Which isn't a big deal when you're marathoning the series through dubious means in 2023, but I sure as hell wouldn't have paid $2.99 every month for this shit back in 2011.

#jason todd #red hood #roy harper #arsenal #starfire #red hood and the outlaws #rhato reread

[moonchildreads]

small town

Chapter 4 - Manic Monday

IN THIS CHAPTER: The worst counselling session ever, a talk about hair products, and Eddie explains what's in a (nick)name [4.1k]

WARNINGS: brief mention of a deceased parent (more nostalgic than angsty, i promise)

masterlist - prev - next | playlist

And if I had an aeroplane, I still couldn't make it on time 'Cause it takes me so long to figure out what I'm gonna wear

Monday, April 7th - 1986

“You look pretty today,” James said, looking over the top of his newspaper at his daughter who was currently rummaging around the fridge, his mug of coffee halfway to his mouth.

“Thank you!” she beamed. “I have a presentation today.”

“About?”

“Former presidents. I got Benjamin Harrison.”

“I don’t remember that one.”

“Don’t think anyone does.”

“Ouch.”

Dottie sat at the kitchen with her dad, poured milk over her cereal and read her notes while she ate. Occasionally she scribbled on the margins with a pencil and practiced a sentence in her head while gesticulating to no one with her spoon. The radio was turned on in the background, the morning news blending into the kitchen’s comfortable silence. James and Dorothy Burke had no one else in the world but each other, and because of that they had developed a simple but effective routine that included being in each other’s space consistently. Dottie’s mother had passed away before she’d even had her first birthday and Dorothy had been raised by a young single father that had to actively refuse to be consumed by grief whenever his little girl looked at him like the sun shone out of his ass. It certainly helped that all his college friends inserted themselves into their lives, acting as aunts and uncles, babysitters and bad influences, mentors and teachers.

There was Auntie Rachel, who had taken her to the mall to buy her first bra, and Uncle Johnny, who signed her up for free swimming lessons at the community center when she was eight. Uncles Robert and Joseph who let her do her homework on their desks when they had just opened their law firm, her feet never reaching the floor; Aunt Mary Elizabeth - not Mary, not Elizabeth, Mary Elizabeth - who chose her as her flower girl for her wedding day, Uncky Paul who had moved down to Texas for work but still called every Christmas morning at exactly 10:30 am. Dottie had not had a mother, but she had had a loving and dedicated father, a gaggle of extremely cool aunts and uncles that provided her with a myriad of younger cousins to babysit, kind Grandparents in Florida and Pennsylvania that she loved to visit during the summer, and the knowledge that she had been deeply, truly loved her entire life.

Growing up surrounded by young adults who considered her part of their families was, perhaps, the reason Dottie had had so much trouble fitting in at school as a kid. It wasn’t that she had been a complete loner in New York, but it seemed that it was easier to be relegated to the background when your modest birthday parties were always full of then 30 year olds that insisted on wearing colorful party hats and most of your free time on the weekends was spent being a babysitter for your nephews and nieces.

“Aunt Barbara called while you were getting dressed,” James mentioned.

“What did she want?”

“She says that you should call her back when you get home from school and that she is very proud you want to follow in her footsteps and shape the minds of the future.”

“Did you tell her what I really want is to finger paint all day?”

“I thought it’d be better if she heard it from you,” he said, standing up and putting his mug in the sink. “Come on, get your stuff, gotta go to the post office before work today.”

Dottie hurried to brush her teeth and grab her bag from where it was resting at the foot of her bed. She patted the outer pocket to make sure Donny’s borrowed mixtape was there and briefly glanced at her college acceptance letter pinned to her cork board above her desk. Congratulations, said UMich. Thank you, said Dottie, and ran down the stairs.

James was enjoying this new part of their morning routine where he could drive his daughter to the same high school he had graduated from so many years ago. Moving back to Hawkins had been, perhaps, a sudden decision that was born from a call from a desperate ex classmate who knew James had experience working in urban development, but he couldn’t deny that it hadn’t been a favorable experience for both of them. He got extra time with his baby before she spread her wings and left for college, and she seemed to finally be finding her place in the quiet, small town. As they pulled away from their driveway, he put on the tape Dottie had spent almost all Sunday working on and listened to her recite her presentation to him, almost amazed that this young woman in front of him had once been the little kid that had cried so hard she vomited on his shoes after a particularly scary roller coaster ride.

Shit I’m late I’m late I’m late I’m late I’m late was the only thing going through Dottie’s mind as she hurried through the hallways heading to the school counselor’s office. Ms. Kelly was always very understanding when students’ classes ran a little bit late and Dottie had been so anxious while giving her presentation that when the bell rang, she had taken a few extra minutes to unwind and get her breathing back to normal in the privacy of a bathroom stall. She was in such a hurry that she didn’t even register that she had run through the basketball team’s huddle until she heard someone calling out to her.

“Hey, look where you’re going!” one of them had said, a tall brown haired boy standing next to the guy she recognized as their captain.

“Sorry!” she said, head turned towards them as she sprinted before she felt herself collide with a solid but soft mass in front of her.

“You okay there?” she quickly registered the new voice as Gareth’s as she had sat with him during her Political Science class, and realized she had bumped into Jeff’s back in her manic dash.

