#also new fear unlocked - high heels

[iceclew]

I'm cracking up so much right now like....I really did it, wtf XD

First I wanted to go like "this is not my fault, this is @mechazushi's idea", but to be honest.. I had so much fcking fun with this.. ( ‾́ ◡ ‾́ )

The idea is just *glorious* and so fcking stupid, it's perfect again.. https://www.tumblr.com/mechazushi/754110618707066880/so-this-isnt-so-much-an-incorrect-quotes

So this was her original post, the idea sprouting, so to say :D

Credit on your brain rot, it's hilarious @mechazushi :D

The less I get done in RL - the more creative I get, it's such a horrible curse..

Should I do a split up version of this as well, I wonder..? Like..all of them in seperate pics? (¯―¯ ٥)

[tideswept]

Written for @veloursdor, one evil-doll-exposure-therapy-by-way-of-Obikin-nonsense coming up!

thy fearful symmetry

(2k words: spooky Obikin AU. Dolls, childhood, loneliness, and forgotten memories that never leave.)

👻🕯🎃🕸🦇⛓🖤🕷🥀🪦🐈‍⬛💀🌙⚰🍁🕸️

The doll.

Christ, the doll. 

Obi-Wan froze with his foot on the first step of the staircase, staring unseeingly at the second landing. He had only just come back from burying his father and speaking with the solicitor.

Obi-Wan’s chest rose in a shuddering breath. The house, and everything inside of it, belonged to him.

Which included the doll.

Anakin.

Nausea rose up his throat like a high tide. Obi-Wan retreated. Up the stairs was Qui-Gon’s study, the place that he hadn’t been allowed to enter, not after the incident that had started it all. 

Fuck. How had he forgotten? He supposed that it shouldn’t matter, not anymore. Qui-Gon was gone. There was to be no heartfelt reconciliation between father and son. No probing questions about had truly gone on between Qui-Gon and Tahl, no explanations. With Tahl also gone, it was only him left.

The liquor cabinet was unlocked. If it hadn’t been, Obi-Wan would have taken a hammer and cracked the glass. He was in no mood to be sober. He tossed the keys onto the dusty dining room table—there was dust everywhere, implying Qui-Gon’s habit of locking himself up in his office hadn’t changed—and grabbed a bottle of rum.

Prize in hand, he settled on the steps of the backporch. The shrill mating call of grasshoppers seeped through his brain, another reminder that he was back in Stewjon, even more so than the copse of trees facing the property. Somewhere, out there, were all his old hiding spots—where he’d go to escape the arguments, the cold silences. 

Better the hush of the uncaring forest than the emptiness of his foster parent’s dissolving marriage. 

The first sip of rum burned. So did the second.

Obi-Wan tipped his head back, the bottle pressed to his lips like a clarion, and swallowed all the fire and bitterness that he could take until he was nothing but ashes, bombed out and numb. 

He hung his head forward, shoulders slumped. Receiving the news—Cody’s apologetic expression, right on the heels of what should have been a victory for them, a major contract signed that meant they were now playing in the big leagues—the plane ride, the other papers signed. The calls and texts from friends to extend their condolences, well-meant, but like being punched with a screwdriver each time his phone rang. Putting on the mask of the famed Negotiator to reassure them that he was doing as well as could be expected, that his father had been in his seventies, a heart attack was shocking but not that much of a shock—

He took another drag of the rum. His fingers twitched restlessly. So did his mouth, craving a cigarette. He should have stopped by the convenience store. But the funeral arrangements. The ceremony. The solicitor. All of it in a whirlwind of two days. 

And the fucking doll was the first thing that popped into his head the moment that he was alone. Figured.

Anakin. A name he hadn’t allowed himself to think of in forever. Referring to it as the doll had been easier, and then it’d been easier still to sweep up those memories into a dark corner of his mind. Banished along with the rest of his childish fears, to be suppressed in favor of bigger, more important worries. Getting into a good school. Getting along with his roommate. Getting laid. Getting a job. Getting out of Stewjon. 

Not necessarily in that order.

Two hours later, he was still sitting there. Above him the sky was an endless expanse of dark, clouds shrouding the moon and the stars that still glittered like gems, undisturbed by light pollution. Obi-Wan had cycled through grief, anger, and exhaustion until his eyes ached, eyelids drooped, and his stomach was an empty pit. 

He felt like he stood on the set of a play. If he got to his feet and walked over to the trees, he’d discover them to be two-dimensional, made up of plywood, painted with care to trick the eye. That if he pushed through, he’d wind up backstage, where he’d find…

Obi-Wan blinked, startled. He jerked as if yanked out of a deep sleep. 

“Fuck,” he swore softly. The rum bottle was empty. His grieving suit was hopelessly rumpled. 

Time to call an end to this day from hell. 

He rose to his feet, overly cautious, and felt his way into the house, turning on the lights and then leaving them on as he traveled. Climbing the stairs in his condition was a fool’s gamble, his center of balance was definitely skewed to the left, and if the floor didn’t stop lurching underneath his feet like a capsizing ship, Obi-Wan would throw up. 

Eventually, it did stop. Mostly because he collapsed on the sofa. 

Displaced dust fluttered in the air. Obi-Wan turned his head and coughed. “Jesus, dad.” When was the last time Qui-Gon had been in the living room? Who lived like this? 

A crazy man, whispered an insidious little voice. 

No. He wasn’t going there. Tomorrow, fine, whatever. He could deal with that tomorrow. 

He could deal with Anakin tomorrow.

—

“Want to play?”

Obi-Wan plucked at the hem of his shorts and then looked up, surprised. There was a young man blocking out the sun. Obi-Wan didn’t know him.

But then, Obi-Wan didn’t know anyone. This was his third foster family in as many months. 

He pressed his lips together, doubtful. People were sometimes nice to him, only to then be mean. Best if he kept his distance. Even if this wasn’t a trap, what was the point in talking to someone he’d never see again?

A minute passed. Obi-Wan plucked at his shorts again. They were too big for him. His new foster mom had bought them thinking he was the normal size for a five-year-old boy, but he wasn’t. He was scrawny and gaunt. Food had been scarce at the last house, that was why they’d taken him away. 

“Cat got your tongue?”

Obi-Wan wrinkled his nose and, unbidden, blurted out: “Cats don’t eat tongues. Cats are nice.” 

Then he cringed. Crap. 

“Cats are nice,” agreed the young man, and knelt down on the grass. His eyes were a deep blue, darker than Obi-Wan’s own. Even kneeling, and with Obi-Wan sitting at the bottom of the back steps, he was slightly taller. He offered his hand the way adults did. “Would you like to see some kittens?” 

Obi-Wan was suspicious. He didn’t shake the hand. Instead, he crossed his arms, tucking his arms under his armpits. “No.” 

“Are you sure?” came the playful rejoinder. “They’re very cute.” 

Obi-Wan firmed up his chin. There weren’t any kittens. This was a lie. A trick. “No, thank you.” 

His strange visitor… pouted. 

Obi-Wan wasn’t sure how to react to that. “Um,” he said, a little breathlessly, because oh, no, was the young man actually sad? He was wiping at his eyes like there were tears there, and Obi-Wan’s sense of compassion—and guilt—was immediate and all-consuming. 

“I’m sorry! I—I do want to see the kittens. B-but I don’t know you. I should stay here.” Within sight of the back door, like Tahl had told him.

“Oh, is that all? But I live here, too.”

“Um. Do you?”

“Oh, yes. For a…” The young man stopped. A line formed on his brow. “You know, I don’t remember how long I’ve been here. Isn’t that funny?” he shrugged, as if it wasn’t really that important. “I’m Anakin.” 

“I’m… Obi-Wan.” 

The smile Anakin gave him was sweet, mischievous. “Well, we won’t go anywhere, if you’re not comfortable,” he announced. “But that means we’re not strangers anymore, right?”

There was a certain logic to that, Obi-Wan supposed. But when he opened his mouth to agree, the door behind him creaked open on its hinges. 

“Obi-Wan? Are you hungry? I’ve made snacks,” Tahl said.

“Yes, ma’am,” Obi-Wan automatically said, and then turned back to Anakin. If he really lived there, shouldn’t Tahl have made snacks for him as well? 

But Anakin was gone.

— 

He’d sell the doll, Obi-Wan decided the next day, after the hangover had stopped pounding nails into his skull. As much as he wanted to throw it in the bin, he couldn’t. It’d meant so much to Qui-Gon, and it had historical value and… 

Why destroy something out of pettiness? He was a better man than that. For God’s sake, he wasn’t a kid anymore. There was enough gray in his hair that he was considering dyeing it, but then he’d questioned himself why he’d bother. 

The rest of the house would also have to go. Donated. Or whatever. There were probably museums that would salivate at the chance to go through Qui-Gon Jinn’s collection. The man had been both well-respected and infamous in certain circles, loved and hated—if not hated, by the end. Surely if he reached out, they’d send someone to evaluate what was worth preserving… they could have all of it, really. Obi-Wan didn’t care.

But before that could be set into motion, he needed to go into Qui-Gon’s study. 

He left the house to pick up something to eat, and came back with caffeine. He’d need it. 

Unlike the rest of the house, the upstairs hallway was clean. Obi-Wan placed his hand on the doorknob to Qui-Gon’s study and cast a worried glance around, reduced to being nine years old again, and sneaking into his then-father’s study. 

Sneaking in to see… to see Anakin.

Obi-Wan exhaled sharply through his nose. The doll. Sneaking in to see the doll. Anakin had never existed. Anakin was the product of a young child’s overactive mind. He’d overheard Qui-Gon at some point talking about the doll, and then his mind had filled in the gaps.

That was all. Logical. 

And yet. He couldn’t turn the knob. Not out of fear that Qui-Gon was around the corner and would find out, but out of a strange swirl of anticipation in his gut. The doll was his now.

(Anakin was his now.)

Obi-Wan opened the door. 

—

“Why is Qui-Gon so mad?” Obi-Wan’s voice trembled, along with his lips, his hands. Even his breath squeezed in his lungs. He didn’t want Qui-Gon to be angry. Qui-Gon was the best foster dad he’d ever had; he always had something to teach Obi-Wan, some curious stone or feather to show him. He never sighed and rolled his eyes at any of Obi-Wan’s questions, no matter how dumb. 

Fear sat like a block of ice in his chest. “I d-don’t get it.” To his despair, tears squeezed out of the corners of his eyes. Obi-Wan scrunched them shut, but they rolled down his cheeks. 

Anakin was quiet. Then his hand brushed the top of Obi-Wan’s head. “I don’t know,” he confessed, and he sounded young even to Obi-Wan. “I don’t think he’s mad at you. If anyone—” Anakin broke off. “He’s probably angry with me.” 

With Anakin? 

The fear melted with the heat of indignation. He scrambled off the bed. “He can’t make you go away.” Obi-Wan wouldn’t let him send Anakin away, he’d—he’d tell Tahl, even though she was just as weird about Anakin. He’d—

“No,” said Anakin, with a strange, resigned expression. He was usually lively, if moody, and Obi-Wan didn’t like the change. “No, he can’t. So don’t worry about it, alright? Cry if you need to, and then let’s go visit the Open Circle.” 

“Boys don’t cry.” Obi-Wan sniffed. 

Anakin’s smile was lopsided. “I cry all the time. And I’m just as much a boy as you.” 

This was not the revelation Obi-Wan expected. First, Qui-Gon angry with Anakin, now Anakin, somewhere, crying? Where Obi-Wan couldn’t see? 

“You can’t cry anymore,” Obi-Wan told him. What he really meant to say was you can’t cry if I’m not with you, but his young mind couldn’t translate his thoughts into words without losing something along the way. 

But Anakin understood. 

Anakin always understood him. 

—

Obi-Wan flipped the light switch. And there, under a large glass cloche on Qui-Gon’s desk, was the doll that his father had destroyed his life for. 

God, how he hated it. 

— 

(Anakin could never leave him alone again.) 

[v4mpfilm]

Party Monster [Fezco x Reader]

Chapter One: Bruises

masterlist

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ summary: You finally broke up with Nate after months of torture however drugs are becoming the new Nate in your life. Your drug dealer won’t allow this though.

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○ Content warnings: verbal and physical abuse, gaslighting, blood, drug use, cursing, the usual euphoria content! (if I am missing anything please inform me so I can add it!) 

-----------------------

You sat at your vanity, scanning yourself as you held your concealer tightly. The bruises that Nate had left on your arm, you noticed, were turning a green color. "Finally," you thought. "That purple was getting too hard to hide." Gently, you swiped your concealer over the marks and blended it out with a brush. 

The green color meant that the marks would soon fade out. It also meant that you didn't have to come up with any more shit excuses to your friends on what had happened or why it looked so painful for a "skating incident." You had mastered the art of covering bruises up by now though, it was your specialty. 

Dusting the covered-up bruise with translucent powder, you heard a ding come from your phone. You never once had a moment of silence in your busy life. 

* · • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Maddy: bitch, r u going to the spring break party?

You: duh

Maddy: good, I'm outside 😈

* · • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

After reading the texts, you heard a loud honk come from the driveway. Maddy was always one to show up unannounced. It was her world and you were living in it. You always thought maybe she watched too many shows like 91210 and Gossip Girl as a tween.

Unlocking your window and lifting it, you shouted down to her as the cold breeze hit your face. "Coming! Just need to put my shoes on." You were telling her at least half of the truth. But what you weren't revealing was the fact that you took a tiny scoop of your right pinky into a vile of coke and sniffed it right as you slipped your left heel on.

Coke was a go-to for events like these. Ever since the facade of Nate's kindness faded in your relationship, you had gained depression. You hated going out, seeing people, and explaining things. So, the uppers really helped relieve the tension and gave you a bit of energy. 

"Come on bitch!" You heard as you sniffed a second line and finally felt that confidence rush over you. You could do this. 

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•��☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•

Slipping out of the car, Music and laughter washed over you as teens danced around and spoke to one another. You never understood why the police were never called on these high school parties. "Who's house is this?" You turned to Maddy. Her smirk grew as she looked at you. "Doesn't matter! let's go in and get fucked up bitch!" Maddy pulled you before you could protest and spun you right through the front door. Laughter filled your throat as she did so, she always made you feel better. "Shit Maddy! You're gonna make me dizzy." 

Placing your feet down to stop yourself from spinning even more. Your vision wobbled and slowly cleared up until it focused on the one person that you desperately wanted to avoid. 

Nate.




╔⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶flashback⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷╗

The air was tense as you walked out of class with your boyfriend. You always tried your hardest not to piss him off but even when you were careful you always managed to fail. As you walked, Nate grabbed your arm and pulled you to the side. The room spun under your feet, waiting for his reply. 

"Y/N, Never embarrass me like that ever again." The hold Nate had on you grew tighter as he whispered in your ear. A shiver went up your spine. You knew this was a warning for something harsher. "Nate, fucking let me go, you psycho." You seethed through your teeth, glancing around the room at people staring. He always did this in public, making sure you knew no one would save you from this. Not one person who watched would ever mess with Nate fucking Jacobs. 

"Did you not hear me?" Nate pulled back, his expression was blank but his eyes were threatening. Fear always paralyzed you when those hazel eyes pierced into you. But for some reason, you weren't paralyzed this time.

You pulled your arm away from him and cradled it to your chest as you spoke. "We're done. I can't do this anymore." You quickly turned and walked towards the doors, his pleads fading in the distance. 

╚⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶flashback over⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷╝

"You look good, Y/N." Nate smiled at you. A feeling that once was butterflies was now hatred as you saw his eyes staring where he shouldn't. 

I mean, of course, you looked good! You were wearing a tight black halter top with a diamond-shaped cutout that make your boobs look great, a short purple skirt that hugged your hips, and black pumps that made your legs look fantastic! 

Snapping you from your thoughts of self-confidence, his hand brushed your face. He was trying so hard to lead you back into that trap of his. You knew better though. A quick slap was returned to him without hesitation. Panic flooded your mind as soon as you realized what you had done, Where was all this confidence coming from? Was it the coke? 

Turning around to find Maddy as quickly as you could, you were met with stares. Whispers filled your ears as you realized that Maddy had left you.  "Ah fuck." You thought, quickly running away before Nate retaliated. 

��⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄⊰❀

"Prisoner" by The Weeknd blared as you ran for your life and made it to a safe space. It wasn't very far from where you previously were but the mustard yellow couch that sat in there was calling your name. 

As you plopped yourself down, you pulled your little glass vile out to calm the nerves that were exploding in your chest. The tip of your acrylic nail scooped into the coke before you heard a gentle voice. "Damn, Ma. The fuck was that?" 

Shuffling to put the vile away, you noticed the voice was your drug dealer and you sighed out as you relaxed. "Don't even ask me that, Fez." He chuckled and nodded quietly as he watched you sniff the coke from your pinky. Fezco would never pry into your life unless he felt the need. And just from your response, he knew that it would be best not to press. 

▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱

Y/N started buying from Fez in November. The moment she smiled and said "Can I buy two pre-rolls and a gram of coke, please?" he was smitten. Even though his heart fluttered when she asked, Fez knew this girl had problems from the first time he saw her. Weed was nothing but Coke? Nah, he knew something was up. 

"You getting the coke for a party?" Fez asked as he watched her lean over the convenience store desk with crossed arms. It was like she was too ashamed to look at him as she answered. "Nah, just for me."

From that moment on, he watched her with a careful eye. Fezco noticed every single thing that happened to her. He knew when she was hurt, upset, angry, high, drunk, or crossed. 

He also knew she was Nate's girl. So, he kept his distance as much as he could. That was easier said than done though. Y/N was a force of nature. She could step into any room and make it her's in a moment. He could not believe that she was dating an asshole. 

Nate Jacob's was a guy that made Fez's blood boil. He was everything Fez hated. He would've been lying if he hadn't imagined Ashtray smashing his skull open with a crowbar. 

~

"Sorry, that was mean." She sniffed and rubbed her nose. "Nate and I...I couldn't do it anymore" Y/N shrugged and looked over at him. Her (Y/E/C) eyes were something he could drown in. "Oh, I'm sorry." Fez's lighter clicked as he puffed on his joint. " His eyes shifted over and looked at her arm which she quickly covered with a hand as she noticed. "Was that a bruise?" He thought. "Yeah, uh, I"m gonna go." Y/N gulped and stood up, leaning over a little bit. 

