Fight For Me
pairing: philip hamilton x reader
word count: 2300
warnings: use of the word slut, swearing, fighting, blood mention
a/n: based off of ‘fight for me’ from the heathers musical!!! not my most polished fic and im kind of rushing to finish it and get it up before i go to bed but i hope its good nonetheless. enjoy!!!
It was never… too bad.
Correction: it had never been too bad. It was never anything more than someone knocking your books out of your hand, jostling your lunch tray so milk spilled on a patch of your sweater, and, on the rarest of occasions, being called a ‘slut’. It had never been too bad.
You didn’t know what triggered it. No, in all honesty, it just came out of nowhere – you were walking down the hallway one second, peacefully and diplomatically minding your own business, when suddenly you were slammed into a locker, your backpack being crushed against the brightly coloured metal door. You could’ve sworn your breath left you, and as you panted to get it back, she pressed you even harder against it.
“Think you can make googly-eyes at Georges, you stupid slut?” the girl screamed in your face. Through the haze of tears in your eyes, you recognized her. One of the girls in your gym class – vaguely, you recalled accidentally tripped her in gym last week and maybe hearing somewhere later that she snapped a nail off. You had no idea who Georges was, or why she was trying to announce to everyone that you were making googly-eyes at him. With a frantic shake of your head, you tried to squirm from her grip with no avail. “Think you can win him over with your ugliness?” Again, you shook your head. “Do you want to fuck him, is that it? Have you never fucked anyone before?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you whispered to her.
She took a step away from you, glanced around, and laughed. At first, it sounded like she was laughing to herself, but then you saw the other kids in the hallway snickering. “Are you calling me a liar?” she questioned, moving towards you again with blazing eyes. “Are you calling me a liar? You bitch!”
“Says you,” said a voice. A disembodied voice somewhere to your right. Her head snapped in that direction.
“Who said that?” the girl seethed through gritted teeth.
A boy stepped from the crowd. He was probably no older than you, with curly dark hair, small, hooded eyes, and a splattering of freckles across his cheeks. He shifted somewhat uncomfortably on his sneakers, but stuck his chin out defiantly. “Me?”