“Hey!” she beamed at them, frankly happy to see friendly faces. “Sorry, I’m super late, can’t stay to talk, but this is yours,” she stammered at a hundred miles per second, reaching into her bag pocket and pulling Donny’s cassette tape out. “I rewinded it for you and everything so it’s ready to go.”

“Wow, thanks. Did you like it?” he asked nervously. There was such a vulnerable feeling whenever he showed someone his mixtapes, like they were gonna judge him for listening to Iron Maiden and Black Sabbath but also side-eye him because his mixtapes weren’t only comprised of metal songs.

“It was great, we played it in the car all weekend. I hope you don’t mind but I kinda stole some of your songs for a tape I made for my Dad.”

“What songs?”

“Uh, Ace of Spades was one, we both loved that one. The Helter Skelter cover and the Bruce Springsteen song that’s at the end.”

“My Dad loves that one too,” Donny affirmed, knowingly. “Glory Days.”

“That’s the one. Again, thank you, it was a lot of fun.”

“Any time!”

“See you guys around, ‘kay?” she started to power walk away from them when Gareth called out to her, making her turn around again.

“Hey, you’re sitting with us for lunch, right?” a few people turned to see who he was yelling at.

“Uh, sure! Save me a sea-” Dottie managed to get out before she bumped into someone else.

“Woah, where are you running to, princess?”

“Eddie!” she grinned up at him. Now that they were standing practically inches away from each other, he noticed how much shorter she was than him and quickly stored that information in the part of his brain that had been replaying her laughter like elevator music for the past two days. “Gotta go, I’m so late! See you at lunch? Gareth just invited me so you can’t kick me out!”

And with those final words, Eddie Munson stood in the hallway watching her go, feeling as dazed as he had been since he’d formally met her. That girl is gonna be the death of me someday, he thought dramatically before joining his friends, noticing that at the end of the row of lockers, a certain Lucas Sinclair was staring at them with confusion written all over his face.

Ms. Kelly’s office was cozy and inviting, but for the first time since she’d met her, Dottie wasn’t entirely too interested in spending her lunch period hiding away in it. The counselor began the meeting by reviewing her grades as she often did, praising her for her GPA and her glowing reports from her teachers. Dorothy Burke was not exactly a teacher’s pet, but she was a quiet student that kept to herself and worked hard in every class, and the faculty at Hawkins High School was all too happy to provide her with the resources she needed to succeed in her very near future. Not all of them knew she had already been accepted into a great college, but those who did were infinitely proud that someone that had gone through their class was on course for a great career regardless of her future choices.

“You look happier today. Any updates about Michigan?” Ms. Kelly took a guess.

“No, not really. Although my Aunt Barbara wants to talk to me about my major.”

“Have you decided already?”

“I think I’m down to only a couple of options. I like their Elementary Teacher Education program, and my aunt teaches Economics in Vegas so I thought she could answer some of my questions to help me decide.”

“That’s very sensible of you,” Ms. Kelly smiled. “What happened to the English program you mentioned last week?”

“I still like it! I just don’t see myself, I don’t know, being an author?”

“Well, that’s not the only thing an English degree is for. You could be an English teacher if you really like working with children, or you could be an editor for a newspaper. You could even be a reporter if you wanted to.”

“I’ll… I’ll think about it. I don’t think I have to choose the first year I’m there so… I’ll keep thinking about it and take a bunch of classes I like and see where that goes.”

“Okay,” the counselor said, writing down something in her file. “So if it isn’t college news, then what’s going on in your life?”

Dottie wondered how much she should be sharing with Ms. Kelly right now; not because she was worried about being in trouble, but because she was well aware of the optics of her Friday outing. There was a reason Dustin had mentioned the presence of “other girls” when he had invited her to join their club, even if that had turned out to only mean Erica and her relentless sass. She chewed on her lower lip to stop the smile that threatened to break out when she thought of her lunch plans. Ms. Kelly waited patiently for an answer.

“Um. I-I think I made new friends?” she settled on saying.

“Really? That’s wonderful news, Dorothy. Would you like to share more?”

“Do you know Dustin Henderson?”

“He’s a freshman, isn’t he?” Ms. Kelly’s brow raised as she wondered where this story was going.

“Yes, I think so. He… he was really nice and invited me to join his board game club last Friday. It was cool.”

“He invited you to that hell club?” she seemed concerned.

“Hellfire. Hellfire Club,” Dottie sat on her hands and leaned back a little bit. “It’s just the name of the group, it’s not… dangerous or anything. I think they took the name from a comic book? We use dice to battle against monsters and solve mysteries that Eddie writes for us, it’s a lot of fun.”

“Eddie,” she muttered, searching for a face to attach the name to. “Edward Munson?”

“I think he’d be upset if he heard you calling him Edward,” she chuckled.

“Dorothy, I don’t think you shou-”

“I know. I know how this sounds like. But honestly, all the boys were really nice. They didn’t make me feel uncomfortable or anything like that. Eddie is a good leader, he takes care of everyone. And I’m not the only girl there. I promise you it’s really safe. It’s just board games. My Dad knows and he’s okay with it, I told him everything.”