"Goddamn it, I fucked up" He screamed at himself. Fez didn't push her though. He watched as she left, praying he'd see her again. 

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

A/n: Hope you enjoyed, leave a little love if u did! I’ll have another chapter out as soon as possible my loves. Also, don’t worry. more Fez next chapter I just wanted to set up relationships for this.

Also if you like listening to music while reading I recommend listening to the Starboy Album by the weeknd! Or any of his music tbh i love him and always listen while writing

[some-messed-up-writing-for-you]

"Can you write one where Hero is in an abusive/toxic relationship with SuperHero but thinking it's normal while Villain is worried and tries to get them out of the said relationship? (also Villain does have feelings for Hero in this)"

Request #7

Warning: toxic/abusive relationship, physical & mental abuse.

This was a fun one! Definitely gotta write a part two later!

Enjoy! ^_^

~~~~

"Boss, we're in." - one of Villain's subordinates called from the side as they and a group of others operated the new spy drones the villain had recently got their hands on. The machines were tiny, smaller than a fingernail, and could be easily mistaken for an insect. Equipped with the best cameras around, they allowed Villain to easily snoop for information.

And what better first target to try them out on than Hero? Their hero, their nemesis. They would never admit it out loud, but Villain quite enjoyed the battles the two shared. Perhaps even a bit too much...

"Perfect!" - the villain exclaimed from their chair, excited grin adorning their face, "Let's see what we can find~."

The camera feed came to life on the giant monitor before them, and the sight that greeted them... made their stomach twist into a thousand knots.

"S-SuperHero, please! I-I'm sorry!" - Hero begged, lying on the floor of what appeared to be a bedroom. Their upper body was exposed, skin bruised in so many places Villain couldn't keep count.

SuperHero stood over them, hands clenching and power crackling in the air around them. They looked just about ready to murder the other hero.

Murder? The thought made Villain's heart grip with worry. But why should the villain care? They wanted their nemesis gone, didn't they?

No, they didn't. They knew that they didn't.

"I told you not to fuck this up, and what did you do?" - the superhero growled out, their anger unlike anything Villain had ever seen from them before.

"YOU FUCKED IT UP!" - SuperHero yelled, grabbing Hero and throwing them across the room and into a wall. A pained cry left them, and they could only whimper as their body sunk to the floor. The hero didn't dare get up as the other approached them once more.

"VILLAIN FUCKING GOT AWAY AGAIN!" - a kick to their stomach made Hero cry out in pain a second time. SuperHero grabbed them by the hair and pulled them closer, screaming directly in their face, "ALL BECAUSE YOU'RE SUCH A WORTHLESS FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT! YOU CAN'T DO ANYTHING RIGHT!"

Hero was tossed once more, every part of them screaming in agony. They shook in terror as the superhero moved closer yet again. Their muscles tensed as SuperHero's form loomed over them. Hero prepared for their punishment to continue, for the pain to keep on coming.

Only for their partner to pass by them and go out the door, slamming it shut. The familiar click of a door locking entered the hero's ears as they released a shaky breath.

Villain sat there, frozen. Out of everything they had expected to see, this was not on the list. Weren't these two in a relationship?! Weren't they supposed to- to love each other or something?!

Hero's sobs and sniffles echoed across their lair as the villain silently watched their broken form curl up on the hard floor. Their gaze grew dark at the sight, a tinge of worry drowning in their rage.

"Cut the feed." - Villain said sternly after a moment, voice devoid of emotion. They stood from their chair and immediately went for the door.

"B-Boss, wait! Where are you-" - one of the henchmen tried but cut themself off as their employer turned around. The look in the villain's eyes made their blood run cold. Villain was never a bad boss by any means, as they never hurt or threatened their employees.

But that look... It made everyone in the room tense up. It was like locking gazes with a hungry predator, and it made the henchmen feel like prey. It made them realize...

Villain was out for blood.

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

Hero had been lying on the floor for what felt like hours, and it probably was. They had run out of tears a while ago now. They wanted to move but couldn't bring themself to. Everything just hurt so much. Even breathing was a struggle.

At least the cold floor helped numb some of their pain, but still... Hero knew they deserved this...

They let Villain get away again. They should've captured the criminal, but they failed. They failed like they always do. Hero was such a waste of space. Why was SuperHero even still with them? Hero was truly nothing but a burden on their partner. They always had to take care of Hero, always had to waste their time and remind them how pathetic they were. SuperHero was too good for them. They deserved better than Hero. They should just leave them already. They should get rid of Hero. They should-

The door unlocked.

The hero tensed up, curling up into a tight ball, preparing for the pain as the door was opened, and a pair of footsteps slowly approached them. The person walked in front of them and kneeled down to their level. Hero's breathing grew shakier with each passing second. Why was nothing happening?!

They were about to beg, but before a single word could leave them, they cringed as a hand landed on their head.

Hero was prepared for that hand to roughly grab them, to pull them up by their hair, to hurt them. In their terror, they failed to realize that the stranger was gently petting them, their fingers running through their hair. Only when they spoke did Hero's mind register what was happening.

"Hero?" - came a hushed whisper. That voice... Hero knew that voice. It... It was...

"V-Villain..?" - the hero mewled, voice broken and hoarse. Confusion overtook their eyes as they continued, "W-What are you... doing here..?"

"Shh, it's okay. I'm here to get you out of here." - the villain comforted them or tried to anyway. Their response seemed to have only terrified Hero that much more, their eyes widening with fear.

"B-But- But SuperHero..." - Hero whimpered, their body shaking once more. The villain hushed them again and gently picked them up in a bridal carry. Villain noticed how the other shuddered from their touch but snuggled into their chest nonetheless, their arms loosely wrapping around the villain's neck.

"So terrified of contact... and yet so desperate for it..." - Villain thought to themself, pity making their chest ache. Even they weren't this lonely! And for the hero to be like this... For their Hero to be so ruined...

It was unacceptable.

Villain swore that they would make sure Hero knew what real love and care looked like. They would show them how a real relationship worked.

They would make sure SuperHero paid for this.

Returning to reality, the villain insured that they had a good grip on their hero and walked out of the room. They moved with haste through Hero's house, as they had no time to spare. In their earlier fury and concern, all logic had left them. Villain had just rushed over to save the hero, without even considering that SuperHero might still be lurking around.

"Gah! Why is this house so damn big?!" - the villain thought to themself as they turned another corner, concern starting to eat away at them. They could technically just fly out the window with the help of their powers, but they wanted to avoid drawing attention. The streets were littered with people and other heroes, and Villain would have an advantage if nobody saw them stealing the hero away. Sneaking in here was already hard enough, but now they needed to get out before-

"You... YOU..."

-SuperHero saw them. As Hero's 'partner' began to charge straight at them down the long hall Villain froze at their enraged gaze, but their hero's shaky grip on their shoulders brought them back into reality.

The villain turned on their heel, and just as the superhero's hand brushed against their back, as the air around them crackled from SuperHero's anger, they summoned their power and jumped into the air. They flew through the house, speeding like their life depended on it.

Because, well, it did. Not just Villain's life... but their hero's life as well.

Flying around the inside of a building was already difficult enough, but doing it while panicking and carrying someone in their arms? It was a nightmare, but Villain was determined. They were determined to never let SuperHero lay another finger on Hero.

As Villain turned another sharp corner, they nearly crashed into the wall, barely catching themself just in time. As they regained their bearings, a giant window greeted them at the end of the hall, and seeing as they have already been spotted, Villain decided to just go for it.

They bolted for the window, tightened their grip on Hero, and, at the last second, twisted their body around midair. They winced as they crashed through the glass with their back, shielding the hero from the sharp shards.

As blood dripped from their fresh wounds, the villain ignored the pain and dashed up into the sky, hiding amidst the dark clouds looming over the city. Once they were out of sight, they headed straight for their lair, never looking back.

Meanwhile, down on the ground, SuperHero looked up into the sky where the two had just disappeared, a tiny disabled drone sitting in their hand that they could barely stop themself from breaking into pieces.

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

Hero groaned as they awakened from their slumber. At some point during their and Villain's escape, they had passed out. The hero vaguely remembered the villain taking them high up into the clouds and nothing else past that. They tried to open their eyes and take in their surroundings but only managed to whine as their head exploded with pain.

The hero felt like they were burning up, it was just so hot for some reason. They have been feeling rather sickly the past few days, so perhaps they were running a fever? They tried to pry their eyes open once more but stopped as something gently landed on their forehead and made them flinch out of reflex.

They whimpered as a hand touched their head, petting their hair. However, a familiar hushing sound brought some of their senses back. They finally recognized the coolness on their brow as a wet cloth. And that hand and voice, it was unmistakable.

"V..Vill..ain...?" - the hero tried but only ended up getting themself into a coughing fit. Their throat felt drier than a desert, with some cactus spikes scratching at it as a bonus.

As if their mind was being read, a cup of water was brought to their lips. The hand from before carefully lifting their head so that they could drink. Hero swallowed every drop of the precious liquid, the pain in their throat easing as their head was laid back down.

Finally, albeit with some difficulty, they managed to blearily open their eyes, blinking a few times to adjust their vision. They were lying in a soft bed of what appeared to be a guest bedroom, a fluffy blanket covering their still naked torso. Looking up, Hero was met with the concerned face of Villain.

"Wait... Con...cerned...?" - they pondered, why would their nemesis be worried about them...? And now that they thought about it more... Why...

"Why... d...did...you...?"

"Someone had to get you out of there." - Villain cut in, wanting to spare Hero's throat the struggle. "And before you ask how I even knew you needed help, I happened to be... ah... spying on you at the time."

"H...Help...?" - the hero voiced their confusion, completely ignoring - or perhaps not registering - the 'spying' part as their eyebrows slightly furrowed, "I... didn't need... help..."

Villain frowned at their words. Hero could see the concern on the other's face growing even more as they voiced their own confusion, "What do you mean you 'didn't need help'? They were hurting you."

"No... That's... normal... They were just... trying to... help... me... be better..." - Hero muttered out, they thought this would clear things up, but their explanation seemed to only upset the villain more.

"Hero, that's not- Partners aren't supposed to hurt each other! That's not helping in the slightest!" - in their momentary anger Villain raised their voice too much, and regret immediately flooded them as they watched the hero flinch and cower away from them, fresh tears making their eyes glossy.

"No, Hero- I-" - the villain tried hastily but stopped themself, seeing as their sudden movements only rattled the poor hero even more. Instead, they took in a small breath, did their best to relax their tense posture, and slowed down, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have yelled at you like that. I..."

"P-Please don't be angry..." - the hero whined, scared the villain would suddenly do a one-eighty and hit them. However, to Hero's confusion, Villain's face was only decorated with pain and concern, no anger or rage to be seen. They weakly gripped the blanket covering them in their nerves.

In a hushed whisper, the villain responded, "No, I'm- I'm not angry with you." They gently took hold of one of Hero's hands and did their best to comfort them, "It's okay. I promise I'm not angry with you. Nobody here will hurt you, I promise. You're safe here."

As Villain left a small kiss on their knuckles, Hero watched them, still rather unconvinced, "B-But if you're not angry... T-Then why did you y-yell?" - they whimpered, the sound twisting the other's heart even more.

"I am angry, but not with you, Hero." - the villain's words only confused the hero even more. If Villain wasn't mad at them, then... then at who? Hero was the one who messed everything up all the time!

"I'm angry with SuperHero. They hurt you. They hurt you, and you don't even realize it..."

"B-But..." - Hero tried to argue, but Villain gently hushed them again, putting their hand back down.

"For now, just get some more rest, okay? And when you wake up, I'll have some food ready for you so you can eat."

Hero wanted to protest but found that they were too exhausted to even try. They only whined tiredly as Villain gently flipped the cloth on their forehead over, refreshing coolness spreading through their head once more. And combined with the villain softly petting their head, Hero was out like a light within moments.

Villain stayed like that for a few minutes, watching the hero sleep. Their gaze grew fond as they observed the slow rise and fall of the other's chest. Soon, however, they retreated out of the room, letting their rage overtake their features. They were well aware that SuperHero would come and find them. So, they had no time to waste. The villain had to prepare.

They had to be ready to protect their Hero.

[bokutoslittlebird]

The Perfect Family

Alpha!Bokuto x Beta!reader x Beta!Akaashi

Author’s Note : If you’ve read the little drabbles and asks with the fluffy BokuAka family, then you’re in for a surprise. Those were not canon to the actual works I created, it was just something nice to write and think about. This will not start off fluffy at all. This will also include the pregnancy process, so be warned of that ; This is a sequel to my Kinktober piece, Threesome with Bokuto and Akaashi ; I’m so sorry it took for fucking ever

Warnings: Omegaverse, noncon/dubcon (explicit use of the word r*pe), gun play, choking, water torture (attempted drowning), gaslighting, manipulation, watersports (briefly, kind of), mindbreak, dumbification, pregnancy, creampie(s), asphyxiation, lactation, knotting, breeding (technically), degradation

Kōtarō’s rut had finally ended, pumping you full and fucking you into a stupor, all while Keiji made sure to have him give you a break. It was the week for you and Kōtarō to catch up, after all. You were bonded to Kōtarō and Keiji now, you were their mate, so you had to be taken care of. With the stinging pain on your shoulder from Kōtarō’s mark, you were only missing the legal document to bind you to Keiji the normal, Beta way. Keiji was currently thinking about which ring to get you, since Kōtarō had already decided on his “proposal” gift. Keiji figured you’d need time to adjust, however, as he was laying on the couch with Kōtarō’s arms wrapped around him, you missing. There was a cute show that they were watching, Keiji was sure you’d like it. You weren’t allowed out of the bedroom yet, so he would have to show it to you another time.

Once Kōtarō had been satisfied and Keiji had recovered, both got to work on making your stay permanent. You attempted to leave, but Keiji was quick to cuff you. Kōtarō held you down, forcing you to struggle until there was nothing left to do except lay there. Kōtarō had to go back to Osaka soon, so he was trying to enjoy his last few days in Tokyo.

“That was a fun show. Cute, too,” his yawning interrupted his sentence, cutting it short. Keiji nodded in response, snuggling closer to Kōtarō. The Alpha was warm and comfortable, it gave him a sense of home. “I gotta go back tomorrow, Akaashi,”

“I know, Bokuto-san,” Keiji sighs, knowing he’d have to work on their new pet by themselves. It was going to be a struggle. At the beginning of the week, you were so pliant and easily coerced into things. Now, you wouldn’t look or talk to them. Kōtarō threw a fit yesterday, screaming and crying because you weren’t the same person, you were much more distant. It’s the same when it comes to Keiji, however. You only looked at him with betrayal and sadness, even then only looking at him briefly. You exhausted yourself, but you were fighting them. Distancing yourself and giving them the silent treatment. It made Kōtarō not want to leave, you being so upset at him, but he didn’t have a choice.

Kōtarō needed to find a new place for everyone to live, of course. With the high probability of you becoming pregnant, you couldn’t be living in Tokyo, hours away from your alpha. Knowing you would be carrying his pups without him around had Kōtarō growling, Keiji gently patting his arm. Kōtarō calmed down at that, indulging in the calming scent of Keiji. Keiji has already been bonded to him, so it wouldn’t be as stressful if he wasn’t bonded — you were both his mates and therefore, you could be trusted in Keiji’s care. It was still hard to go. He didn’t want to leave with the state you were in.

“What place were you thinking about?” Keiji mused, running his finger in a pattern on Kōtarō’s arm. Just something to do as he mentally planned for the upcoming weeks. The type of house would determine how long those weeks would be.

“Some place big, but close by the gym and practice gym. Maybe traditional? I’ve always wanted to live in a traditional, zen kind of house,” Kōtarō’s eyes lit up as he talked, images and scenes of a large house full of his lovers and his children, playing volleyball in the yard. Keiji smiles at that, knowing it would be at least a month. Enough time to have you positively pregnant and to get you settled into your new role. It’d take effort, of course it would, but he could do it.

“I think that’s a wonderful idea, Bokuto-san,”

“Ya know, we really gotta get used to calling each other by our given names. You’re gonna be a Bokuto, aren’t’cha?”

“Well, of course I am. Just like [Y/N]. We’ll be the Bokuto family,” he sighs, closing his eyes as the name settles in his mind. The Bokuto family has a nice ring to it, he thinks.

Kōtarō spends his last night cuddling you to sleep. You want no part of it, lying stiff as a board as he presses kisses to your neck and rubs his hand over your stomach. It’s a sickening thought, the possibility of getting pregnant. If you really had been ovulating during the rut, you most likely were pregnant. It’s not like you’d know or not, you barely leave the bed to urinate. It’s disgusting to have to deal with, but even when you do get the bathe and do your business, Keiji is right next to you, ready to intervene if necessary. Although Kōtarō is often in there with you, lathering up your body as his touches become less innocent, Keiji’s stone-cold gaze forces you to not attempt anything silly.

When the morning comes, Kōtarō is desperate to keep something of yours until he can see you again. In order to keep him happy, you acquiesce to his demands and let him take your used clothes, yet to be washed. As if the lingering scent of the morning sex isn’t still clinging to his skin. You can’t smell it, nor Keiji, but you know it’s there as you watch him dress himself, tucking himself away as he rambles on about his plans for the future. Three kids for him, two for Keiji, a nice big house, just the ideal lifestyle for anyone. It’ll never happen, though. His delusions will soon shatter when you stay distant and refuse to love him or Keiji.

Keiji waves goodbye to you, saying he’ll come back when he’s done with work. He plans on taking Kōtarō to the train station and then going to work, so you’ll be stuck for the next few hours. Until dinner time, that is. After an hour, you hear a ping from your phone and reach over to look at it. You can still use your phone, of course, but any possibility of calling for help is useless. In this society, nobody would help you. Not only that, your phone is bugged and linked to Keiji’s. He knows when you unlock your phone, what you do at what time, and how long you’re on it. You’re almost positive he can shut it off if he wants to.