She didn’t understand why she was getting so defensive over a group of people she had only known for a few days but if she was being honest, they weren’t the worst kind of people she had encountered in her life. She used to go to a big city school in New York filled with all kinds of students from all walks of life, and she was certain that a few lockers down her own, there had been a kid that kept a knife hidden behind his balled up gym sweatshirt. Yeah, maybe The Hellfire Club had a reputation. She had heard the news about what the country thought Dungeons and Dragons was, and her dad had laughed and laughed so hard he had choked on his own spit when he heard the words “Satanic cult” attached to what he knew were a bunch of nerds pretending to have magic powers. They were just a group of misfits making up fantasy worlds. Who gave a shit about dumb, ignorant rumors?

“I understand that making new friends is very important to you right now,” Ms. Kelly began, noticing that a door that had been wide open for months had been closed in front of her in a matter of seconds.

“I’m not going to tell you what you should do with your life, you are going to turn 18 soon, and if your father trusts your choices, then what I say really holds no weight for you.”

“They really aren’t bad people,” Dottie said, her voice just loud enough to not be considered a whisper. “They invited me to join them for lunch. No one has done that since my first week here.”

“And that sounds really lovely. All I’m saying is that you shouldn’t be so trusting of people you’ve only just met. You’re headed to a great college with a scholarship that a lot of Hawkins kids would love to have. I would just hate to see you get lost right at the finish line.”

She doesn’t know what the fuck she’s talking about, Dottie ground her teeth as she walked down the hallway to the cafeteria. They are good people. Who cares if they smoke a little weed sometimes? Dad did it in college and still graduated with honors. I’m like 95% sure Uncky Paul was high when he walked up the stage to get his diploma. She hadn’t noticed she was sulking until she walked into the cafeteria and spotted Dustin and Gareth waving at her enthusiastically. The corners of her mouth lifted and she hurried to them, the paper bag containing her lunch (a cheese and tomato sandwich with mayo on white bread, perfectly boring and made with a lot of love by her dad) swinging wildly from her hand.

Dottie sat down between them, instantly tuning into the discussion Mike and Donny were having about a comic book she hadn’t read and knew nothing about. She picked up the tab from Dustin’s soda can that was discarded on the table and fiddled with it while she listened to them. At some point, Jeff burped and the entire group erupted in protests. She felt… cozy. Included. She felt less lonely, less awkward, less invisible. Like she finally belonged somewhere.

“You read comic books?” asked Gareth, who was sitting to her right.

“No, not really. I prefer books.”

“What do you read?”

“Anything, really. Whatever I can get my hands on. I get my books from the library mostly,” she dropped her tone to resemble a stage whisper. “Sometimes, if I’m feeling adventurous, I pick a book only if the cover looks cool.”

“No way,” he gasped dramatically, matching her tone. “What happened to not judging a book by its cover?”

“What can I say, I’m a rebel,” they both giggled, knowing that out of the two of them, Gareth was the closest thing to a bad boy and yet he was still miles away from a regular Danny Zuko. “Can I ask you a weird question?”

“Sure,” the boy said, intrigued.

“Do you do something with your hair before you come to school?”

“I shower?”

“That’s it?”

“Is there something wrong with my hair?” he lifted his hand to touch his head, worried about what he could find.

“No, that’s why I ask,” she laughed, reaching to touch his hair too. “Your curls look great. I can’t get mine to be this defined in this weather.”

Gareth’s body began trembling with laughter, his head bumping into her raised hand as he rocked back and forth completely taken aback by her question. Certainly hair care was not in his list of topics to talk about during lunch, or at any point in his life, really. He just used the shampoo his mom bought and called it a day. Dottie laughed with him too, realizing that she was asking a metalhead about curl definition.

“What are we laughing about?” Dustin asked, curiously.

“Hair products. Any recommendations for curly hair?” Dottie said, sending Gareth into another fit of laughter.

“A magician never reveals his secrets,” the younger boy said mysteriously. Steve would never trust him again if he knew he had shared his sacred routine with others.

The cafeteria began clearing out soon enough as everyone got ready for class again. First Dustin and Mike, then Jeff, Donny and finally Gareth until the only ones left at the table were Eddie and Dottie. She waved goodbye to the boys as they left, noticing that her being at the specific table she was sitting at seemed to be some sort of must-see sight for other seniors. Dottie was all too aware of the way the two preppy girls that sat to her left in Psych were gossiping into each others’ ears while taking peeks at her on their way to the door. When she turned to the only other person left seated at the table, she found Eddie analyzing her with big brown eyes. He resembled a lost puppy when he tilted his head to the side.

“Everything okay?” he asked, his voice softer than she’d ever heard coming from him before.

“Yeah. Just, y’know,” she shuffled closer to him so they could chat without the whole table separating them. “The staring. I thought I’d stopped being news around the third week of January.”

“They aren’t staring because you are new,” Eddie crossed his arms. “They stare because you are sitting at the freaks’ table. And forgive me for saying this, darling, but you don’t exactly look like a freak.”

“You don’t know what I look like under the makeup,” she argued.

“You aren’t wearing any.”

“Are you a makeup expert now?”

“I’m an expert in many things,” he leaned forward. The cafeteria was almost empty. “You have English Lit now, right?”

“How’d you know?” she narrowed her eyes at him.

“Because I am pretty sure you’ve been sitting like three seats away from me since you got here.”

“Oh.”

Dottie felt her ears grow hot. She’d said a lot of stupid poetic shit in that class without knowing he was there too. She hoped he didn’t remember any of it. Actually, she hoped none of her classmates remembered anything she had said in English Lit for the past three months. All her assignments had been particularly depressing and dramatic lately; one could only be thankful that the teacher didn’t make them read their work out loud.

“Come on, we’re gonna be late and I’m really trying to graduate this time around.”

“This time?” she asked as they walked to their shared class.

“I, uh,” Eddie scratched his ear. “I got held back. Twice.”

“Oh. So you’re 20?”

“19. I turn 20 in May.”

“Well, you know what they say, third time’s a charm.”

“I really hope you’re right, princess. Hawkins High is my own personal circle of Hell at this point.”

Eddie noticed that she was chewing on the inside of her cheek as they got seated for class. He also noticed that she had sat at the table right next to his instead of the one she had been using for most of the semester. No one would bother her, the entire back row tended to remain empty, especially whatever seat was next to his. But still, it was a welcome change, if an unexpected one. Some of their classmates looked at them with mild confusion, but he was positively certain that by the time class started, they’d have forgotten about the new seating arrangement. There was loud chatter as the bell rang and everyone tried to squeeze in their last bits of gossip before the teacher arrived.

“Eddie?” she asked, pulling him out of his trance. “What’s with the nicknames?”

“Huh?”

“The nicknames. You kept calling me princess and darling on Friday, and that was okay, but you’re doing it now too and… you don’t call the guys anything special out of the game. I can’t tell if you’re making fun of me or not.”

“Does it bother you?”

“That you’re making fun of me?”

“I’m not making fun of you,” he said, suddenly serious.

“Oh. Okay then.”

“Do the names bother you?”

“No. Not if you’re not making fun of me.”

“I’m not.”

“Then they don’t bother me,” she was strangely quiet and detached when she said that, not even sparing a glance in his direction.

Mrs. O’Donnell walking in and greeting everyone dislodged her from her stillness and she busied herself with finding the book report the old lady was requesting would be passed to the front. Eddie noted that his looked significantly shorter than hers, at least by a full page. He lowered his voice so it would be masked by the soft chitchat and leaned towards her seat.

“I like alliteration,” he confessed. “Jeff the Just, Gareth the Great, Dottie the Darling,” she blinked at him, her report still in her hand. “I already used daring and deadly for Dustin and Donny, it was either darling or destroyer for you, so, take your pick.”

“And princess? Because Erica gets to be a Lady?”

“No, I just like seeing you get all flustered,” he admitted, a playful smile on his lips.

She rolled her eyes at him, he chuckled, and all the nervous tension between them dissipated. Neither had noticed that all the reports were being counted by the teacher while they were talking.

“I’m missing two, who didn’t do their homework? Munson?” Mrs. O’Donnell asked, not an ounce of patience in her voice.

Both misbehaving students sprang to attention, sitting very upright and avoiding each others’ eyes. The boy was about to say something to defend his honor when Dottie stood up, snatched his paper from his desk and delivered it to the teacher along with her own. The woman looked at her curiously, noticing that she wasn’t seated at her usual spot; a different boy was occupying that chair today. She directed her gaze towards Eddie who was trying very hard to look nonchalant by staring at his own crossed arms resting on the table.

“Miss Burke, do you want to sit closer to the front?” she asked, her voice low to add privacy to the conversation but the classroom was so quiet a pin falling to the floor could have been heard.

“No, ma’am, I’m okay with my seat,” Dottie smiled confidently, and walked back to her chair. As soon as the teacher had recovered and turned around to start writing on the blackboard, she leaned over to Eddie for one final time. “I like the nicknames, Eddie the Endearing,” he was suddenly thankful his wild hair was covering his red ears, but she noticed his reaction anyways. “Or maybe you’d prefer to be called Master. You seemed to enjoy that one on Friday.”

“Shut the fuck up,” he managed to get out, a mischevious grin spreading on his face. She held back a chuckle and sat back straight in her seat, picking up her pen and starting to copy the names on the blackboard onto her notebook. Eddie stared at her for a few seconds, the gears in his brain spinning at double time, before he too grabbed a pen and began taking notes to force himself to stop looking at her profile like a creep. This is gonna get very interesting, was the last thing he thought before getting distracted by threats of pop quizzes and overinterpretations of what authors had really meant in their prose.

#bunny writes #small town fic #eddie munson x female character #eddie munson x oc #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson #eddie munson fic #hellfire club #stranger things 4 #dustin henderson #gareth stranger things #eddie munson x reader #joseph quinn #baby's first fic

[fortunatetragedy]

💔🎈💄🎒 for either Royston or Sullivan (or both?)

OMG HI SKYLAR :D

Oh friend you can have both. They're practically attached at the hip.

These questions came from this questionnaire which I stole from scribble-dee-vee.

💔 (broken heart) - Who has your character hurt most? Physically or emotionally? How did it feel? Do they regret it?

I'm going to mildly read Sullivan here: he was a cavalryman in the American Civil War, for its entirety. He fought for the North. It's hard to objectively measure who he's hurt, you know? Like I'm sure I could catalogue every single thing he did during the War that, to someone in 2024 wouldn't seem that bad, but to an autistic Catholic man in the middle of a crisis of faith that he ended up losing, lots of things probably felt like he did something inexcusable to another human being. He thinks he's hurt his mother, Aileen, the most--he is from Kentucky, and his parents are from Ireland. When the War broke out, Sullivan was in the Regular Army, which became the Union Army, but his father, who was still considered to be "fighting age," was conscripted into the Confederate Army. They were at the same battle when his father died (Battle of Fort Donelson) but Sullivan didn't know his father was there until way later when the Army told him he'd died. He left home at 15 because his father found out he was a homosexual--he tells Royston how that went in October 1872. He doesn't think about any of this often, but when he does, it bothers him.