The noise is a message from Kōtarō, telling you he misses you already. A roll of the eyes as you lock it, setting it beside you again. You’re able to barely reach the table beside the bed, but none of the drawers. One hand is secured to the headboard, wooden and strong enough to withstand Kōtarō’s ruthless rut. You feel restless as the day has only begun, the next time you will be able to move out of the bed, if at all, will be when Keiji comes home.

The doorknob to the apartment jiggles, making you jump. Keiji should’ve gone to work, so the sudden noise was unexpected. When it finally turns, you expect to see the familiar hair of your former friend, the tousled raven hair and the broad build. Although the man has the proper stature, the hoodie covering his head and the cheap-looking mask covering his face prevent you from properly identifying him. You can’t tell if he’s smirking or not, the intense feeling that he’s giving off tells you he is. With your hand secured to the bed, you really don’t have much in the way of options. The phone is still an option, but you doubt you could get to it in time.

The man lunges towards you, spurring you to attempt to grab the phone. Your fingers brush the metal device before your arm is forcefully gripped and twisted. You scream as your body twists, attempting to lessen the pain. It’s useless, but you still try. When your mouth opens, he quickly shoves something round and hard in it, your tongue pressed against the barrel of the gun.

“Don’t move a muscle,” his voice was low and hoarse, as if he was adjusting it to hide his identity. It was still unfamiliar to you, your brain unable to register what was going on. The man easily overpowers you, using his weight to keep you pinned to the bed. Fear prickles your skin, the chill setting in deep into your bones despite the lingering warmth of the fading Summer heat. It’s a horrible feeling, frozen in fear as your mind races, unable to do anything except stay still. It’s horrible, the fact you listen to the stranger’s demands despite wishing you were dead and out of Kōtarō and Keiji’s grasps. The gun is removed from your mouth, but the knowledge of it being in his possession is enough to keep you compliant, barely acknowledging the man’s hands moving to slip under the dress you were kindly given.

To keep yourself ready and easily accessible to both Keiji and Kōtarō until they had to part, it was best to slip you into a plain and simple white sundress. It was a present from Kōtarō, a small way of saying you were his now. With the lack of panties or other undergarment, you were essentially naked to the intruder as he sat on his heels, dark eyes scanning over your form. You were shaking from the fear, the unknown, but you weren’t attempting to move or thrash about. It was so easy to take advantage of you, you already nice and wet for him, too. The slick buildup from the morning session with Kōtarō lingers, as well as the creamy substance of his seed fucked into you. Unless the intruder was an Alpha, he couldn’t do much damage, but the thought of leaving you alone without a touch, a taste, was too unbearable.

It didn’t take long for the feeling of something hard and thick to push against your folds, collecting slick and teasing, your sensitivity making you whimper at the touch. It was a sudden plunge, forcing himself deep into your cunt as he groaned, your walls clenching around him. You thought the groan sounded familiar, but there was no more time to think on it when he put his hand on your throat, effectively shutting off proper access to your lungs. Your walls tighten again around him, him finding it hard to retract his hips but thrusting back in. His pace isn’t too fast, but his thrusts are brutal as he continues to drive his cock into your sensitive and abused pussy. He’s not an Alpha, you can tell by the lack of an inflating knot, but it still remains that you’re being violated by an unknown man. The whimpers coming from your throat are all you can release, barely sucking in air to stay conscious. When your vision starts to fade, the man and the walls of the room slowly blurring together, you start to panic.

The gun is still beside you, but it’s not your concern. The bullet in the chamber can’t threaten you unless the barrel’s against your head, but the hand currently cutting off oxygen is threatening your life. Attempting to dig your nails into the fabric of the hoodie is useless, his work gloves keeping his hands from getting any marks, either. Your lungs burn from lack of air and your vision slowly fades to black, a heat and chill settling over your body at the same time as you continue to feel his body pinning you down. The brutal fucking is the only sensation you still have, the stinging of your skin as he snaps his hips to meet yours and the squelching sounds from your sloppy pussy, cum and slick spurting and coating his cock as he chases his own high. You don’t know if he finished inside, your sensations dying out as you slip into unconsciousness.

When you wake up, your lungs ache and your face feels wet. When you flutter your eyes open, you’re faced with the creamy beige walls of Keiji’s bedroom, the lamp and phone on the bedside table. A presence is beside you, a large hand gently brushing your hair. Your eyes widen as you jolt, Keiji gently shushing you as he holds you. It’s comforting, someone familiar beside you after the experience you just had. You don’t know what happened after everything went black, but the smell of Keiji’s morning coffee and his cologne calm you down, tears spilling out as your fists bunch up the fabric of his shirt.

“I had a bad feeling, so I immediately came back home. I didn’t expect you to be completely unconscious, what did you do?” He asked, oblivious to what had really transpired. It was painful to recall, the fear from before rising again as you remember the man’s stature, looming over you as he pinned you to the bed. Another fit of tears come, the droplets soaking the white of Keiji’s shirt. “Darling, you need to tell me what’s wrong. What-“

“A stranger,” a hiccup interrupted you, red and tired eyes looking to his face. He looks confused, so you need to press on. “He broke in. Violated me. He— he ra-“

“Oh, sweetheart, I’m so sorry. If I had known something so horrible would happen, I wouldn’t have left you all alone. You could’ve come with me, but you’ve been so naughty, you know,” his voice is gentle, but there’s a certain chill in his voice that has your fear spiking. His hands are warm, caressing your back as he speaks. “But, you know, you cheated on Bokuto-san and I. I have to punish you,”

“I— I didn’t do it on purpose!” Why were you defending yourself? Your mind had to momentarily adjust itself, the feeling of helplessness from earlier now back. Once the cuff had released the headboard, it was nothing for Keiji to force you into the bathroom. No amount of strength you had could compare to him, nor height. He wasn’t afraid to hurt you either, almost smashing your fingers in the door frame because you wouldn’t let go. “Akaashi, stop!!”

“Akaashi? Now, we can’t have that. You should address me properly, dear,” he grips your face, smushing your cheeks together as you find yourself practically flung into the tub. It’s already full of hot water, almost scalding, as he holds your head under. Struggling once more, it’s futile. His strength far surpasses yours, stature looming over you. Under the water, his image is distorted, but the way he looks down at you feels familiar. Before that thought can continue, you feel your lungs burning as you thrash again, thoughts only focused on surviving. When your head is pulled up, you gulp air as you cough, water sputtering as you do. “You need to be punished.”

“Let me go, I didn’t do anythi-“ your head is once more under the water, nails digging into the flesh of Keiji’s arms as he holds you still. You didn’t get a good gulp of air, so you’re quickly back at the previous feeling of helplessness as your lungs burn, vision blurring. Before everything goes black, you’re once more pulled from the water. Your face is hot, either from lack of air or the heat of the bathroom and water, you’re not too sure. But Keiji is sure of one thing and that’s the way you’re clinging to him. You were digging your nails into him, squirming and attempting to leave, but now your nails were digging into his as your grip tightened around his forearm. You were clinging to him, unconsciously seeing him as your savior, as he was the one who controlled your ability to breathe, therefore your life. He could drown you if he wanted to, but Kōtarō wouldn’t like that. No, he just needed you to depend on him, change your stance on how you saw your lovers.

Keiji also couldn’t help how delicious you looked, drenched as steam rose from the water, your white dress floating around you as if you were an ethereal being. You looked angelic and untainted... an urge to corrupt you washed over him, compelling his body into the steaming water. It was a tight fit, but he managed. With his sweatpants on, it was easy for him to simply push down the waistband and pull out his cock. “Now I have to cover up that man’s scent, or do you want everyone to know you’re a whore?”

“Akaashi, enough, this isn’t any diff-“

“Are you saying I’m a rapist? That’s what you’re implying, right? If you really think that, then I’ll be that. I would never purposefully hurt you,” his words contradict his actions, his hard cock pressing into your walls as he speaks. Sensitivity still lingers, your legs twitching as he sinks down to the hilt. “You’re saying I’m the bad guy, aren’t you? Well, how about I be the bad guy? Let’s recreate the scenario,”

“Akaashi, please, stop!” You cry out, weak limbs attempting to push him off. Hot, fat tears stream down your cheeks as Keiji licks them away, kissing their trails as you continue to sob at the feeling. It was a horrible feeling, being helpless, but a part of you knew you were safe. Keiji wouldn’t let you die, the only thing that prevented you from putting more effort in. Even with the splashing water, he kept one hand on the back of your head to prevent you from going under. Keiji’s pace is always the same — slow strokes, but deep and meaningful as he rocks his hips into yours and makes sure to roll his hips. It’s a completely opposite of Kōtarō’s, brutal and relentless, but Kōtarō fils you out more. Keiji has to make sure you feel every ridge, every vein, every pulse from his cock and have it completely engraved into your mind.

When Keiji gets close, he holds you closer to him, kissing your neck as your hands grasp at the tub’s edges, mind reeling from the force of your orgasms. Your nerves are on fire, your walls constantly clamping around Keiji’s cock like a vice, all while he rides out his own high. He presses a sweet kiss to the mark on your neck, where it meets your shoulder, right where he sports a matching mark on his own skin. It’s Kōtarō’s bond, what links him to the two of you forever. With a final thrust, Keiji spills deep inside you as he kisses you deeply, forcing you to swallow his moan of pleasure as he swallows your mewls. You’re still tight around him, walls fluttering pathetically around his girth as he relishes in the way you feel, keeping his seed locked inside you.

When he breaks the kiss, you’re both panting heavily, chests heaving for different reasons. “There. Now he’s gone,” a gentle kiss on your temple. With those words, a silence settles over the room. Although the stranger may be gone, in his place stands Akaashi Keiji.

The next day, Keiji is home.

“Just a precaution, dear,” he had said. “So nothing else bad will happen to you when I’m not here. You wouldn’t want that, would you?” With those words, he convinced you of his intentions. The previous day’s events had you rattled, the fear of being alone subconsciously rooted into your mind. A small whimper of Keiji’s name, his given name, had him smiling and cooing at you, taking you anywhere in the apartment you wanted to go. It was nice to finally leave the bedroom and bathroom sections, seeing the front room and kitchen, able to hear and see people outside the windows. You dare not let your eyes linger too long on the windows, covered completely with only shadows passing by, nor on the door. The door which had a recently newly installed lock, to take extra precautions. A passing thought of how it seemed to be so quickly enforced comes by, leaving as you become hyper aware of the blank gaze Keiji gives you. It’s not blank, per se. It looks blank to many bystanders, but to you, you know he’s focusing. He’s watching you and analyzing what you do. It’s a test.

A test you seem to have passed, when he calls you back for a bath. He doesn’t guide you there, no threats, just a simple “Come along,” as he walks towards the same bathroom he almost drowned and violated you in. The fear and anxiety of going back has your flight or fight response kicking in, the seemingly easy option of flinging the door open and leaving has your legs moving. But Keiji is quicker, stronger, and smarter than you. Before your fingertips can even graze the lock, your face is slammed into the floor.

“You were doing so well, too,” his feet are planted on either side of you, one moving to plant itself on your back. With a bit of force, you’re screaming as he has his heel pushing into your spine. “You deserve to be punished.”

“Fuck you, Akaashi!” You spit, squirming and wriggling to get him off. When his foot moves, you attempt to get up, but soon he drops down and fists your hair in one hand, the other pushing your cheeks together.

“I should wash that dirty mouth of yours,” he growls, shoving your face against the floor. By shoving, he essentially drops you into the floor. With a burning sensation in your nose, you feel a vaguely familiar liquid trickling out, a small red dot beneath you. He does it once more, making sure to keep his hand on your head to prevent you from getting up. “I trusted you to listen to me, [Y/N],”

“I’ll never listen to you,” you declare, hands balling into fists beside you. “I’ll never forgive you and Bokuto for what you did. I’ll never forgive or forget how you raped me, either!”

“I did no such thing. You enjoyed it, whore. You clamped around me like a vice last night, just as you probably did the stranger that violated you. Can it be consider violation if you were wet? What about when you started to enjoy it?”

“How would you know that, unless-“

“I know how much of a slut you can be, sleeping around with Alphas in high school and other Betas. You probably got off on being raped,” He sneers, putting more force in his hand, making it uncomfortable as your cheek is smushed against the floor.

“Fuck you,”

“I’ll take that as a yes. As a punishment, you won’t be leaving that bedroom for some time,” he finally lets you free, a large breath of air inhaled as you realize he was putting his weight on your lungs. “Come here,”

Wrenched from the ground, you find yourself dragged, kicking and screaming, back into the bedroom where Keiji cuffs you to the headboard. He’s huffing, but he manages to get both wrists cuffed to the headboard. Back to square one, with you refusing to acknowledge him while he tries to talk. Well, he does talk, you’re forced to listen.

When dinner time comes around, you expect some plain chicken broth or maybe even water, but instead you’re given nothing. Keiji doesn’t come in the room at all. The water running let’s you know he’s washing dishes, but where’s your meal? When his humming enters the room, you know he’s coming down. When he opens the door, in his hand lays a plate with bread crust and crumbs, along with some pocky sticks. Just two, however. Barely considered a meal. “Dinner!”

“You’re kidding me,”

“Dear, you know I don’t joke around easily. You were naughty this afternoon, so you’re going to eat my leftovers. Bread crust and some stale pocky sticks is the only thing on your menu,”

“I’ll starve instead,” a glare sent his way does frazzle him one bit, instead almost makes him... chippier. As if you’re falling for his well hidden trap. A nod and he’s gone, your only source of food with him. He won’t enter to room again until nighttime, so you’re left to wallow in your own solitude, something you used to take for granted.

When Keiji does finally come into the room, you’re excited to see him before remembering you don’t like him. Instead of taking the key and releasing your restraints to sleep, he grabs his pillow, his blanket, and his phone charger. “Where are you going?”

“Well, since you obviously hate me, I thought it’d be best that I leave you alone. After all, that is what you wanted, yes?” A small smirk is on his face as your eyes widen, thoughts running through your head as he takes his leave. Without a bid goodnight, Keiji leaves you alone in the room. With no possible entertainment except your mind, you feel uneasy. Unsteady. The world is suddenly dropping you off in an empty room with nothing and you can’t think of anything to keep yourself entertained. The television set buzzes to life outside, while the popping of popcorn fills your ears along with the melted butter smell. An urge to move flits around, but you decide it is best to not.

The next day, it’s a similar situation. Within three days of Kōtarō’s leave, you’ve found yourself craving his company more than ever. Keiji is ruthless and merciless, entering the bedroom for clothes and then leaving for work. He doesn’t talk to you, he doesn’t look at you, he barely enters the room anymore. You feel your stomach grumble at the thought of food, your mouth dry from the lack of fluids in your system. A pathetic way to die, one would think. With the lack of nutrition, your body will eventually decay or fall into an unstable state. Keiji isn’t a dunce, he knows this — at least, he should. Why then, you wonder, is he allowing this? Not only are you completely attached to the bed, but you haven’t been able to get up at all, even for bathroom use. The urine has stained the sheets, turning the pristine white cotton into a grimy yellow color, the ammonia stench covering the entire bedroom. You felt like a helpless child, in dire need of your parents to come home.

In a way, that’s what it was. You were helpless and needed someone else’s help. You need Keiji’s help. You can only go so long before you end up breaking, and you’ve reached a limit. The disgusting liquid under you was the final thread, the squelching and squeezing every time your hips move to a different area to attempt to leave the spot resulting in a failed attempt. The white dress was soaked, first from the bathroom incident and now it was dyed yellow due to your own fluids. Kōtarō wouldn’t be happy with those results.

When Keiji finally comes home, you hear him. You hear the door close and a sigh. Waiting for him to enter the room is quickly disregarded as you call for him. With no hesitation, he arrives at the room, looking at you. “You called, darling?”

“Keiji, please. I’m sorry I was bad. I need you, please don’t leave me,” you cry out, pulling on the cuffs. Shushing you, he quickly attends to your wrists, red and raw from the tugging, pulling, and twisting you’ve done over the past day. Once one hand is free from the restraint, he’s happy to feel it grabbing his shoulder, a silent beg to not leave. “Kei-“

“I know, I know. I won’t hurt you,” his words calm you down, sobs turning into hiccups as he guides you off the bed. Your legs are weak, unstable from lack of use, so he bridal carries you into the bathroom, not caring about the urine. After setting you on the toilet, he strips you of your dress and starts the bath. Trusting you to not move, he leaves. Another test, to see if you’ve really shaped up after the last attempt.

Keiji stands in the bedroom, pulling the sheets off the bed and removing the pad. He puts them aside, but waits. No movement from the bathroom, not even the toilet seat squeaking or the shutting off of the water. Continuing to put the sheets and dress away, he picks out a set of panties — new and clean, a treat for being good — to go with the pastel pink sundress. It looks exactly like the other one, except the color. After getting a towel and a change of clothes himself, he leaves.

You’re still sitting on the toilet, looking at him as he enters. Perking up, you push into the hand the caresses your head, brushing the tangled hair. He stops the water, guiding you into the tub. Once you’re settled, he strips down and joins you.

“You’re not going to hurt me?” You ask, voice dull.

“Of course not. When have I ever done that?”

The next day is such an improvement, Keiji can’t help but let Kōtarō know how well you’ve adjusted. You’re compliant out of fear rather than love, but Kōtarō doesn’t know that. He’s so excited to see a picture of you cooking in the kitchen, he probably wouldn’t care. The picture doesn’t capture the longing look at the knives, the fleeting glances at the door, the rigidness of your body as Keiji wraps his arms around you. It’s small gestures, but you never move to accomplish the action. Your finger might twitch, a gulp as you see the unlocked door, but you continue on. You make the noodles, you bring the tray to Keiji, you sit in his lap and allow the arms to secure your place. The food is something you’re ever thankful for, the lack of food spurring your resilience into breaking. With a gentle blow, Keiji feeds you the ramen you dutifully prepared for the both of you all day.