I'm going to save Royston's, because I see another broken heart in my askbox, but the funny-not funny answer is "Sullivan" if we're going by repetition of the same unskippable quicktime event followed by an unskippable cinematic over and over and over because they never make it to the next save point.

(That sentence will make more sense once you read the book I swear.)

🎈 (balloon) - What does your character do at parties? Are they a wallflower or a party animal? Do they go with friends or alone?

Man Sullivan hates parties lol. He has difficulty navigating social situations, especially outside of work. As First Sergeant, he starts getting the men up around 05:00 and goes back to his own quarters around 22:00, so he has a long day. Having to leave after evening roll call to go to a social engagement throws off his routine, so he's already anxious rolling into the party. Depending on who else is present at the party, they're going to think

"First looks like he'd rather be checking the new recruits for lice than be in this tent right now let's see how drunk we can get him" (a social function with the enlisted men)

"LOL look how uncomfortable Sully is--oh good Hofer's with him go get them some alcohol" (a social function with the NCOs and officers)

"My, that young man hasn't blinked in quite some time and he seems to enjoy discussing hippopotamuses more than international relations, yes, that's a bit off-putting" (a social function with civilians or politicians.)

When there's an officer's function, he can at least go with Hofer, but Hofer can't come to enlisted parties because THERE ISN'T SUPPOSED TO BE FRATERNIZATION. (Hofer is a Major, which is commissioned, and Sullivan is an NCO. Commissioned and noncommissioned officers weren't supposed to be friends.)

If Royston's at a party he's either killing someone in the wine cellar or he's gambling in the back. (Or, if we're in Book 2/3, he and Sullivan are at the party together, and Sullivan isn't uncomfortable bc for once, he won't be the weirdest person in the room.) He doesn't have friends, necessarily. The dudes he gambles with are mostly cool to not stab each other over something stupid in the middle of a game, but the ones who aren't hardened find it unsettling to be around Royston even at the beginning of the story when his aura isn't all fucked up.

Hold up Melanie Gott (owner of the boarding house where Royston lives in 1872-73) DID invite him to several parties at The German House, to include Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year's Eve. Almost all of her tenants are gamblers, drunks, or people who need to engage in less than legal activities in private. He wanted to mope about Sullivan being out of town on Halloween and Thanksgiving, he was so wound up about Sullivan coming back from afield that he annoyed the shit out of everyone at Christmas and Gott made him do dishes and pick up heavy things. Then Sullivan was back from afield for NYE and Royston was busy.

(I promise Gott and Hofer's wife, Clara, are fully fleshed-out people who have agency and their own interests and storylines outside of what the boys are doing in Book 2 it's not just about these two idiots for three books straight. Hofer didn't even exist until draft 3 and now that he is here the joke is that it's "Doctor and Mister Hofer," not "Surgeon Hofer and his wife.")

💄 (lipstick) - What does your oc think of their face? Do they have a positive or negative opinion? Do they wear makeup? Do they have a skincare routine? What traits do they like most about their face?

Sullivan is probably used to using banged-up mirrors to shave, so he just gave up shaving. He keeps it trimmed so the officers don't give him shit, but the chinstrap was big in 1872-4. He doesn't have a ton of feelings about his face as this point, other than I think he's a bit embarrassed that his beard hair is a different color than the hair on his head ("Redbeard," I'm sure he got a lot of). His skin care routine is "rinse sweat [and whatever else] off face at latrine at end of night, wash teeth with rag and baking soda, hope like hell pillow is clean." He likes that the men find him approachable due to the fact he has a "youthful countenance"--he's stern, but fair, and genuinely cares about the safety and well-being of the men under his command. He thinks his face reflects this. Possibly embarrassed by the fact Royston likes to lick said face, but that's a different question.

Royston thinks he's hot shit. Royston thinks his face scars make him look like a pirate, and he takes pride in his appearance. He doesn't like being dirty. Getting dirty is fine but staying grubby makes him angry. I'm sure if they had decent makeup in the 1870s he would have fucked around with it but not even the women had decent eyeliner or nail polish. (Would not put it past him to steal Gott's lipstick so he could plant one on Sullivan's face.) He takes a whole entire bath at the end of the day, esp if he's actually done work, and he will smoke a cigar and just read in that bathtub for hours. Ash and blood keep his skin healthy~

🚨 (siren) - What’s your character’s relationship with the law? Have they ever been arrested? What for? What are their opinions on law enforcement?

Not to be a smartass, but Sullivan is the law. Once he reached the rank of Sergeant, he became responsible for all the enlisted men under him, and he's been First Sergeant for [checks notes] 12 years. Over half his career. Because they won't offer him a commission or give him his final promotion. Because he can't schmooze at parties. As First Sergeant, being as he's across the Mississippi in an AU, he's the fort sheriff of his Kansas posting. He does more work than the actual sheriff, Jeremiah Mason, who he does have to begrudgingly befriend in Book 2 bc I have to find ways to make him miserable that don't involve threatening Royston or dismembering him more.

Fucking Royston… he was caught shoplifting as a child and vowed never to let the law grab him again. He has never been arrested as an adult, and he has arrest warrants/bounties from five different states when he meets Sullivan. Since he's west of the Mississippi in the 1870s, he doesn't think about law enforcement unless Mason shows up at the saloon just to be an asshole on a Friday night. Or someone reminds him that his husband* is a fort sheriff. Then he feels like a big old fucking hypocrite.

*Owing to the length of compounded time they've known each other (variant recall on past time loops; it's a whole thing) and the sheer insane level of committment they have after several 12-to-18-month time loops, they think, of each other, "I'd marry him if it were legal." And I just let them bc like, who's it hurting. It's… I have to walk away from them right now. This was supposed to be a horror novel.

#11/10 asks #noblebs #doom metal love story #c: cole sullivan #c: arthur royston

[countrymusiclover]

72 - Kai's Message

Part 73

Gemini Runaway

Tag list ask to be added @icefrye19 @secretdreamlandmentality

"God! Can they stop kicking my bladder?" I groaned through my teeth. I had been laid up in bed for weeks now since I was reaching my final trimester of the miracle pregnancy.

Klaus vamped in the room tossing me a blood bag before he crawled into the bed beside me. "I wish I could help you, love. I don't like seeing you in pain."

"I know you don't." Raising my hand to the side of his face I ran my thumb over his stubble until for no reason I started crying. The reason I hate being a vampire. "What if something goes wrong?"

He tilted his head to the side, clicking his tongue. "Rae…"

"No this is serious, Nik!" I drew my hand back shifting so I was facing him more head on. "I mean besides the fact that they most likely will have vampire, werewolf and witch blood running through their veins. How are we supposed to prepare for this? We're immortal, yes but we've never been parents before. What if I'm a bad mother and-"

He takes my hands in his, cutting me off, squeezing my hands. "Raelyn, stop it. You have nothing to worry about. You are the greatest person I have met. There's nothing you can't overcome."

"I love you.." I mumbled, snuggling my head closer into his chest. "I don't want to ever be separated from you."

He wrapped his arms around my waist as much as he could with my belly so grown where his shirts were actually almost fitting me now. "I love you too. And if that were to ever come to pass. I know that you and I would do everything in our power to get back to one another."

Entering the dining area near the college I saw Caroline who waved us over. Jacob and I were in charge of the girls including his baby daughter. Hayley had asked for Cami's help in locating the next cure so they didn't stay in town long. Sliding into the booth I smiled at my friend. "Hey Care, so what's going on?"

"Damon apparently went into your uncle's house and found these. He was looking for something called the Ascendant." She laid pictures of Jo as a kid out of the table. One photo had her and Kai wearing Christmas sweaters together.

Jacob and I shared a silent glance until Alina spoke up, hitting her hands on the table. "That's in Jo's dresser. We've seen it!"

"Okay…what's it supposed to do?" She asked shifting her gaze back up to us.

Andrea was scribbling on a coloring page sitting in my brother's lap. "It's the key to a prison world. Our uncle Joshua created it. And our mother helped banish Jo's twin there."

"Because he killed four of his siblings and wanted to be the Coven leader." Caroline finished his sentence.

Raising a brow at her I wasn't following. "Yeah uh how exactly do you know that?"

"Jo told me at Friendsgiving. Right when we apparently met her other siblings Luke and Liv." Caroline said.

Sucking in a breath it was starting to make sense why my uncle suddenly showed up and wanted the Coven power back. "And if Damon showed up at his house looking for it then my uncle thought that he was trying to help me release him. That's why he showed up here the other day wanting me to give him the power."

"Wait, you talked about releasing him. If he gets out he will kill Jo." Jacob whipped his head around in shock.

Turning my head in his direction I slumped my shoulders. "I'm aware, J. It wasn't going to happen. I just threatened him that I would if he came after my kids again."

"Geez Rae." He ran a hand through his hair before my vision began to blur in front of me for some reason. Gripping the table in my hands I collapsed over.

"Mommy!" Hope and Missy cried out seeing that I had blacked out.

Blinking my eyes open I rose to my feet. I looked around recognizing the Gemini house in front of me. Walking inside the house I gasped actually being able to go over the threshold. “We meet again, siphon girl.”

“Kai!” I gasped stumbling into the doorway seeing him standing in front of me with Bonnie being dragged behind him. “Bonnie, are you okay?”

She winced. “Raelyn, what are you doing here?”

“I don’t know why, but I can help you.” I raised my hand but when I attempted to throw fire at him it didn’t work at all.

Kai smiled wickedly, he released his hold on Bonnie striding up to me. “Magic is hard isn’t it, Raelyn…Now I have a bone to pick with you actually that you are here.”

“Urgh Kai!” I grunted when he shoved me against the wall holding my hands above my head.

He got up in my face whispering a threat. “I don’t like you very much. You see I have heard about your great power from Bonnie over there. And I am frustrated that you said you would release me and then you backed out.”

“How do you know about that?” I questioned knowing he shouldn’t know.

Kai moved his hands around my neck. “When you did your little power transfer back to my dear old dad. I saw your memories. So just know this Raelyn….Kai Parker is coming to town.” He snapped my neck with me blacking out again.

“Oh my god, Rae!” Caroline was on the ground when I shot awake. She grabs my shoulders with me seeing my daughters all looking at me horrified.

I slumped my shoulders, regaining what had just happened to me. I hadn’t blacked out to the prison world since I turned into a vampire. “I just saw Kai….”