You never looked at the door again. You never looked at the knives unless you were cutting something. Even with Keiji breathing down your neck, eyes focused on your hands, you didn’t twitch or move to hurt him. You went to the bathroom and didn’t complain when he joined you. Even when he had to do his little daily checkup, you didn’t complain. The first time, you mentioned it tickled and questioned what he was doing, sticking his nose between your legs as he pried them open. He just smiled and said he needed to know if you were healthy, to which your questions easily stopped. Although he occasionally swept his tongue over your still wet folds, you never told him to go away and leave you alone. Even when he went further and had put you on the bathroom’s countertop before diving between your legs once more, your fingers thread themselves through his hair as you moaned.

When the news of Kōtarō coming back reached your ears, you didn’t know how to feel. Keiji was the one to help you, give you comfort, so you didn’t feel too excited to see Kōtarō. Keiji knew this would cause problems, as Kōtarō was expecting you to be as loving to him as you were to Keiji. After an explanation of the situation, you promised to perform appropriately for Kōtarō. With a whispered threat of locking you up again, you easily complied with everything you were asked to do. When Kōtarō came through the door, he was easily able to catch you as you jumped on him. “Welcome back!”

“Aw, [Y/N]! I’m glad to be back!” He nuzzled into your neck, indulging in your scent. You could easily pretend to be in love with Kōtarō, but your scent would tell him if you were feeling off. With his superior senses, you had to be forced into a mindset where you did love Kōtarō. Threats and memories of the past had could nodding along, situating yourself into his life easily. “I missed you, a lot,”

“Well, we won’t have to be gone for so long again, right?” You ask, a pout forming. “Or are you going to leave me?”

“Oh, no! You’re gonna live with me,” he grins, a closed eye smile. Your eyes widen as the information is processing, Keiji coming from the kitchen.

“It was a surprise for you. We’ll be moving to Osaka to be close to Bokuto-san,” he’s drying a knife, one he recently finished washing, but it’s also a silent threat. Kōtarō didn’t see the horrified look on your face, but he sure did.

“O-Oh. Okay! I can’t wait, when are we.. when do we move?” Twiddling your fingers, Kōtarō wraps his arms around you once more, effectively picking you up. No hesitating, your legs wrap around his waist as he looks up at your face, love flooding his eyes.

“You’ll move in with me tomorrow. Once Akaashi’s boxed everything up, he’ll join us. Our room is all set up, and there’s lots of rooms for kids. Speaking of-!”

“Another time, Bokuto-san,” Keiji harshly whispered, Kōtarō’s eyes widening before smiling, nodding. You didn’t know what that was, but you then focused on Kōtarō moving to the couch.

“Let’s eat, I’m starving! Maybe I can have something special for dessert, if you know what I mean,” with an added eyebrow wiggle, you shyly smile and nod. It’s what Keiji told you would please Kōtarō. It’s what Keiji told you that you need to do.

The dinner itself is fine, but when you ask to use the restroom, Kōtarō points out the red splotches on your white dress. Panicking, you attempt to locate the spot as your face heats up in embarrassment. Keiji then points out the bit of blood on Kōtarō’s pants, making you think your cycle has started. At that mention, Kōtarō’s growling in anger as you seize up in fear, unsure of what to do. Keiji tells you to change while he deals with Kōtarō, you immediately obeying and going to the bedroom.

“I thought ovulating meant she would get pregnant. Why isn’t she pregnant? Were you wrong?” Kōtarō asks, still angry. He knows he scared you, your lingering scent of fear in the room and around him. He thought he could smell another scent on you, but he didn’t know what it could be.

“Bokuto-san, I know this is frustrating but it’s possible she didn’t get pregnant. However, spotting is a sign of pregnancy. It was only a few drops. If she has anymore blood leakage that gets heavy tonight, we’ll know,” Keiji is able to calm down Kōtarō, who rolls his shoulders back and lies against the back of the couch. “Do you want to change your jeans?”

“Nah, it’s barely noticeable. Plus,” a thumb runs over the denim, Kōtarō licking his lips as his eyes darken, “this is like she’s claiming me, right?”

Kōtarō does not force himself on you that evening. Instead, he just cuddles you that night. It’s a differing touch than Keiji’s, who ends up rolling to the other side of the bed in the night. Kōtarō holds you close and tightly all night, snuggling closer to you, as if it was possible, and nudging his nose in your neck. It’s sweet, you think, as he caresses you like you’re made of glass.

The next morning, Kōtarō has you properly dressed to leave with him. A set of panties, sweatpants, t-shirt, and a hoodie. It’s a casual set of clothes, but they are all you came to Keiji’s house in a week and a half ago. Kōtarō says he’ll get you better clothes once you’re settled in, but you feel uneasy as you bid goodbye to Keiji. He worries about your mental state once you’re alone with Kōtarō, but he just has to hope you’re able to seem stable enough for a day.

In Osaka, you feel like your life is beginning anew. It’s not much different from Tokyo, but as Kōtarō guides you through the streets, it becomes known that Osaka has a lot more greenery. It’s very beautiful, in your opinion. When he stops in front of an old house, you glance at him. “Our new home, sweetheart!” He cheers, kissing your cheek as he picks you up. Carrying you inside the house, you notice the security. The gate is only opened via pin entry, which the gate itself is roughly 2 meters tall. Even the door to the house requires thumbprint access, a very modern and technological touch in an older, traditional house.

He shows you to your room, which is also his room, but yours too. It has its modern touch, with the remaining aspect of futons to lay on. The cameras in the hallway also are in your view, the one in the bedroom and the hallway. Looking into each room, you notice they are containing cameras, but one room is different. “What’s this?”

“Oh? This is our nursery! So, when you have a baby, it’ll be in here,” he chirps, pointing out things in the room. Scanning the room, you notice the lack of camera secured.

“Where’s the camera?”

“What— what camera?” Rubbing the back of his neck, he fakes confusion. You see right through it.

“I noticed the other cameras. There’s not one here,”

“Oh, well, that’s because this room has baby monitors!” He gestures to the white device. A nod of understanding has the tour moving on. Showing you to the kitchen, you notice the pantry and fridge are stocked. “Would you make me dinner?”

“Of course. What do you want?”

“You, served hot and steaming in the bath,” he grins. Eyes widen as you realize what he wants, you sheepishly laughing as you acquiesce.

Kōtarō is much rougher than Keiji, you knew that, but the way he fucks you with fervor as he hasn’t seen you in almost five days is something akin to his rut. Sinking his teeth into your skin, remarking his territory as he spurs you into your first orgasm of the night. Your nails are digging into his broad shoulders, the only thing you can use to keep yourself grounded. The setting wasn’t in the bathroom, but rather the bedroom where he claimed he wanted to “seal the deal” of you coming home. Legs tighten around his waist, back arching as he continues to drive his cock into you and litter your neck with less painful marks, claiming already claimed territory. As he presses a wet, sloppy kiss against your lips, you scream as you tighten your walls, feeling his knot force its way inside you.

A warm hand rubs the side of your body as your walls convulse around him, squeezing as he pumps you full of his cum. It’s a memory to you, but it feels so warm and fulfilling, you immediately relax in his hold as he continues to pepper kisses along your body. It’s a comforting feeling, being praised and cared for, a drastic difference from the way Keiji treated you a few days ago. Well, how you think he treated you a few days ago. He said he never did it, but your body said differently. With Kōtarō’s eyes of love looking down on you, you didn’t think it mattered. That was in the past, this was the present. You felt comfortable here, that was what mattered.

When Keiji arrived with a bunch of boxes, you were told to make them lunch so they could eat when they were done. Kōtarō said he didn’t want you straining yourself after last night, so you agree to his demands. Deciding to make some udon for lunch, you get to work as they lug in the boxes. The boxes aren’t large nor heavy, but watching Kōtarō easily lift three of them with no effort, while Keiji brings in two at most with also no effort, you feel yourself get wet at the thought of them hot and sweaty afterwards. With a possible treat in mind, you work more diligently, mentally preparing yourself to ask them.

Keiji mentioned he’d be looking for another job while Kōtarō was at the gym. It would be the first time you would be alone and free to roam. You begged Keiji to not leave for too long, hands grasping at the fabric of his shirt as he pried your hands off. Kōtarō gave you a sweet kiss before he left, telling you he’d try to hurry back, but you knew Keiji would get back first. Sitting in the large house, you didn’t know what to do except cook and sleep. Your phone screen lit up with a message from Kōtarō, a picture of him blowing you a kiss with a message of ‘I miss you!’ under it. You smile at that, sending back a message that you miss him, too.

Before you lock your phone, you look at the many games you have on it. There’s one game you don’t remember being on it, it looks like a tracker app. Clicking on it, it welcomes you and it shows how far along you are in.. pregnancy? First reaction is to panic, how do you know if you’re pregnant? Going into the internet app, you search up symptoms of pregnancy. One that jumps out to you is the spotting, only a little bit of blood as the sperm fertilizes the egg. It is most likely what you did on Kōtarō’s lap, the day he came to Tokyo. Another surge of panic comes as you think of your lovers, your mates. With Keiji looking for a new job and Kōtarō being busy with being a professional athlete, they don’t have time to take care of you and a baby. You decide to not tell them.

Although you decide to not tell them, the next week is excuses of your recent symptoms. You find yourself more exhausted than usual, not even getting out of bed to bid goodbye to Kōtarō and Keiji. Not only that, you end up in the bathroom as you feel sick, but only half of the times does something come up. It’s when you have another episode of morning sickness does Keiji pop the question. “Should I get a pregnancy test?”

“N-No! I’m not pregnant, just some bad sushi!” When Keiji’s grip on your arm gets tighter, you whimper. “Keiji, stop hurting me,”

“I’m not hurting you, I just need you to tell me the tru-“ the door shutting cuts him off, his attention to the door of the bathroom where Kōtarō is, panting.

“Something’s wrong, isn’t it? I could sense it,”

“I’m just a bit sick-“ “She’s pregnant-“ You both speak at the same time. Your eyes widen as Keiji looks at you.

“Pregnant? Now? Really?” Kōtarō is ecstatic, but you don’t take it that way.

“I’m not, I promise! I’m sorry!” You beg. Kōtarō’s mood turns sour, the anger directed towards you. Keiji stands back, but he doesn’t interfere.

“Why are you lying to me? If Keiji says you are, then you are! I know you’re lying!” He kneels on the ground and grabs your shoulders, digging his meaty fingers into the flesh. You yelp in pain, attempting to get him off. “Why are you doing this?! You were doing so well!”

“Stop, Kō-chan, stop! You’re hurting me!” A call out of his childhood nickname has his rage quelling, as you brush his hands off and rub the stinging skin. “I don’t want to be pregnant,”

“This isn’t about what you want. It’s about what we want, do you understand that?” Keiji speaks, voice low and threatening. You quickly nod your head, attempting to explain yourself.

“I- I thought that you wouldn’t want a baby because you’re both busy! I don’t- I don’t want to burden you more than I do,” with your words, the anger and rage suddenly evaporates as they understand.

“Burden us? Baby, we love you and do everything for you. You’re going to be carrying my pups and Keiji’s babies, we want this. This is all I ever hoped for,” Kōtarō coos, taking your hands and pressing a kiss to them. A fit of sobs escape as you wrap your arms around him, hiccuping into his chest. Keiji sits and smiles, knowing you have completely adjusted into the proper role.

With the news of your pregnancy, Kōtarō is able to get off a lot more to be there for you. You’re no omega, so it’s not as if he has to take off for 9 months, and Keiji is there to take care of you. Keiji takes care of any appointments you need to do, signing you into a private hospital nearby where Kōtarō’s teammate’s omega gave birth. A list of what was normal was given to you and Keiji and what would be a cause for concern, so you made sure to drill into your head about the possible problems. It was vital that you were able to give birth, being able to give Kōtarō and Keiji what they wanted all you needed to take care of yourself. Keiji prepared your meals, making sure you were eating properly even before the bump showed.

When the bump became prominent, you were glad that your wardrobe consisted of dresses. The dresses you had were all loose-fitting and easy to move around in. With the upcoming winter months, you had lots of blankets and an oversized jacket, bearing Kōtarō’s MSBY number and logo. Kōtarō couldn’t keep his hands off of you, always rubbing your bump and pinching the extra fat you were putting on. Worry over the added weight was a brief concept that quickly evaporated as Kōtarō voiced how much he loves the extra meat to fondle and love, tickling you as you giggle afterwards. Keiji couldn’t say he disagreed with Kōtarō, the added weight adding to your cuteness charm as you did the most basic and minuscule things. He could disagree with Kōtarō on the obsession with the pregnancy milk, however.

Lactation was painful, the way your boobs ached as they were full of creamy milk. Although they ache, Kōtarō encouraged you to let him drink from them. Hesitation was in the beginning, but once his lips had secured themselves on your nipple and started sucking, it was quite relaxing. The tender ache in your breasts were gone as Kōtarō drank from them, but he often had to drink from both of them due to Keiji’s aversion. He didn’t see the appeal, he rather enjoyed teasing your nipples when the sexual appetite of yours had risen, but he didn’t see the appeal in drinking the milk. Keiji did oblige Kōtarō, however, in looking into lactation cookies, which would increase milk production and could even make it taste better. It was worth a try, as it would help the children to develop as you breastfed them.

The lactation cookies Keiji made looked awful, but tasted amazing. You would have eaten all of them had it not been for Keiji stopping you. Kōtarō seemed excited, immediately begging for another go. He’d have to wait until nighttime, since he often took naps after you breastfed him during the day.

At night, you often slept completely naked, able to easily feed Kōtarō if he woke up in the middle of the night. Your sex drive had risen exponentially in your second trimester, to the point Kōtarō had to request off to take care of you. He made sure to keep his promise, stuffing you with his thick cock and plugging you up with his cum or lapping at your folds until your fluids splashed against his face. With the third trimester underway, your libido has decreased while your milk had increased, but that didn’t deter Kōtarō from getting frisky. Even as Keiji bathed away from you two, he couldn’t help but touch himself to your whines and mewls.

Kōtarō has been riding a cloud since your pregnancy came about. Even before the milk, he found it hard to resist fucking you, especially with the added sensitivity. Your breasts were larger now, bouncing with every thrusts as he tweaks the nipples, watching the cream dribble from them. He can’t help himself, really, as he goes to attach himself to one of your perky buds. When Keiji enters the room, he chuckles at the sight.

“Should we worry that there won’t be enough milk for you and the baby?” He muses, sitting on the futon next to you. Your hand grasps at his silk shirt, bringing him down to give you a kiss. Even as Kōtarō drills into you, you want more. A wet pop resounds around the room as Kōtarō laughs, groaning in your ear as he plugs you with his knot, pumping you full.

“The pup can have those bottles, and with help of those miracle cookies, we should be fine. You sure you don’t want to at least try a bit? It feels nice for her, doesn’t it, my little Beta?” He coos, pressing kisses to your cheeks as you come down from your high, walls fluttering around Kōtarō’s cock.

“It relieves some pain, I’ll admit that,” you smile at Keiji. “You can try,”

“Well, how can I say no to that?” He smiles back at you, brushing hair out of your face. Kōtarō massages your breast, holding it so Keiji can attach his lips to the nipple. His eyes focus on the creamy liquid dripping from the bud, only to become transparent as it follows gravity. When he does get a taste, he knows he’s in trouble. It’s as delicious as Kōtarō said, creamy and full that makes you want more. As he sucks with fervor, you giggle and Keiji is joined by his other lover, suckling any milk he left behind. It’s such a strange thing to happen, both grown men sucking on your chest as if they had been born only recently. With the swell of your stomach, you knew they’d have to share their milky mine.

As your due date drew near, you found yourself unable to do anything alone. Kōtarō was off completely until you delivered and Keiji was no longer looking for a job, as it was decided Kōtarō made enough for everyone to live comfortably. He knew he’d have to find another job soon, as more children were born and needed to be fed, but that was a well ways off, at least 9 more months.

What started as a normal day soon turned to chaos as preparations for delivery expedited when your water broke. The hospital had your room prepared already, but it was for your week stay as you were three days away from your date. Kōtarō was in a frenzy, unsure of what to do but desperate to do something. Keiji has to drive to the hospital, while you were doing breathing exercises with Kōtarō in the back seat. It was the birth of their first child, so even Keiji was panicking, but he was also excited.

Once settled into the room, the nurses had to check to see how far along you were dilated. Kōtarō was anxious, his scent permeating the room as he started to pace. The doctor had come in, spurring him into a fighting mentality because the doctor was another Alpha. Keiji and a nurse had to get him out of the room, with a promise he could see the children once they were born, but he would have to wait in the waiting room. Weakly calling out his name and telling him you were fine, he obliged as he left, punching the wall once as he felt his emotions boil over. Keiji was by your side, holding your hand as you squeeze it, pushing when the doctor told you to.

When the room was filled with screaming, the clock chiming as 12:15 had arrived, signaling the date of birth of your first born son. With his stubby arms and legs, you laughed as you held him, Keiji getting the honor of cutting the cord. The baby still needed to be cleaned and checked over, so the doctor and nurses took him while Keiji went to get Kōtarō. By the time Kōtarō and Keiji has come back, you were holding a small, but still big, baby boy swaddled in a thick blanket. Kōtarō immediately raced over to look over both of you, his scent out of control as his emotions mingled together. He didn’t know what to think.

“It looks like it’s yours, Kōtarō,” Keiji says, hand resting on Kōtarō’s shoulder. He smiles in response, looking at the baby’s golden eyes blinking open at him.

“Sure does, Keiji. I guess the next thing we should work on is proper marriage, right?” He watches as the baby grasps his finger, the small hand even smaller compared to his large one.

“A proper marriage, yes. The ring, the dress, the ceremony, you would like that, wouldn’t you dear?”

“Of course Keiji. Anything you want.” As you look up to him, he sees nothing but love in your eyes. He smiles, nodding in agreement.

“Well, as well as making sure the next one’s mine. We should start on that as soon as possible, don’t you think?”

[gashinabts]

peculiar taste| (m)

Words: 2.8k 

Pairing: Taehyung x Reader

Genre: Smut, Fluff, pwp

Summary: Unknowingly, you find out that your feet pics are roaming around twitter just to find out that your room mate runs the page. 

Warnings: FOOT STUFF, foot job ( idk if thats a thing), foot fetish

a/n:  There’s a lot of foot stuff so if that makes you uncomfortable then don’t read it. Btw if there’s other weird kinks/fetishes that you think a member would like just comment or message me. 

Twitter is a scary place, you never had it until your friend from work told you to download it because there’s funny memes. So when you downloaded it you were not surprised that there were weird foot pictures. See you were not one to shame someone who has weird fetishes but this was different. Oddly enough the picture had the same pedicure as you and the same tattoo on your ankle. Deciding to go on the page you notice there were pictures of your feet, the black heels you owned were there too. 

Is someone spying on you? There is a sudden noise from the kitchen and you jolt in fear, holding the phone close to you as you walk towards the noise. The fear disappears when you see your roommate slash friend Taehyung eating pickles from the jar. “ Hey, wanna go to the park? We can have a little picnic,” Taehyung munches the last part before putting it back in the fridge. “ What’s wrong?” He notices your worried face.

Shaking your head, not sure if you should tell him your worries. Taehyung would probably freak out more than you, he’ll probably call the FBI to install high tech cameras around the apartment. “ Nothing,” you smile. “ I’m down but I’m making the food. Last time you just packed onions and capri suns,” you move him aside to pull out bread to make sandwiches. 

He gives you his signature boxy smile, “ Sorry you don’t have an acquired taste,” he shrugs. 

---

When you guys get back from the park you immediately lay in your bed tired from all the running that Taehyung made you do. It was supposed to be a relaxing picnic, however Taehyung forced you to play tag with the children in the park. When you first met Taehyung you thought he was a quiet and stuck up person because of his emotionless face whenever he was sitting with people. But that all changed when you got to know him better, he was just a funny and weird person but in a good way. Needless to say you don’t ever want him to move out because he is just a fun person to have around.

The ping rings loudly on your phone, you get a message from your mom. You quickly text her back and then go on twitter to the foot fetish page to inspect it more. Maybe DM the person to see where they get these pics. Your eyes widen when you see a new picture that was uploaded a few minutes ago, your feet in your sandals that you just bought last week. Along with the picnic blanket that you use when you go to the park with Taehyung.

Jumping out of your bed you run to Taehyung’s room to demand answers from him, but he is currently playing Uno by himself. “ I’m trying to practice so I can win next time we play with Jungkook and Namjoon,” he places the green card down.

“ It’s Uno. The easiest game in the world, it was literally made for children,” you groan in frustration. Taehyung shrugs then goes back to his game and places the reverse card to the pile. “ That’s why I’m not here,” you shake your head. “ Why are my feet on a fetish page on twitter?”

His sharp eyes widen, you can’t tell if it’s due to shock or confusion. The brows are covered from his wavy black hair, lips parted in an ‘oh’ shape. “ Okay, don’t get mad. I have been posting you foot pics in exchange for money,” he puts his hands up when you throw his pillow at him. 

“ Taehyung! I can’t believe you,” you sigh. You became a renowned foot fetish star without any acknowledgment. What if people start to recognize you on the streets? Now you can never wear sandals.

“ I should’ve told you but I knew you were going to be against it,” Taehyung gets, ignoring the Uno cards and going up to you. His large hands come together holding them in front. “ If you want to take me to the police I understand. But make sure you feed the racoon that’s been secretly hiding in the garden shed,” he gives his puppy eyes. You can’t ever get mad at Taehyung, no matter what. It’s like he has this power that doesn’t make anyone upset.

Sighing, you gently push his hands down to his sides, “ I’m not turning you in,” you say. His remorse features immediately vanish, now becoming gleeful, as he engulfs you in a bear hug. If he’s getting paid you wonder how much he is making off of your feet. “ So how much money have you made so far?” The bed sinks as you sit down on it.

Taehyung's finger scratches his head, trying to remember how much the thirsty people on Twitter paid. “ Hmm, like a couple hundred. I’m saving the money so we can get a new tv.” 

The TV you guys had was found by Taehyung who was riding his bike around the neighborhood. An old man was giving it out and Taehyung called you excitedly asking you to bring your car so you can bring it back home. Upon your arrival you see an old blocky Sony tv that doesn’t even have an HDMI port. Taehyung convinced you that it was vintage and it would match the interior design of the apartment. “ Do people actually like that stuff ?” You ask while looking at your feet. What a weird thing to fetishize you think to yourself. 

Taehyung's hair floofs as he jumps back on the bed grabbing his phone that’s beside you. “ Yes. A lot of people,” he quickly unlocks his phone. “ Look, this man was willing to pay sixty dollars for you to have a foot massage,” you look at the DM. “ There’s also other requests. Like you wearing heels, stockings, and other weird things,” he shrugs putting his phone away.

People pay money for this, and you guys do need some money. It wouldn’t hurt to have a little extra cash for stuff. No one is ever gonna find out that it’s your feet. “ Let’s keep doing it,” you look at Taehyung, whose eyes widen at your words. 

“ Really?” Taehyung asked in a serious tone. Wanting to make sure that you actually want to do it not because of his stupid mistake.

“ Yeah, it would be nice to have extra cash,” you nod your head.

----

“ This feels really weird,” you flinch at the stickiness of the honey pouring on your feet. Taehyung makes a hand motion for you to keep pouring it as he films it on his phone. Your face is not in view so no one can see the weird faces you're making as the stickiness goes in between your toes. Just another weird request from a person. This guy is paying sixty dollars for this, so who cares that you are pouring honey on your feet.

Taehyung nods and gives the okay sign, ending the video. “ I feel bad that the bees are dying and we are wasting their precious honey on your feet,” he pouts before leaving to retrieve a wet towel. He tosses it to you so you can wipe the honey off before walking on the floor. 

The wet towel doesn’t help much so you decide to wash it. “ Yeah, we should visit the bee sanctuary to give our condolences,” you joke as you run to the bathtub to wash your feet with soap. 

“ That would be nice,” Taehyung smiles watching you wash your feet. He hears you laugh, “ Oh you were kidding,” he laughs along with you. The phone pings and he grabs it from his back pocket, looking at the DM’s. ***800 dollar request *** Taehyung reads loudly, eyes widening at the words. He reads the request to himself, heart beating fast because this is actually a sexual request. Also because this is the most someone is willing to spend on a video. For the past month it's only been under the hundreds that people spent on your feet.

Your voice startles him, “ What are they asking for you?” Turning off the faucet you give your undivided attention to him. 

Taehyung gulps then scratches the back of his neck, “ Uh- he wants you to use your feet to fondle someone’s dick,” he coughs at the end. There’s a silence that washes over you guys. “ Yeah,  I can just decline-”

“ Would I be fondling you?,” you ask. Taehyung tucks his phone back in his pocket then sits next to you. 

Taehyung puts his hand on your shoulder, his eyes are looking at you seriously. “ We don't have to do this.” 

 It’s 800 hundred dollars that you guys would be missing out on.“ I want to do it. Our faces won’t be showing, right?”  You really don’t mind just as long as Taehyung is comfortable doing it with you.

Taehyung exhales, nodding his head, “ Yeah no faces.” His heart beats faster as he looks at your feet.

***

“ Let me wash my feet one more time,” you go get up to use the bathroom one more time. Taehyung tugs you back down the bed. 

“ You already did it twice before you came to my room,” he lets out a chuckle. “ Don’t be nervous,” he sits on his chair. He grabs your foot gently placing it on his thigh. Large hands rubbing your ankle to calm you down. “ I’ll give you a foot massage and we’ll go from there,” he says softly. There’s a different mood between the two of you. It’s not like the usual playful mood that you guys have. It's heavier, if that makes sense.

Nodding your head, his big hands rub your feet. Rolling out any tension on the center of your foot, you sigh not used to this kind of attention in that area. His hands are like magic making all the stress on your foot disappear. At one point you close your eyes in relaxation feeling your body get lighter. Immediately your eyes open when you feel lips kissing your ankle, his soft lips leave a few more kisses as your eyes meet his dark eyes. Looking down you see a hard on “ Taehyung,” you whisper. He puts your foot back on his thigh, “ Should I start recording?,” you ask. Your hands shake, bringing his phone into your hands. 

Taehyung lets out a quiet hum, indicating for you to do so. You hold the phone tightly, pressing the record button. Last night you did some research looking at feet groping and you feel kind of confident. Hopefully, you don’t embarrass yourself or make Taehyung immediately walk out of the room. Your right foot teasingly goes up and down his thigh, looking carefully at Taehyung’s reaction. He lets out a groan when you get close to his bulge but goes to the other thigh doing the same action as before.

“ Baby please,” Taehyung's voice is hoarse. The pet name surprises you in a good way but you quickly remind yourself that he is only calling you that so your name won’t be exposed. His hand goes to your leg, running his fingers against your calf. Listening to his request you trail your foot to his bulge, lightly brushing the tip of your toes. He lets out a breathy exhale, looking down at your foot taunting him. 

You never thought you’d be into this, maybe it is the position. There’s some kind of power you hold as you get to dictate whether you should make him feel pleasure by the pressure of your foot. The way Taehyung’s breath quickens when you apply more pressure, his eyes giving you a sultry look. Your foot applies more pressure, toes spreading feeling the outline of his bulge. Doing slow circles, trying to feel more of him. His hand tightens on your leg, “ Fuck, right there,” Taehyung closes his eyes for a quick second. The hardness of his cock turns you on, you feel the thickness of it beneath your foot and you know he probably has a big cock. 

“ Does my foot feel good, baby?” You condescendly ask. His eyes look into yours surprise of your tone and question. His jaw clenching, looking hot and bothered, a new look that you want to store in your memory. “ Look at you getting turned on just by my foot,” you tsk in disappointment. Applying more pressure you arch your eyebrow still expecting an answer from him.

Taehyung hisses in pleasure, “ Yeah, your foot feels good,” he tosses his head when you rub your foot harder up and down his clothed cock. “ It feels to fucking good,” he whispers more to himself.

“ Take your cock for me baby,” you command him. Taehyung gives you a face of relief immediately taking his cock out of his pants and briefs. And you were right about his cock being thick and big. Now you just want to feel it in your hands and your mouth, actually everywhere. The precum is leaking, begging to be touched. The heel of your foot meets his hard cock, and he flinches but then immediately going back to your touch. “ Spit on it,” you look down, indicating Taehyung to spit on his cock.

He groans loud at your assertion, not used to this. Taehyung never sees this side of you, having a higher authority. You're usually compliant and listen to whatever he wants to do. He follows your words, spitting on his cock, as he watches your two feet come together cupping the thickness of his cock. Jerking him up and down.“ Shit shit,” he curses at himself for wanting to come right now.

“ It’s not even my pussy and you're already a moaning mess,” you chuckle to yourself. His eyes are downcast to the slow movement of your feet. The small breathy moans are getting louder, and you love the sound of it. 

If your feet are this good he can’t imagine what your pussy would feel like. He wants to desperately ask if he can fuck it later but he puts his thoughts away trying not to moan your name loudly. The movements get faster and he thinks this is the fastest time he has ever come. “ I’m going to come baby. Can I come please?”  He looks up at your face, and notices a dark gaze, and he wants to kiss the evil smirk off your face.

You wouldn’t be surprised if you creamed your pants right now at the sight of his begging and climaxing. “ Mmm, so soon?” You teasingly ask. Taehyung shamelessly nods, his hands clenching at nothing. “ Come all over my feet dirty boy,” your eyes watch carefully at his pretty bottom lip getting bitten by his teeth.

Before you know it Taehyung is tossing his head back, “ Fuck,” he lets out a loud drawl. His head Adam apple is bobbing and his pretty collar bones are getting more exposed. White spurts all over your feet and you keep fondling him until he holds your ankle in place. He finally looks down at the mess he made, surprised at how much he come.

You stop recording, placing the phone down the bed. There’s a towel next to you, you pull your feet towards you wiping the come off your feet. “ Can you kiss me?” Your head snaps to Taehyung’s question. His eyes don’t have the same lustful gaze but some hint of fondness. 

Nodding your head, you are about to kiss him until you realize that you ate sushi about an hour ago. Fearing that he probably can taste it from your mouth you pull back shaking your head. “ Let me brush my teeth real quick,” you try to walk to the bathroom. Until Taehyung laughs brightly pulling you back and pecking your lips softly.

The kiss makes you swoon and want to kiss him more but he pulls away too soon. “ Why did you want to kiss me?” You ask him not wanting to get your hopes high. But your heart is already beating hard because it’s Taehyung who kissed you.

“ I like you,” Taehyung shrugs nonchalantly. “ Why did you agree to kiss me?” He asks you while holding your hand.

“ I like you,” you do the same gesture as him. Taehyung smiles and leans towards your lips and you clothes your eyes expecting a kiss until you feel him push you back. Opening your eyes you see him pull his shirt over his head, and you're surprised to his slightly defined chest and v line. 

“ Even when I annoy you and cause nothing but trouble for you?” Taehyung looks down at you biting his bottom lip, a nervous tick he has.

You smile bringing his large hand down, pecking it lightly, “ That’s the best part though,” then pulling him down to kiss him. 

[gwynrielsupremacist]

A COURT OF LIGHT AND SHADOWS

Chapter 1: Voices

Read at AO3.

Gwyn's afternoon couldn't get any worse.

First of all, the morning's training had been horrendous.

Three weeks after the Blood Rite, Cassian and Azriel had thought it was time to start practicing again, since according to them, they had made a lot of mistakes that could very well have cost them their lives.

She was still alive, just like Nesta and Emerie, so at least one thing they had done well, survive.

After 3 weeks of not doing any sports, it was noticeable when you came back with all the energy, especially on a day where the sun was literally burning.

She noticed as she did push-ups that morning how her arms were trembling dangerously, the sweat running down the curve of her breasts, soaking the shirt she had worn.

Gwyn had promised herself that she would go out into the outside world.

That year she had made a lot of progress, she supposed she should be ready to enter society again, but no.

After the events in the Blood Rite, what she wanted was to lock herself in the darkest corner of the library, with a good book, and stay there to live.

Obviously, she couldn't do that. But she would have liked it.

With all the sore muscles, having failed almost all the obstacles the two Illyrians put them, showing a regrettable endurance in each and every one of the exercises, she had to go down to the library to have a pleasant chat with Merrill, who did not understand why her performance hadn't been 100% in recent weeks.

"I don't know, Merrill. Maybe because they pulled me out of bed against my will, left me in the middle of a forest full of Illyrians, while I had to fight to stay safe, as well as having to kill people? Maybe because I had never left the library after Sangravah, and I suddenly found myself in the same situation? " She reasoned, trying to control her pulse, having remembered the events in the Blood Rite.

She detested Merrill.

More than anyone else, she hated her. She often thought that life would be so much easier if people like Merrill just didn't exist.

After leaving her a ton of work to do, the female disappeared, leaving Gwyn with about seven books resting in her arms, already numb from the morning exercises.

She ran to the nearest table, relieved when she put the books down, with a thud.

She rubbed her dazed hands, wincing at the pile of books that awaited her to spend hours and hours together.

She had to research one of Merrill's new obsessions, the ancient and forgotten Prythian gods.

"I didn't even know they existed", she opined, opening a random book to a random page, flipping through the contents.

She got dizzy from so much information she did not understand, closing the pages with force, grabbing a cart that was nearby, leaving the volumes in it and going to her room, to calmly read those pages and pages of useless information, and then do a chapter-by-chapter summary for Merrill.

"Great, it's a good way to spend your free time if you love reading junk." She groaned as she carefully lowered the cart down the stairs.

"It is not junk. It is information that may be useful at some point", answered her subconscious.

At least she thought it was her subconscious.

She didn't remember when she had started to hear that voice, just one day it had appeared, and now it was considered the voice of reason.

Everything that voice said, it was true.

"I know, but I don't know how knowing which are the main and forgotten gods of Prythian is going to solve my problems." She attacked, greeting one priestess that came close to her, passing by her side.

The voice fell silent, apparently it had nothing more to add.

At least Gwyn could answer the voice in her mind. It would have been a strange thing to see a person argue with herself.

Upon reaching the room, which was a simple square with a bed, a wooden desk with a wooden chair that had more splinters than wood itself, and a modest closet, also made of wood.

Yeah, in summer the termites would destroy all the furniture if she wasn't careful.

Closing the door with the latch, one of the little luxuries she had on it, she put the books down with a thump, brushing her hands on the skirts of the gown, which was already heavily encrusted with dust.

She thought of taking off that long dress, which after so many washes the initial blue had ended up in an almost invisible gray, but she did not feel like going to the common baths of the priestesses, because every time she went there, they peppered her with questions about the Blood Rite.

And the last thing she wanted to do was talk about it.

So she collapsed on the bed, pulling back the covers and hugging the pillow with one arm, as she got into a fetal position.

"You have to go out, you can't hide in the bedroom all afternoon." It protested, to which she responded very kindly with a growl as she turned, trying to make it understand that she was going to do whatever she wanted.

"Alright then. If you get caught between the sheets and can't get out, don't come running to ask me for help." it threatened.

Gwyn didn't know how she was going to ask for help to a voice. It was disembodied, how the hell was she going to beg for help if she didn't even know what that murmur was?

She rolled over on the bed, rubbing her eyes and exhaling, disappointed.

She hated not being able to get out of that damn room.

She hated her insecurity and her irrational fear.

"It is not irrational, Gwyn." It assured her.

"Leave me alone." She begged, getting it to shut up.

She lay on her stomach, breathing deeply.

She looked at the time on the only clock in the room, located above the closet.

19.36.

It appears that she had a lot of time to do absolutely nothing.

Maybe she was going to pick up a book that Nesta and Emerie were reading.

Honestly, she was dying to sink her teeth into one that had caught her attention. According to her description, a maiden sent by the gods fell in love with her bodyguard...

Determined, she bolted upright, unlocking the latch, happily heading for the book.

There would be time to examine the books Merrill had passed her.

Anyway, she had a lot of time, reading something that interested her was not going to do anything bad to everyone.

With a broad grin, she made it to the fiction book section. She opened one of the books, tucking her nose between the pages, an exhale escaping from her lips when she smelled the wonderful book scent.

Her gaze sparking, she searched for the novel she was looking for.

"Didn't you forget something?" It asked.

She stopped short in the middle of the shelves, alarming a passing priestess.

Bowing her head in apology, she went back to searching, her eyes narrowing as she searched the thousands of spins with her eyes, finding none that bore the name of the book she was looking for.

"I don't have any errands to deliver to Merrill." She snapped, frowning when she finally found it.

It was at the top of the shelf.

She made a long face, standing on her tiptoes, stretching her arm as far as she could as she stuck her tongue out, focused.

"I don't mean Merrill, Gwyneth."

"Mysterious voice, what are you talking about?" The priestess demanded in a tired voice. She did not arrive. Why did they make the shelves so high? It was not possible that someone could reach them.

Although, don't get it wrong, Gwyn adored the voice. It was equal to the voice that we all have within us guiding us.

The problem was that the voice that she had was a little… annoying.

She looked at the shelves next to the floor, no books in sight.