“Did he say something?” Jacob asked, still holding onto his daughter.

“He said he’s coming to Mystic Falls and he’s going to use Bonnie to do it.”

Caroline sighed offering me her hand tugging me up to stand. “I think you and Jacob need a night of fun. Considering you two have done nothing but chase down leads and deal with helping us save Bonnie.”

“What about the girls? We can’t take them to a bar?” Jaocb asked the blonde vampire.

She smiled, intertwining her hand with mine and Jaocb’s. Missy was coloring with Andrea. Hope and Alina were watching our conversation even though they didn’t understand what was happening. “Simple compulsion Jacob. Because I can tell you no one on campus takes vervain so we have the green light.”

“Okay, okay. But then we have to find a way to bring Bonnie back. She is one of your best friends after all.” Holding my hands up I told the blonde knowing she missed her as much as Elena.

Caroline threw her hands up in the air and we all followed her down the street to the nearest bar. “Exactly but let’s go have drinks.” Even on our way I couldn’t shake the feeling that if Kai came into town it wouldn’t end well for anyone who got in his way from what Jo had told me.

Comments really appreciated ❤️

#gemini runaway #klaus mikaelson x reader fanfiction #klaus mikaelson fic #klaus mikaelson fanfiction #klaus mikaelson x you #klaus mikaelson x y/n #klaus mikaelson x reader #klaus mikaelson x oc #klaus mikaelson x witch reader #klaus mikaelson x heretic reader #caroline forbes #oc : raelyn lane #oc : alina mikaelson #oc : missy mikaelson #oc : jacob lane #indiana evans #tvd #kai parker #tvd fic #tvd fanfiction #tvd fandom #tvd universe #tvdu #gemini coven #joshua parker #tvd heretic #tvd siphon #siphon witch #wattpad fanfiction #comments really appreciated

[blushyeleven]

okay! I had this fic idea while rewatching kc undercover!

this will be a 2 parter fic! So here the first<3

warnings: this includes tickling so skip if you don’t like!

characters: ler: Kc lee: marissa (brief mention of Y/N)

𝘈𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘪𝘵. (𝘗𝘢𝘳𝘵 1)

It was ordinary weekend, Marissa decided to spend her day camping out at the coopers house. Like she did. Everyday. Honestly she counted the coopers as her second family and kc wouldn’t have it any other way. She knew kc better then anybody else but their were some things that kc said that Marissa always found hard to believe. Like today when kc decided to spill her exiting news to her best friend

“So what is it kc?” Marissa said with excitement “well, I’ve becoming quite close with Y/N lately..” “and?” Marissa impatiently interrupted her. “She asked me out on a date tomorrow!” Marissa tried to look shocked before burst out laughing “ppffttt you? A date?” Marissa said between uncontrolled giggles. Kc turned to her to look fake offended.

Marissa giggles died down a bit “oh.. your being serious?!” She said shocked. Kc Just rolled her eyes In response “yes I am”

“so your telling me.. Y/N. Like Y/N L/N actually asked you out? On a date?” Marissa stated with uncertainty while trying to fight her disbelieving giggles “why do you sound so shocked?” Kc replied during a laugh. “Because you hate going on dates..” there was a pause in Maria’s sentence caused by her gasping in realisation “does that mean I can choose your outfit?!” Marissa eyes gleamed “No.” Kc shot back “come on please!!?” She begged, she longed to see kc finally expressing herself in a dress but marissa also knew that was just a fantasy that would never happen. “No absolutely not” Kc was stubborn. Especially when it came to her fashion. “I was just thinking about wearing my fancy plaid shir-“ again marissa burst into hystericst

Kc Just wore a confused look on her face before marissa managed to sputter our “yohohur going on a dahaate? And you want to wear a.. ‘ fancy plaid shirt’” kc that isn’teven a thing”

If that came from anybody else kc would be offended and return an insult - but she has known marissa since pre school. She could sense when there we a hint of playfulness in the situation.

She let marissa’s laughing fit slowly stop as she watched with a smirk. “You wanna laugh that badly? Alright!” She said before pouncing at marissa who had no idea this was about to happen. She didn’t hesitate to sit on marissas waist and smirking at her with a hint of playfulness but mischief in her eyes.

Before marissa could get a word in kc starts to scribble along marissas sides as she starts squealing and trying to buck kc of her “BAHAHAHAHA KC PLEASE STOP” Marissa yelped. Already regretting her decision to mock kc.

“I don’t think so. You brought this upon yourself” she said as she started to dig her fingers into Marissas armpits causing her to thrash and scream with laughter “WAAIAIHAHATT NOOHOHOHOOOOO” kc knew marissa hated being tickled but she didn’t feel bad at all. Marissa knew they kc alwayed tickled people when they were being annoying. So she now has to just suffer the consequence. “BAHAHAHHAHAHAHAH YOU KNOHOHOOOW I HATE HAHAHA BEING TI.. TICKLED!!” She managed to say. “Yea I know.. that’s kinda the point” Kc said as she watched a peach shade of pink flush across marissas cheeks. She wasn’t sure if it was from her snarky comments or from how hard she was laughing

She continued to rapidly taser her fingers in her armpits. “NAAAHAHHAHAAH” kc couldn’t help but just smile at marissa who was just laying there in a fit of laughter

“PLEHEHEEEASEEE STOHOHOPP” Marissa cried. Kc decided to start just digging and wiggling her fingers into marissas sides, loud cackles flowing form her mouth. She started kicking her legs out and flaying about helplessly. Anything to help her escape.