Maybe if she got on them…?

She put one foot on it, skipping little hops as she judged whether the bookcase was going to fall or not.

Realizing that it was unlikely, she lifted her other foot, raising her heels as much as she could while she stretched out her arm, feeling her muscles go numb.

A little more ... just a little more ...

"You remember that your friend Nesta has a mate, right? And that you promised them that you would go to her ceremony?" As soon as she finished the sentence, Gwyn stopped.

Shit.

Seriously, had she forgotten that?

"There is still time… There are five days until the ceremony." The voice tried to calm her down, but nothing was going to do it now.

She jumped down from the shelf, as she began to walk from one place to another, in circles.

She had to go.

She couldn't do that to Nesta.

"I don't even have a dress. What am I going to wear?" Alarmed, she slightly stretched the strands of her coppery hair, thinking of a way to solve all the problems that had suddenly befallen her.

I have to leave the library to go to the mating ceremony.

I have to leave the library to go to the mating ceremony.

The female began to hyperventilate, forgetting the book that she had held less than 3 centimeters from her hands.

That was far more important.

"I can't tell Nesta that I forgot about her mating ceremony. I can't do that to her." Gwyn protested, running her hands over her face, rubbing her temples angrily, forcing herself to search for solutions and solutions and solutions.

But neither of them was going to work.

She had to get out of there, no priestess was going to leave her a suitable dress for the mating ceremony.

But she couldn't go alone. She did not dare to go down to the city alone.

Emerie couldn't help her. It had started the illyrian high-selling season and the illyrian needed the money. She only went to training, then she quickly returned to her store, not staying a minute longer than necessary.

Cassian and Nesta were completely out of the question.

Azriel...

"Ask him." The voice advised.

She needed to name that voice. She could not continue calling it "the voice", that was beginning to be uncomfortable.

"Maybe he can help you get the dress." It continued.

Would it be male or female? Or rather, what the hell was it?

"Are you listening to me?"

She definitely had no idea what it was.

"What are you?" Gwyn questioned, curious as she left the fiction section behind, walking aimlessly through the library.

She loved to wander aimlessly through the thousands of bookshelves, silent priestesses, the whisper of books her only company.

Besides that voice, of course.

"Have you heard anything I've said to you in the last two minutes?" Her voice roared.

"I've heard nonsense, so no, I haven't heard anything." She claimed. "But anyway, you haven't answered my question. What are you?"

"I am everything and I am nothing at the same time."

Now was it was being funny with her?

She rolled her eyes, annoyed "That is not an answer."

"It's an answer if you know how to interpret it." It answered.

She rolled her eyes again.

"Well, at least tell me what I can call you, it's uncomfortable to think of you as 'The voice'" She asked.

The voice fell silent, which she thought meant the end of the conversation.

She decided to head over to her room, assuming she should start Merrill's work, until 'the Voice' answered her.

"Elián"

Gwyn stood in the middle of the bedroom hall

"That is your name?"  She asked.

"My real name would burn your lips if you were able to pronounce it" It replied. "But yes, Elián is my name, and I am 'him', I have noticed how you struggled because you did not know if I was a man or a woman. The definition of gender is much more complicated than that, but it will be enough".

"G-Good." She answered.

Elián was quiet at last, leaving her with her own thoughts, as she opened the door, her own scent of jasmine feeling welcoming.

And the proposal he had made, although obviously she had ignored it, she was not wrong to consider.

Perhaps the Shadowsinger would help her out, aiding her finding a decent dress for her.

She closed the crank behind her, sitting on the small bed, wondering if it would be smart to ask him, risking him saying no, or not asking him and risking not having a dress for the ceremony.

Sighing, she figured she should go to the bathrooms to get the sensation of dust - and the dust itself - off her body, so she grabbed change clothes and headed there, deciding at that moment that tomorrow she would ask the Spymaster if he could accompany her to buy a dress.

Inside her, she could feel Elián nodding his head, giving his approval.

TAG LIST (tell me if you want to be tagged or deleted) @bookish-isha @imsointobooks @shisingh @feyretale @niaacotar @flora-shadowshine @tealnymph24 @trashforazriel @hlizr50 @meher-sumedha @heyovivi @positivewitch @greywarens-magician @sageofthegalaxy @valkygwyn @verifiefangirl @verifiefangirl-mainblog @snickerdoodlechittybangbang @genya-berdara @katekatpattywack @frulyall @mercurianbisous @rainbowcheetah512

[drmmyrs]

Remember Me (Becca x MC) Part 2

Hiii I’m back. Sorry again for the delay 😬I had such a hard time writing the ending so thank you so much @samanthadalton for all your help 😘Also, a big thanks to M anon for their suggestions and song request which I used some of.

tag list: @samanthadalton @crazzyplays @uselesslesbianfr @baexpoppy @alexroyard @alexlabhont @veenast @noixngn @sillyandcutewizardstuffs @doey-eyes8 @itszdavenport (If you wanna be added or removed or just prefer a certain ship just let me know ❤️)

Read Part 1

Pairing: Becca x MC (Emily)

Warnings: some swearing

Word Count: 2289

It's been an hour since Emily last came into my room to remind me of my doctor's appointment. And it's been about thirty minutes since I've been ready to go, physically at least. Naturally, I tried to get Chris to come with me instead because he's my boyfriend, right? Ughh fine, ex-boyfriend. But can you blame me, though? How am I suppose to move on when I literally have no memory of some sort of breakup or closure? I stare at the dull beige-colored ceiling, a view which has me panicking in the mornings right after I wake up, before I remember that I don't live at the sorority house anymore. I then close my eyes and get comfort in the memories I have left, my only anchor on the reality I knew, away from this freakish place with the people I don't even give a shit about.

After a couple more minutes, I begrudgingly get up with a groan and trudge downstairs, finding Emily waiting on the couch. She smiles upon seeing me, but I don't return the gesture, being genuinely annoyed at the prospect of having to spend an incessant amount of time with her. So instead, I walk past her towards the door, my heels clattering on the wooden surface. Emily then follows behind me from a distance, careful not to invade my space. Once outside, I walk straight towards the passenger door of Emily's junk of a car, grabbing the handle as I glare at Emily impatiently, waiting for her to unlock it. As soon as unlocked, I sink into the seat, slamming the door close harder than I intended. Emily, though, takes a second before going in, eyeing the seat suspiciously as if it might shatter anytime. Once seated, she places her hand on the gear stick, slightly trembling. And then it dawns on me, I may have forgotten about the accident, but it's probably still fresh from her memory, terrorizing her at every reminder. All this time, I've been complaining about how unfair everything is for me, not once considering how it may have affected her.

"Who was driving?" I ask. It may not be the best thing to talk about right now, but I have to know.

I see Emily flinch at the question, and before she even opens her mouth, I know. She looks out the windshield, her voice cracking when she replies, "I was."

I nod. My mom told me it was a drunk driver running a red light that hit us, so I don't blame her at all, not anymore.

"Is it–" The words come out sharp, so I stop and soften my voice. "Is it the first time you drove since?"

Emily doesn't reply immediately; instead, she shifts the gear and steps on the gas pedal as we begin to make our way towards the hospital. She grips the steering wheel tightly, anxiously looking at the road, her eyes obsessively sweeping for any oncoming traffic at every intersection.

"No. No it's not but..." Emily trails off, her knuckles turning white as her grip on the steering wheel tightens.

But it's her first time to drive with me in the car. I turn my head to look out the window, knowing full well I can't ease her fears. How can I when I'm the living reminder of everything she lost?

---------

I immediately regret my outfit choice as soon as we get into the waiting room, the frigid temperature biting at my skin, sending sharp pains like that of a needle across my exposed skin. I try to play it cool, but a shiver escapes my body, desperate for any source of heat. A few seconds later, a jacket appears in front of me, held by Emily who is wearing an annoyingly cute little smile on her face. I mumble thanks and take the jacket, placing it over my shoulders, smelling the scent of lavender as I bask in the comfort of heat.

I take out my phone and browse my socials, catching up on all the events I missed–or forgotten–while ignoring the get well soon messages from both people I know and don't know that have been piling up ever since the accident. A few minutes later, the doctor calls my name, and as I stand up, Emily does as well but then sits back down almost immediately, clearly unsure if her company is welcome.

I roll my eyes. "Come on."

---------

After a useless consultation–apparently, they can't do much to help me regain my memories–Emily suggests we stop by an ice cream parlor not far from here. I assent, but only because I need the comfort of a sugary snack right now, and it's been ages since I had one, or at least I think so.

We reach a store I don't recognize, replacing an office space that, while I never paid attention to before, was a pleasant fixture in my reality, not this... eyesore. I shake my head; I can't keep living in the past. I follow Emily into the store, reminding myself that this is my reality now.

Inside, the floor is patterned with alternating pink and black tiles, and the walls are coated with somewhat fresh pink paint adorned with decors that scream ice cream as if one might stumble into the shop looking for lunch or something.

"Welcome t–ah Emily and Becca! I haven't seen you girls in a while."

I turn around to see a guy, probably in his mid-twenties– smiling at us like...  I shoot Emily a side-eye. She, of course, fails to mention that the guy working here is buddy-buddy with me. So, is this the kind of couple we were? Those who frequent an ice cream parlor enough to be on a first-name basis with the ice cream guy? I internally groan in disgust at the thought.

"–Becca." I'm pulled out of my thoughts when I hear my name. Emily and the ice cream guy are looking at me expectantly.

"Sorry I didn't hear," I mumble.

"You'll be having strawberry, your usual, correct?" says the guy with a wide smile.

I do want strawberry, but I shake my head and say, "Vanilla," just to spite him, annoyed how some stranger knows my favorite ice cream flavor.

"Ooh, trying something new today, are we? One rocky road and vanilla coming right up," he announces in an annoyingly high pitch voice. I struggle not to roll my eyes.

"Where's the bathroom?" I ask, which is met by a look of confusion followed by a laugh.

"You know wh–" 

Emily quickly interjects, "The bathroom's there, Becca," pointing at a door at the back of the store.

I excuse myself and go to the bathroom, heading straight towards the mirror. I stare at my reflection, nitpicking every tiny detail that has changed throughout the years, changes I don't recognize at all. A tear rolls down my cheek, but I quickly wipe it away. I'm Rebecca fucking Davenport; I don't cry. I grip the sink tightly, overcome with a new resolution. I know who I am; they don't, convincing myself more than anyone else.

Once finishing up in the bathroom, I head back outside, noticing a different aura in the room. Emily is holding our orders with an apologetic look while the ice cream guy regards me with pity, something I've grown used to in the past few weeks. I take my ice cream from Emily, not meeting her gaze, and walk out of the store, striding ahead of her towards the car, not once looking back.

--------

On the ride home, silence weighs heavily between us as Emily bites at her lower lip, either contemplating what to say or waiting for me to go off on her. After an awkward amount of time, Emily finally breaks the silence.

"I'm sorry I–"

"Forget about it," I cut her off, too exhausted to engage with her. I think about the previous encounter, wondering if that would be my norm. Unfamiliar people coming up to me, sharing inside jokes and anecdotes while I stare blankly at them, wondering if I should explain my situation or just ignore them, being the bitch I know I am. I stare out the window, seeing all the changes in the city, musing about the memories I may have had alongside them, memories that I may or may not recover. It's as if an impostor had been living my life for the past two years, and now I'm forced to follow in their footsteps. It's obvious I had changed a lot during those years, my previous enemies becoming my closest friends, my greatest rival supposedly becoming the love of my life. Was she the love of my life? Was I happy with Emily?

It's already dark outside when we arrive home. I notice a few cars parked down the road, something unusual considering this is the only house for at least a couple of blocks. What do I know, though, it's not like I remember much about this place. I turn my attention back to the house; the lights inside are turned off, leaving a lone street lamp and the car's headlights as the primary sources of light, accentuating the jagged grey bricks of the house, almost giving an appearance of something sinister. This is ridiculous; I chide myself for being scared of a stupid house. 

Emily walks ahead towards the door while I follow a few steps behind. As soon as I walk inside, the light turns on, and I'm greeted by a chorus of surprise echoing throughout the house, coming from people whom I only recognize half of. I stare at them blankly, unimpressed but just mostly confused. My mother walks over to me and gives me a big hug.

"Happy birthday, sweetie."

Birthday? I inconspicuously look at my phone. Huh. I could've sworn I've seen the date today at least a few times. A few moments later, Emily steps forward with a cake in her hands.

"Happy birthday babe," she says, immediately followed by a look of horror. "Becca. Sorry."

Of course Emily had planned this. It doesn't really matter if I wanted to have a stupid party. She had to go ahead and decide for me.

"Go ahead and blow out the candles," my mom urges.

I blow out the candles, faking a smile for my mom. As much as I want to storm into my room, I'm not about to break my mom's heart by causing some unnecessary drama.

--------

Just a few moments into the party, and I'm already exhausted–people lining up to greet me, asking how I've been doing since the accident. I realize that most people here don't know about my condition, which means I have had to engage in quite a few conversations about the things I've supposedly been doing for the past few years, things I have no recollection of, to which I gave vague answers to avoid having to explain everything. 

I down my fourth glass of virgin cuba libre, eyeing the display of alcohol with contempt, resentful that I can’t drink because of the medicine I took earlier, when Zack drags me across the room to play some truth or dare with a bunch of people, some of whom I don't recognize. Thankfully, if there was one thing the sorority has taught me, it's that you don't have to know someone to ask the right questions or expertly avoid the common ones. That is of course until someone asks you the most unexpected question.

"Do you have a date for the wedding yet?"

I stare at them blankly, fumbling for words. Wedding? 

"I–I–"

But before I can make up an answer, Kaitlyn arrives with Emily in tow, and that's when I notice it, the ring on Emily's finger. I gasp for breath, feeling like the air is taken out of my lungs. And I almost don't notice it when Kaitlyn takes out her guitar and starts singing, joined by the others.

When all the tears are rolling down your face And it feels like yours was the only heart to break When you come back home and all the lights are out And you're getting used to no one else being around

Oh, oh, I'll be there

I look at the unfamiliar faces, singing their hearts out, gazing at me fondly. I then turn my gaze to Emily's ring finger, and sitting on it is a small but glistening diamond and part of me chastises myself for not noticing earlier. I feel the entire room’s eyes on me and suddenly, it becomes too much for me to withstand. I stand up, scrabbling to go to my room, footsteps following behind me. Once I got on the stairs, Emily shouts my name from behind, and I stop at the sound of her voice, turning around.

"We were engaged? Why didn't you tell me?" My voice comes out harsher than expected and it seems to take Emily by surprise too because she just stands there motionless, speechless. “Marriage is a big thing Emily, that’s not something you can just conveniently not tell me.” I let out a frustrated groan, momentarily letting the anger wash all over me before I’m left with a bitter feeling in the pit of my stomach. “I’m sick of having random people tell me things about my life which I can’t even remember when my own fianc–” I stop, not even being able to say the word, shaking my head as the agony brought by my predicament proves to be too much. “I can’t do this. I'm sorry," I croak before running towards my room, slamming the door behind me. I then curl myself in bed as the tears fall freely.

[diamaker-moon]

Moving Forward — Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Revealed... (pt. 2)

—————

"Enchanttréx, I am Hawkmoth. You've been betrayed by the person your loved one, I'm giving you the power to expose any secrets that were chosen to be hidden away from the world. In return, you will bring me ladybug and Chat Noir's Miraculous. Do we have a deal?"

"Yes, Hawkmoth."

The purple substance covered the woman in a wedding dress, and when it was gone it left a woman, who has an intricate gold flower-themed headpiece, long black hair that reaches up to her mid-back, a flowy white to black gradient dress, gold strapped heels, white laced gloves that reach up to her forearm and a veil in front of her face.

"It's time to let yourself free from your secrets!" Enchanttréx exclaimed making the nearby Parisians run away in fear and alerting the heroes.

— previous chapter... —

It took quite a while for Ladybug to get to the scene. People were shocked to see Ladybug with a new suit design. Instead of her previous red skintight jumpsuit with black spots. It was changed to a much more detailed suit.

She still wears a skintight jumpsuit but now she had two-inched heeled thigh-high black boots, solid black colour on her waist with inverted red spots instead of black, solid black gloves and her top looks armoured, her collar turns to swan-necked design still black in colour with red lining. Her hair is now tied in a ponytail that reaches up to her mid-back with two red and black ribbons sticking out of the ponytail acting as the antennas, her mask stayed the same.

Ladybug was worried about how to defeat her since she's alone and has no one to trust with the cat miraculous.

Meanwhile, inside the Agreste Mansion, Adrien was frantically searching around his room for his kwami, he kept looking back to his TV watching Ladybug fight the Akuma alone.

"Plagg! Where are you?!"

He didn't notice Ladybug capturing the villain with her yo-yo and snatching her headpiece with the veil attached and breaking it, freeing the Akuma. She captured it then cleansed it and used her miraculous cure to fix everything, reverting the villain to her civilian self in her wedding dress outfit.

She spent a good twenty minutes defeating the villain alone.

The reporters were pushing each other towards Ladybug to get an interview.

"Ladybug! What's with the new outfit? And where is Chat Noir?" Nadja Chamack asked.

Ladybug was about to swing her yo-yo to leave but was bombarded with that question. She sighed and took notice that she only had three minutes before she detransformed.

"The suit is just an outfit change, no need to worry about it. About Chat Noir... He has been relinquished of his miraculous, I have found out about his misdeeds in his civilian life and how he acted during the battles, I had no choice but to take his miraculous for he became unworthy of wielding it anymore. I need to go, I'm about to detransform." She said before waving and finally swinging away.

Adrien was staring at the TV before looking at his hand with the silver ring. He lost his miraculous. He can no longer be Chat Noir.

—————

"Hey, that's a good record!" She said after she had swung to her balcony then detransformed once she stepped inside her bedroom. The kwamis are patiently waiting for her while they eat food.

"He probably heard the news by now..." Marinette mumbled.

"Do you regret it? Taking the miraculous back?" Wayzz asked.

Marinette was in a daze for a moment thinking back to the good memories of them. The day they became heroes, how he supported her, protecting her from harm, their playful banter, everything. But even if she returns the miraculous to him, she can't trust him again. Not now, at the very least.

"No... I have a duty to Paris as Ladybug, but it is also my duty as Guardian to make sure that no miraculous will be used for evil."