Kcs sudden attack came to a sudden hault as marissa was left hyperventilating. “You asked for it you really did” Kc remarked through a sigh and a giggle as marissa was still trying to regain air. “okay.. I think a plaid shirt would look cool” marissa finally said through gasps for air.

#kc undercover tickle #kc ler #kc undercover #kc undercover fic #sfw tickling community #kc undercover tickle fic #lee marissa #tickle content

[flfverse]

contracts, pt 1: an overview

i’ve talked about contracts a bit before, but i want to really dig into the logistics right now. this post got long, so i’m not discussing bonding/permanent contracts here. they’re very similar to other kinds of contracts, but will have extra stuff that i’ll talk about in a later post.

so, basically, a contract is any document which lists the names and safewords of all parties, the duration of the contract, and signatures from all parties confirming their consent. that’s the bare minimum. it’s not very common for a contract to be that bare, but it does happen. it also doesn’t need to be fancy or structured or anything—12 words scribbled on a used napkin will hold up in court. this is important, because while collars are also important signifiers of a relationship, everyone has a different idea of what they mean, and being collared is not in any way legally binding.

additional note: minors can only enter a contract with parental consent, and they are not allowed to enter a contract lasting longer than six months, though they can keep renewing that six-month contract if they want. doing so is uncommon, though, and most don’t enter a contract at all.

a general list of other things contracts can include, in no particular order:

hard & soft limits

preferences/likes

schedule (ex: required to do 2 scenes per week)

health concerns (ex: old injury, asthma)

exclusivity clause

^^ exceptions to the exclusivity clause

24/7 dynamic rules

business arrangements or other deals

and any of those can be as simple as a few sentences or bulleted list, or can take up multiple pages of detail.

of course, the less information there is the more risky it is, especially if you are trying to prove something in court (if it’s not written down, you can’t say for sure that your partner knew choking is a hard limit, for example).

it’s fairly common practice to have a rudimentary contract for a one night stand or something, just to be on the safe side. however, if you’re going to be more serious than that, most people start out with a one- or two- week contract. the longer a contract gets, the more information it usually contains.

but let’s talk about some of the things i just listed. some of them are fairly self-explanatory, but others are not.

what’s an exclusivity clause? contracts are not, by default, a marker of an exclusive relationship. this universe is a lot more open to, well, open relationships and polyamory. an exclusivity clause makes it clear that the people signing the contract are only sceneing/in a relationship with the other people signing on.

there can be exceptions written in! say character A and character B are entering a mostly-exclusive relationship, but A occasionally helps out their friend C and isn’t comfortable closing that door, but also doesn’t want a formal arrangement with C. they would include an exception to the exclusivity clause and anything A did with C would not be considered cheating (unless there were…specific acts A agreed not to do with C…there’s always exceptions!! you get the point). there could also be a general exception, like A can scene with any third party as long as B knows and agrees to it. whatever.

what about a 24/7 dynamic? an actual 24/7 d/s relationship is considered pretty old school/traditional and might be viewed as bigoted. it doesn’t have to be, just like there’s nothing inherently wrong with a woman being a stay-at-home mom and taking care of cooking and cleaning while her husband is the breadwinner. that doesn’t mean the relationship can’t be bad or that there isn’t a correlation between Old Traditions and bigotry, but. you know.

but anyway, the point. some people do want to make their entire lives/relationship revolve around the dom/sub dynamic. this can include things like service submission, the dom controlling what the sub wears, scenes happening daily rather than weekly, etc.

HOWEVER. not all 24/7 dynamic rules in a contract automatically equate to that kind of relationship. for example, the rule can just be something small like the submissive not being allowed to remove/put on their own collar. it could even be used to help with self-care—for example, if the sub frequently forgets to eat at their busy job, they could have a rule about a scheduled time to take a break and being required to tell their dom what they ate.

some people also might want to do a 24/7 thing, but only some of the time. Erasermic do this! they’re both switches, but if one of them decides to wear their collar outside of a scene it’s a signal for that. i reference this in Free Falling chapter 4.

okay, but wait, business deals? yall heard of political marriages? yeah, this is a thing. it’s not super common, especially if you’re not rich, but it does occasionally happen. i’m not actually all that sure how business deals work. maybe something to the effect of A & B having a partnership between their companies as long as their, yknow, romantic partnership lasts.

OH HEY! speaking of romantic partnership!

contracts aren’t inherently romantic. they’re generally assumed to be, but they can just as easily be platonic, or…whatever else you may have going on. it doesn’t matter or affect the contract at all. the contract is there to outline boundaries, not say “A is sooo in love with B.” a marriage license in our world doesn’t say two people are in love. it just says they’re now entitled to tax benefits. and stuff. but it is generally assumed that marriage = love. you get me?

it is, in general, relatively easy to get out of a temporary contract. the least painful way is to simply have all parties agree that it's not working out and break it off. destroying all copies of a contract pretty neatly breaks it as well, but if your partner doesn’t want to end things it’s probably better to file a restraining order rather than destroying evidence.

now, this post is long enough, so i'm going to talk about bonding, and contract violations later.

#flfverse #worldbuilding #d/s au #jeez this one got long as hell