Wayzz was pleased. When he first found out that his previous Master was planning to pass to a teenager the Guardianship of the Chinese Miracle Box, he was worried. It will be a huge responsibility for a teenager especially someone who has quite a future to reach, but Marinette has proved him wrong.

Marinette was busy sewing Clara Nightingale's commission not noticing that it was nearing dinner time. Allegra kept glancing at their dormmate's closed door, wondering if Marinette didn't like them, but it was easily dismissed since they have spent quite a while together, thinking that maybe the girl was just busy.

"Hey, Al. Is Marinette still in her room? Dinner's almost ready." Allan said.

He was mostly the cook since it became his habit to always cook with his mother. He had cooked them a lot of meals and sometimes experiments with recipes, but it always turns out good. Claude was preparing the dinner table and Félix was busy reading a book while sitting on a one-seater couch in the living room. 

"She's been in there for quite a while, she might have the soundproof on," Allegra said.

"She might have a commission she's doing." Félix interrupted. Feeling all eyes turn on him.

"How do you know that?" Claude asked in a teasing voice.

"I looked her up to see if she has any social media accounts, I found out she's an aspiring designer with quite the accomplishments." 

The trio was shocked. Allegra was immediately on her phone and searching her dormmate's name on the internet. She was shocked to see her name attached to a famous singer, rockstar, and even a fashion critique!

"Well, try and call her again, Dinner's ready," Allan announced.

Allegra was about to go when Félix beat her to it. She was shocked once again that their resident snob roommate is showing quite the attention to Marinette but she just shrugged it off. Félix stood in front of her door for a minute or two before he knocked.

"Marinette?" Felix called.

Inside, the girl didn't hear the call, but the kwamis did. They flew towards her to inform her that someone is calling her from outside her room. That was when she noticed the time. But it was too late...

The moment she placed down the dress she's embroidering neither her nor the kwamis that was near her, heard her unlocked door open.

When Marinette, whirled around she then froze, staring with wide eyes towards the blonde who was staring at her as well with his hand on her door's doorknob.

The Kwamis were staring at the two and in shame. Plagg was in the middle of swallowing a Camembert wedge then stopped and stared at the guy on the door, Tikki was nibbling her cookie but then paused.

"Uhm... I can explain...? They're... dolls...?" Marinette nervously said.

Félix blinked at her twice before answering, "Dolls? Dolls that are floating and... apparently can eat on their own..."

Marinette bit her bottom lip before breathing in hard. She grabbed Félix's hand then closed the door and made sure it is locked.

"Don't tell me..." Felix started.

Marinette avoided his gaze, "Then... I won't tell you." She said before giving him a sheepish smile.

Félix can only stare at her in bewilderment. His new dormmate, not only an aspiring designer who was done a lot of commissions for famous people, but is also someone important based on the number of the 'dolls' near her.

"Please, Félix... you can't tell anyone!" Marinette pleaded.

"What exactly are they? And how come there are so many of them?" Félix asked.

"... They're kwamis. They are the ones who give powers to Paris' superheroes..." Marietta hesitantly answered.

"And they are so many because... They are under my protection now..." She added.

He stared at her before looking at the dolls— kwamis that are still staring at them. And then looked back at her pleading face, he then also remembered the news of Ladybug relinquishing Chat Noir's miraculous, meaning that she's alone in the battlefield, she's alone against Hawkmoth.

"You're Ladybug... Paris' remaining hero." He said in conclusion only to have it confirmed by her when she looked away to try and avoid his gaze.

"Marinette... what you need is a team. A support team, base on your announcement earlier, you are alone against Hawkmoth. For now... think about it, if you need help, we're here to help. Let's go, dinner's ready." He said before opening her door and gestured for her to go with him to the dining area.

Marinette stared for a second before following him outside of the room, leaving the kwamis inside her bedroom.

"Oopsie...?" Trixx said nervously.

Plagg continued to eat his cheese before saying anything, "Well, the cat's out of the bag."

Some of the kwamis laughed at Plagg's statement, while Tikki looked at him with a deadpanned expression. "This is worrisome! Her secret's exposed!" She said.

"Tikki, calm down. This could be helpful to the Guardian. She could gain a new set of temporary heroes." Wayzz said.

—————

Meanwhile, a seething brunette is pacing back and forth in her room. She cursed Ladybug in Italian for almost ruining her then cursed her in french!

Earlier in the day, Lila, Rose, Juleka and Alix were together getting ice cream from André, when Enchanttréx came across them and hits her with the Akuma's powers. Lila started spewing out the truths while the rest of the girls are gaping at her.

She couldn't stop talking. She spewed out how she threatened Marinette in the bathroom, how she got 'injured' after being 'pushed' by Marinette, her thoughts about the class like how stupid they were, and many more. From her peripheral vision, she saw Ladybug stopped for a moment and glanced at them before swinging away.

Rose was mortified by what she heard.

Juleka was mumbling a lot and glaring at Lila. They didn't even notice her opening her phone and started recording the conversation, not even Lila noticed her.

Alix's angry expression was evident, she openly glared at the Italian brunette.

After a few minutes, the cure was cast, and Lila was trying to fix the situation but the other girls backed away from her and started walking away. Lila stood there for a while before running to their apartment and here she was now.

"That damn bug!" Lila shouted.

Rose and Juleka are currently on the Couffaine Houseboat— The Liberty. Juleka was comforting Rose whose crying a river on her shoulder while keeping an eye for any Akuma coming near. She tried to calm down the blonde, but Rose won't listen. Due to Lila's confession, it was clear that their previous findings were... real.

"Please, Rose... Calm down for a moment..." Juleka pleaded.

She then noticed her brother leaning on the doorway of his and her cabin. Luka Couffaine was starting at the scene in front of him. Deep inside, he was disappointed by his baby sister's choices. Instead of letting her other friends know, she hid it. He doesn't know why Juleka did it, he wanted to trust the girl's decisions, but Luka didn't know if it was the right thing to do.

"... What happened?" He asked, even though he might already have the answer.

Juleka stared at his brother's eyes before answering.

"We made a mistake..." She mumbled.

"She was right... That Lila was a liar, an Akuma happebed earlier, and Lila startes spewing a bunch of things... But..." Juleka added.

"No," Luka refuted.

"You said it yourself, Jules. You became aware of the situation, that someone in your friend group is a liar. Marinette only did what she was supposed to do, she tried to warn you all but only to be dismissed. You can't blame anyone else, Jules. You were warned by a friend, but you chose to go with everyone else and dismissed her claims. Then soon you knew about it, but didn't tell the others. You can't blame Lila here, you were the ones who believe her without any proof. You messed up. That's what happened. And I don't even know if you can still fix your mess..." He added.

Juleka could only drop her head lower due to shame. Rose who was listening to the conversation of the siblings, couldn't stop the aching part in her heart. Both of them know. They were at fault. Not Marinette, not Lila, but for them. They messed up, and by the time they realized their mistake, things might have been too late already.

Alix was back at her house, starting at a rolled-up banner in the corner of her room. A banner made by Marinette. She couldn't believe herself, if not because of that day's Akuma who knows when will they find out.

She pulled out the pocket watch given to her. In her head, she wished that she could turn back time, back to when Marinette was their friend and was warning them about Lila. She wished that she had the Rabbit Miraculous in her hands but she also knows that is a selfish thing to do.

Alix made a mistake. She doesn't know how to solve it. She didn't even know if she could even apologize for her mistake. For once, she desperately wishes that Bunnyx will appear and tell her about the future.

All three girls know that next school morning will be different from what they're used to... And it may not be the same ever again.

—————

The next morning came, Alix, Juleka and Rose were quite surprised that Lila hasn't arrived earlier than them. Alix immediately went to Kim and Max and explained what happened. Everyone could see that the trio that has two troublemakers is in a serious conversation, they could see Max typing furiously on his phone.

Juleka and Rose, however, went to a small group of their classmates. That group consists of Ivan, Mylene, Nathaniel, and surprisingly Sabrina.

But they were more surprised. Sabrina was telling the other three that Lila Rossi is a liar, but due to her reputation that is tied mostly to Chloé Bourgeois, people find it hard to believe. But when Juleka and Rose confirmed it, they were shocked, to say the least. Finding out that a classmate of yours enjoys toying with you to make themselves look popular can put a negative taste in your mouth. They didn't know that Nino arrived, they only noticed when Ivan saw Nino and his left hand raised, looks like to wave to someone, but frozen in his spot.

"... Nino...?" Mylene cautiously asked.

Instead of answering, he pulled out his phone and continued typing. They thought he'll text his girlfriend, but they saw him searching on the internet. Adrian saw his best friend and immediately went up to him, but was surprised at what he was doing.

"What's going on?" He asks.

"Finding out that one of our classmates is a pathological liar..." Rose answered.

Adrian only tilted his head. Juleka who was now being more observant saw his reaction. He wasn't surprised nor agitated that they were being fooled. As if he knows already.

"... Adrien?" Juleka called.

They all looked at her even though he only called the blonde boy. He answered why and looked at her curiously.

"... You knew... Didn't you?" Juleka boldly asked.

Adrian stilled. He started at the goth girl and avoided her eyes. The others saw it and slowly backed away from him.

Adrian looked at Nino, his eyes were pleading him to stay, but Nino shooked his head.

"You knew... Why didn't you say anything?! Why didn't you tell me?!" Nino whispered harshly instead of screaming to avoid making a scene.

Nino looked back to every interaction they had especially when Lila is the topic and when they are blaming Marinette for bullying the new student. Now he understands why Adrien was so quiet, why he was looking at the ravenette then soon avoided the girl's gaze. He looked at the blonde boy in front of him and thought to himself that he doesn't know this person in front of him anymore.

"Marinette knew. She knew that you knew... That's why she was looking at you every time! I thought she's just trying to plead that she's innocent but actually, she's pleading to you to say the truth!" Nino mumbled.

The others stared at Adrien for a moment before looking away, either in shame when they heard Marinette's name or in anger and don't want to do anything stupid. They all slowly left leaving a stunned Adrien and a silent Sabrina. She looked at him and stared. Soon she left as well, while she was walking she was texting Chloé of what happened and about Adrien's knowledge of the situation long ago. Chloé was furious, she thought at least the boy will have the decency to tell a friend or her but he kept it a secret and it led up to this.

Adrien's phone pinged, he pulled it out and was shocked to see what message was sent to him.

Chloé:  I don't know you anymore, Adrien. You knew but said nothing to anyone, not even to me. What kind of friend even are you?

Adrien heard the bell, and reluctantly dragged himself towards his classroom, he saw Nino seating next to his desk, but when he sat down the DJ didn't acknowledge his presence like before. Adrien looked to his right and saw Chloé frowning and ignoring him as well. He thought back to Chloé's last sentence in her message.

She was right. He knew from the very beginning, but he didn't side with the victim, instead, he sided with the bully. What kind of friend even was he? He didn't know either.

Chapter 6 — Moving Forward: Masterlist — Chapter 8

[detectivereyes]

Even If You Stumble A Step, You’re Still Moving Forward

Summary: TK and Carlos move into their new home post-finale and TK doesn't exactly make the best first impression on their new neighbors...

Notes: this was like a fever dream i had a few months ago and then i stopped writing but decided to revive it last night so... here we are. also title creds (and emotional support creds) to jillian @marjansmarwani​ because this fic wouldn’t exist without her. and also s/o to brit @moviegeek03​ for being extra supportive of yet another fic where [spoiler] tk falls down the stairs again :/

read on ao3

TK shuffles through the maze of boxes stacked several feet high throughout their new home. The scene shouldn’t surprise him considering it was only a few months ago he was moving his own boxes into their old home. However it feels different knowing that most of this stuff isn’t actually theirs.

Well, it is theirs now he figures. But the fact remains that most of the stuff filling the space was either given to them by various members of the extended 126 family, or was recently purchased by TK or Carlos on one of their many trips to Bed Bath and Beyond. 

They had taken their time searching for a new place to live. Owen had made it clear that they were both welcome to stay with him (and Mateo) for as long as they needed, but TK had known it was time.

So when a townhome popped up on Zillow that met all their criteria, they wasted no time booking an appointment with the realtor. They both had instantly fallen in love with the open floor plan and deck out back. Plus they knew the extra bedrooms upstairs may come in handy someday.

While they knew the vertical layout of the home itself wasn’t the best, having more stairs than either of them were used to, it checked every other box and was right in their price range so they had wasted no time signing the lease.

A few days had passed since settlement and now most of their days were spent trying to unpack and make this new house into a home. It would never replace the one they had lost, but it had been exciting to build this new home together.

Though on this particular day, TK found himself alone in trying to get settled in since Carlos had a shift. With the 126 still out of commission, possibly forever, and the department not having any openings for paramedics, most of the unpacking was left for TK.

After getting a good chunk of the living room done, he checks the time and decides to go out and see if the mail has come yet. Not that he’s expecting anything with their address still being so new, and not getting much physical mail anyway to begin with. But it still provided a good excuse to take a break.

TK opens the front door and starts to make his way down the set of stairs leading down. 

He makes it about halfway before his attention is caught by one of his new next door neighbors, Mr. Martin- if he remembers correctly, exiting at the same time. Mr. Martin gives a friendly wave and TK goes to return the gesture.

Except, he’s not paying attention when he takes the next step, and he misses, his heel just barely hitting the edge of the step before he starts to go down. He tumbles until he comes to a hard stop at the bottom, with most of his weight coming down on his right knee, sending shooting pains up and down his leg.

The rest of his body is sore, and by the time his ears stop ringing, he can just barely make out a new female voice asking “Sir, are you okay?”

He opens his eyes, which he had not even realized he had squeezed shut at some point, to see his neighbor, Mrs. Bailey- his brain supplies, from across the street making her way over to check on him, worried lines painting across her forehead.

“Yes, ma’am. I’m fine,” he grimaces while pushing himself up to a seated position. He tries to hide the blush forming on his cheeks. Not the best way to make a good first impression on his neighbors.

“Are you sure, son? We can call for help if you need it. Someone you know, or 9-1-1?” Mr. Martin joins in the conversation.

“No!” TK interjects too quickly, startling both neighbors. He panics for a moment when the weight of the predicament settles in. He meets the gaze of both figures still staring at him, clearly concerned and waiting for him to say something. “I mean, I’m a paramedic. I’m fine. Or I will be fine. Thank you,” he flashes them both a quick smile before pushing himself up off the ground, ignoring the sharp pains that radiate from his knee when he tries to put any weight on it.

Getting back up the stairs is no easy feat, and he doesn’t have to turn around to know that both Mr. Martin and Mrs. Bailey are still watching him, concerned. Fortunately, they don’t know him well enough to try and follow or help. He’s not sure he would feel comfortable enough receiving help from some strangers. Half the time he doesn’t even feel comfortable receiving help from the people he does know.

He leans heavily on the railing, refusing to turn around out of fear of further mortification. Once he’s inside the home, he collapses right inside the hall, unable to go any further since his knee decided to stop cooperating.

A few tears pool in his eyes, and he’s unsure if that’s due to the pain or embarrassment. Not knowing what else to do, he takes out his phone and shoots a quick text to Carlos.

TK: we have to move

It doesn’t take more than a few seconds for the three dots to pop up before being replaced by Carlos’ response.

Carlos: ???

TK sighs and rubs his face, trying to figure out the best way to explain the situation.

TK: i feel down the stairs out front and all the neighbors saw

Carlos: Holy shit, are you okay??

He lets out a puff of air at that.

TK: you mean besides my bruised ego?

TK: no, i hurt my knee but i’m fine. that’s not the issue here.

Carlos: Okay, I’ll be home in an hour and you can let me be the judge of that. If I see any swelling, we’re going to the doctor.”

He rolls his eyes at Carlos’ worry. At worst, it’s a bad sprain, nothing that can’t be fixed with some icing and wrapping. But there are other things they need to worry about.

TK: you’re missing the point, carlos. the entire neighborhood thinks i’m an idiot. we can’t live here anymore.

TK knows he’s being dramatic, but the more he thinks about it, the more embarrassed he gets. The idea that these are people he’s going to have to continue to face everyday for the foreseeable future. And that now all they’ll be able to think about when they do see him. Now he’ll just be known as the guy who can’t walk down stairs.

Carlos: Relax, TK. I’ll be home soon.

TK: you mean our temporary place of residence which we will soon be moving out of

He doesn’t get a response after that. 

His mind continues to spiral while he waits for Carlos to arrive. He knows the other man is likely climbing the walls trying to leave his shift early but it would still be awhile before he could be allowed to leave.

Left alone with his thoughts, his mind keeps playing out the series of events that happened minutes ago. He can't help but beat himself up over embarrassing himself like that. Ironically enough, it’s not even the first time he’s fallen down stairs, having taken a tumble down the stairs in Carlos’ place a few months back. And of course he would manage to injure himself that time, and this time as well.

He should at least try to get up so he can find an ice pack to lessen the swelling. Sitting on the floor up against the wall can’t be doing his knee any favors. Yet he can’t bring himself to move, instead resting his head back against the wall and sighing.

TK pulls out his phone again, cycling through the apps until he hears the tell-tale keys jingling in the already unlocked door.

As soon as Carlos steps through the door, he nearly trips over TK in the doorway. “Woah, hey! TK, are you okay?” he crouches down to TK’s level.

TK shrugs. Now that he’s face to face with Carlos, he can’t help but feel suffocated by another person judging him, even if Carlos’ worry comes from a place of concern.

“Can I take a look at your knee?”

TK nods, allowing Carlos to gently inspect his swollen joint. He winces as Carlos traces his hand around his kneecap.

“This doesn’t look good, babe. I think we need to go to the hospital.”

“No, it’s fine,” he quickly shakes his head. The worried look in Carlos’ eyes only makes his heart ache, and he can only try to find ways to make it go away. “Just help me up and we can ice it. It will look better once the swelling goes down a bit.”

Carlos gives him a look that screams I don’t believe you but sighs. “Fine, but if it doesn’t…”

“I know, I know. You’ll drag my ass to the emergency room,” TK gives him a reassuring smile.

Carlos returns the smile, and extends a hand to help TK up. TK accepts, and allows Carlos to take on most of his weight once he’s standing. They slowly make their way over to the living room, with Carlos softly depositing TK onto the sofa. He then disappears into the kitchen before returning with an ice pack in hand.

“Thanks,” TK smiles, trying to mask the wince as Carlos places the pack onto his knee.

“Do you want to watch an episode of The Office?” Carlos asks, picking up the remote and settling in the spot next to TK.

TK shrugs, knowing that Carlos is just trying to appeal to him by offering to put on his favorite show. The other man doesn’t even like the show that much, often finding the humor dry and tasteless, but TK thinks he just doesn’t get it.

“Do you want to talk about what happened?”

There it is.

“I just can’t believe I did that in front of our new neighbors. They probably think I’m an idiot.”

“I’m sure no one thinks you’re an idiot, TK,” Carlos gently reassures him.

“Yeah all the neighbors saw me make an idiot of myself,” TK sighs exasperatedly. “God, how am I supposed to face these people everyday now?”

“Hate to break it to you babe, but this is not a valid reason for us to move.”

“I know,” he sighs again.

“Besides,” Carlos continues. “If your track record has proven anything, it’s that this won’t be the last medical emergency at our new home. It’s good that the neighbors are getting used to it now.”

TK gives him a pointed look.

“I’m pretty sure this is the second time you’ve fallen down the stairs since we’ve started dating,” Carlos says with a light chuckle.

“Whatever,” TK scoffs. “At least the other time it wasn’t in front of total strangers.”

Carlos softens. “That’s true. But I’m sure the neighbors just care about you. I don’t think this is that big of a deal, TK.”

“You weren’t there though. It was mortifying.”

“What did they say, exactly?”

TK nervously looks down. “They asked if I was okay. And if I needed any help.”

Carlos raises his eyebrow, waiting to see if TK continues. 

“They offered to call for help but I said no and went back inside.”

“See? They just care about you TK. I haven’t really talked to anyone yet but they seem like nice people.”

“I guess,” TK shrugs.

“I know, you’re still embarrassed. But if nothing else, they’ll probably forget about it by the next time we see them.”

“You don’t think I’ll be known as the ‘clumsy neighbor who can’t walk down stairs’?”

“Maybe the ‘cute clumsy neighbor that can’t walk down stairs,’” Carlos says with a smirk. “But we could always change that.”

TK cocks his head to the side. 

“You think our new neighbors might enjoy some peach scones when we go over and have a proper introduction?”

“You really plan to charm our new neighbors with your baking?” 

“You think it will work?”

“Absolutely.”

“Then yes, I do,” Carlos grins proudly. He then leans over and gently removes the ice pack from TK’s knee, grimacing at what he sees. “This still looks pretty swollen, babe. I think we need to go to the hospital.”

TK gives him a pained smile. “You sure I can’t talk my way out of this?”

“Nope,” Carlos says, popping the p. He stands up before extending his hand to help TK do the same.

TK accepts, shifting his weight and leaning into Carlos once he’s fully upright. 

“You know, I think you may have a paramedic blindspot when it comes to your own health.”

TK lets out a light laugh. “Yeah, I’ve been told.”

A week later, Carlos softly knocks on the door of Mrs. Bailey’s home across the street with one hand and a plate of peach scones in the other. TK had offered to hold the scones but when they went over to Mr. Martin's home earlier in the day, it was quickly discovered it was too difficult for him to manage getting up the stairs and holding the plate.

So he settles for letting Carlos do most of the work while he awkwardly limps up the stairs, leaning heavily on the railing to keep some pressure off his knee.

After their quick trip to the emergency room, it had been determined that TK’s initial assessment was right and it was just a bad sprain. He was given a brace to help reduce the pain and a pair of crutches, which (much to Carlos’ dismay) he abandoned after only two days, citing that they only made it harder to get around their home which he can now say for certain has too many damn stairs.

A problem which seems to follow him as he also has to get up the stairs to greet his neighbors.

“Maybe we should have moved to a neighborhood of single level homes,” he states with a wince as he joins Carlos at the front door.

Carlos snorts. “We can take it into consideration if we ever have to move again.”

“God, please don’t say that. I don’t want to think about moving ever again.”

“Good,” Carlos gives him a soft smile. “Because I’m planning on staying here for the long run.”

“Me too,” TK returns the smile just as Mrs. Bailey opens the door.

“What a lovely surprise!” she exclaims taking in the sight of the two men. 

“Hello ma’am,” Carlos says with a polite smile.

“We brought you some scones,” TK adds, gesturing to the plate in Carlos’ hands.

“Oh how thoughtful of you. Please come in. How are you doing?” she asks, turning to TK. “I’ve been worried.”

He exchanges a look with Carlos, the other man's face clearly saying I told you she cares, before turning back to Mrs. Bailey.

“I’m fine, ma’am. Thank you for asking. It’s just a bad sprain. But I do appreciate your concern, especially the other week.”

“Oh, of course dear,” she says with a warm smile. “Now, you boys aren’t going to make me eat these scones all by myself are you?”

They both let out a light chuckle and exchange another glance before following their new neighbor, and friend inside.

[thran-duils]

Lost In Zero Gravity (P.9)

Title: Lost In Zero Gravity (Part Nine) Summary:  Fem!Reader x Mob Boss!Tony Stark x Mob Boss!Steve Rogers.  Reader is a call girl who runs high end parties. She catches the attention of Tony Stark who invites her back to his room with his friend. She might have performed too well because she becomes their new favorite play toy and they don’t like to share. Words: 2,794 Warnings (for the fic in entirety): Smut, prostitution, infidelity, angst, domestic violence, stalking, possessive behavior

Part Eight || Part Ten || Masterpost (mobile) || Fanfic masterpost

“Stop fucking following me!” Alessia threatened Tony as he followed her out of the apartment complex onto the sidewalk. He had taken the stairs while she had taken the elevator.

Out of breath, he tried to apologize, “Sweetheart, I can—”

She whipped around, shoving a finger into his face, sending him onto his heels. “Don’t ‘sweetheart’ me! Just go back upstairs and finish fucking that little slut! You seemed so goddamn content burying your dick into her! Just coming into any pussy that grants you entrance! What does it matter what’s going on at home? Because you obviously don’t care that Olivia was asking where her daddy was when she got off stage after having the lead role in her play and you weren’t there!”

She whipped around and came to an abrupt stop because Daryl was there all of a sudden and he stepped in front of her, blocking her path, thinking he was doing the right thing. “Mrs. Stark—”

“Move!” Alessia shouted at him, pushing her purse up her shoulder further, taking a step towards him.

Daryl looked at Tony over her shoulder for guidance and she took the liberty of giving him a rough shove, sending him off balance to give herself room.

She took off towards her car, leaving the two of them behind.

Tony took some steps towards her but the middle finger she shot at him before she got into the car stopped him in his tracks. Terrence came out of the building then but he was only met with Tony storming back by him.

<><><>

Steve jolted when Tony marched back into the apartment, slamming the door behind him. He only stopped for a moment, his veins in his forehead pulsing before he shouted, “FUCK!”

Quickly, Steve reminded him, “Tony! It’s 5am!”

“I don’t give a flying fuck!” Tony exclaimed.

He rushed to the cupboard, grabbing a glass and throwing the faucet handle back with force that made Steve fear he was going to break it off. He thrust the glass underneath the water before bringing it to his lips, gulping it down.

His hand came to rest on the counter as the water settled, but his fingers were still gripping the glass way too hard. Steve waited for him to relax, opting to not say anything until Tony made the next move.

“Is she alright?” Tony asked with difficulty.

He put the glass down, looking at Steve expectantly. Steve gestured weakly and Tony did not accept that answer. He began to move towards the hallway and Steve jumped to action, coming to block his way.

“Don’t,” Steve warned.

“What?” Tony demanded.

Steve gestured at the island where Tony’s socks, shoes, shirt, and other belongings were lying that Tony had not noticed yet in his rampage past it to get some water. “She threw those out of the room. Just… don’t. Leave her alone.”

In disbelief, a manic smirk coming to Tony’s face, he asked, “So… ‘don’t’?”

“She locked us out, Tony.”

<><><>

You heard someone knock aggressively on the bedroom door and you buried yourself further into the blankets, holding the icepack closer to your jaw.

“Y/N?” you heard Tony call.

You said nothing, curling up further into yourself.

“Y/N!”

You tossed the blankets back, the icepack falling from your hand to land on your sheets. Hands planted beside your hips, you shouted at the door, “GO AWAY!”

<><><>

Tony sucked his teeth hearing Y/N shout at him, telling him to leave.

“Well, where do you think I’m gonna go? Because I sure as hell can’t go home!”

“I don’t know! Figure it the FUCK out! You have an office chair you can sleep on right?” she shouted from the other side of the door.

Tony inhaled sharply, his heart rate increasing dramatically. The second woman in his life tonight to tell him to fuck off and he was not about to have it.

As if Steve could sense Tony was taking a step back to cock his foot up and kick the doorhandle in, he barked down the hall in warning, “Tony! Don’t!”

Tony stormed up to him and rasped to try to mask the conversation from Y/N’s ears, “She’s being fucking ridiculous! Do you not hear her? I’m trying to go in there and help her and—”

“I now,” Steve interjected, cutting him off. “She’s emotional. It’s not surprising. But she did get punched twice in the face.”

Through gritted teeth, Tony took a step back, shaking his head. “Fucking… Alessia. How the FUCK did she even find out where we were?”

“She probably followed us. Seems you missed a play and she probably took it up from there trying to figure out what could’ve kept you from it,” Steve told him, setting him with a fierce look. “Seems like a rookie mistake to me.”

An unfriendly smile came across Tony’s face and he said in a dangerous tone, “Now don’t you—”

“No, you know you fucked up. Take the L and learn from it.” Steve gestured down the hallway towards the bedroom, “Let Y/N calm down. She will. Like you said, good girl. She just need space sometimes. And we should give her that. And then we can go deal with the fucking can of worms that was just released all over our goddamn living rooms, yeah?”

<><><>

You heard them leave the apartment. You could not hear most of the last part of their conversation but you heard them leave. You were waiting for that noise of the lock in the front door.

You had paid your dues well enough in your opinion. You had been at their beck and call since the end of August and it was almost December now. And you had not asked them to kill Jared; they had done that all on their own because of their possessiveness and jealousy.

It had to happen and happen quick; you leaving. Before they had time to try to reconcile with you. Tonight would be best, even better this afternoon. You were sick of being treated like they owned you; no matter the feelings you had developed for them, it could not be overstated that you were essentially property. Fuck, they had locked you down in this apartment for a month and a half. It did not matter if you relished in their attention and touch. How were you to know those feelings of affection were real anyway if you were never given a proper chance?

<><><>

You grabbed your purse hanging off the back of your front door on the hook, readying yourself to leave. Throwing your game face on, you also threw the door open, stumbling into the hallway. Snorting, you caught your balance on the doorframe and spun back to face the door, slamming it behind you.

Terrence was waiting at the end of the hall and saw you fumbling with your keys to lock the door behind you.

You heard him say your name, but you ignored him, shoving your key at the deadbolt. He was moving towards you quickly by his footsteps and he made it there quick, just as you locked it.

From beside you, he said, “Y/N?”

Acting startled, your hand came to your chest, jumping back from him. You teetered again, feigning alcohol imbalance and his hand shot out to grab your arm, steading you.

“Oh, shit. Terrance, it’s you. Hey.”

“What are you doing? You should be staying inside.”

“I have a key now, duh,” you said holding it up to him. He did not look impressed and you said, “Why should I stay in? I’m going out!”

“Well, for one, you’ve got a nice shiner on your cheek. Not a great look. Secondly, the bosses wanted you to stay here until things settled. Stay inside until they get the shit under control.”

“Neat,” you said, making sure you slurred it.

Terrence unlocked the door again, assisting you inside. “Y/N, love. You are not sober.”

“Nope, what gave it away?” you giggled, leaning onto his arm for support. You had taken a shot took to make your breath smell off.

“Let’s get you back in here,” he said, kicking the door behind the two of you closed. He brought you over to the island and sat you in one of the chairs.

You eyed the bottle on the counter still and hopped up out of the chair. He made to protest but you came around and poured alcohol into the two glasses. You held one out to him and said, “Seriously, relax. You guys have had a rough day. I mean, I did. I got punched in the face.” You gestured at your cheek and jaw where the bruises had already started to form. “It’ll help.”

Terrence took it from you reluctantly, but you were cheerful as all hell. Clinking glasses, you said, “Cheers. To being in the apartment.”

It took almost an hour for him to pass out with the sleeping pill you had crushed into the glass mixed with the alcohol. Not having to pretend anymore about being drunk, you moved quickly. You grabbed your packed bag out of the bedroom and grabbed the cat carrier. Luna was reluctant at first but when she saw the plush shirt and handful of treats you had packed in there for her she walked in willingly and you closed the door behind her. Thankfully she was not a crier when it came to a carrier; you had had cats that had just been hellions about it.

<><><>

“Tatiana, please—”

You were standing at the foot of her bed, having woke her up very late in the night after leaving your apartment and Terrence passed out on the counter. You had snuck out an emergency exit with Luna and ordered an Uber. Thankfully at least your phone was still separate from anything Tony and Steve had their hands on. A sliver of grace in this shitstorm. The security guards at the brothel had let you in knowing who you were and because you had begged so profusely and swore you would take all the wrath she had to throw.

“What are you of asking me?” she was tired. She eyed the cat carrier at your feet and you decided to ignore that for the moment. Luna was still quiet, snuggling in her blanket you had in there.

Shifting uncomfortably, you said nervously, “Let me move back in.”

She cocked her head, eyes running up and down you. “Has this been agreed upon?”

You wanted to scream at that question. Your future being determined by the two of them was getting underneath your skin.

“I don’t need it to be agreed upon. I’m—I don’t want to live there anymore. I wanna move back here. I wanna move back home.”

That seemed to pain her, you calling the brothel home.

Tatiana stood up then and took some steps towards you. Concern was painted on her face. “What happened?”

You had come in with a hood on, banking on the dark light in the room. And you had not fully looked at her yet. That is something that must have set her on edge about the whole conversation to begin with no doubt.

But the time for shrouding the situation was over. You turned her head to look at her head on and threw your head back so she got a full view of your face.

She looked shocked for a moment before she asked firmly, “Did they do that?”

“No,” you admitted. “Tony’s wife did. She found the apartment somehow. And… me on top of Tony.”

“Shit,” Tatiana swore underneath her breath.

“And they had the audacity to be mad at me for wanting space. I got assaulted in my bedroom! I didn’t… I didn’t do anything wrong! I mean, I did, knowingly. But it’s not my place to make calls for their relationships. It’s not my relationship that’s being fucked up! I’m just… stuck! I’m forced there!” Your lip warbled. “I don’t want to be there anymore. If they want to continue seeing me it has to be here. Where I know random people are not going to barge in, tear me off a bed, and sock me in the face! Where I can do my job in peace!”

“Is it still just a job in your circumstance?”

“What the fuck do you mean?” you exasperated.

“What do you think I mean?”

“Y/N… it’s way past a job for you now and you know it. You’re theirs. You’re their mistress. And in these situations, mistresses sure the hell aren’t the ones calling the shots. And certainly not calling when the relationship is done or where it’s heading. You’re an escape and that escape is something they have a strong hold on.”

Tears stung your eyes and you pleaded, “I just… I wanna be safe!”

It seemed to pain her to say, “I already told you that I cannot stand in their way. I explained why, Y/N. I told you… I told you well why I couldn’t.”

“I have nowhere else to go,” you said tearfully, your voice breaking.

“What about back home? That seemed like an option.”

“And put my grandpa in danger by being around that house?”

Tatiana asked incredulously, “But you’re willing to put all the girls here in danger?”

You shook your head, hanging it. “It’s not the same. It’s… he’s sick.”

“Y/N. I can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?” you spat, tears rolling down your cheeks.

Her regretful sigh said enough. But she still said heavily, “Both. Stellina, you know it’s both.”

Wiping at your eyes, you stared at the wall instead of her. You needed to compose yourself, knowing you were going to get no help here. You had known it down deep in your gut. But you could not have helped yourself to not try, hoping against everything that it would turn out differently than you expected. That was the way of things; expect the worse and hope for the best.

Looking down at Luna’s cat carrier, you sighed heavily. Maybe you could at least save someone.

“Will you at least keep the cat? I can’t travel well with her. She’ll get along fine with the girls.”

Tatiana seemed ready to reject this request as well, “Y/N, people who come in may have allergies—”

You leveled her with a glare, “I can’t put her out on the street.”

Tatiana’s jaw set and you knew you had struck a nerve. Because that was exactly what she was doing to you.

“Fine, she can stay.”

Relenting, knowing that was the most you were going to get here, you nodded. “Thanks. She’s a good cat. I… she’s very cuddly and she’s not super high maintenance except for her litter. She likes a specific brand that I can write down. And Elisha isn’t allergic. And she likes cats.”

“I know,” Tatiana nodded. And you saw some tears in her eyes too, finally.

Sucking at your teeth, you pushed away from the chair you had been gripping and shrugged. “Then that’s that. I’ll… I’ll just leave her here. Her name is Luna. But I suppose she won’t mind if she’s renamed. She probably doesn’t understand it anyway. I’ve only had her for a short while. She likes fake mice—"

“Stop.”

You stopped talking and met her gaze.

“Where are you going to go?” Tatiana demanded.

You shrugged. That is all you had to offer.

Tatiana looked contemplative before wiping at her eyes. She muttered, “I’m gonna regret this.”

“What—” you started to say but she held up her finger and your mouth closed.

She reached for her bed side table, picking up her cell phone. She scrolled through it for a moment before tapping. The phone came to her ear and she shot you a worried look, before you heard someone answer on the other end.

“I know it’s early. I’m sorry. But I need a favor,” Tatiana said forcibly.

<><><>

“Terrence!” Daryl said for the third time into the walkie talkie forcibly. He had not heard from him in the last ten minutes that he had tried to check in. They only checked in every so often and Terrence was not responding.

Assuming the worst, Daryl took off from the lobby and made his way to the elevator, taking it up.

Terrence was nowhere to be found. The apartment door was unlocked. He pushed it open, finding Terrence slumped on the couch.

Rushing over, Daryl took Terrence’s pulse, finding him still very much alive. He spotted the alcohol and glass on the coffee table, putting two and two together.

There was an apartment key on the coffee table too, right next to the alcohol bottle.

~~~

Forever tags: @coconutqueen21 @undecidedsworld

Fic tags: @icant-hangout-imdrumming @oceaniamaddness @multifandom-superlover @imsonick @holl2712 @here4thefanfics

[5thmarauderwrites]

Apps, Texts & Wizardry — The Marauders x Reader | Request.

Requests are: OPEN.

Requested by Anonymous: “Helooo💛 could you write a modern au where the reader is teaching the marauders how to use tech? Have a nice day :)“.

Pairing: The Marauders x Fem!Reader [platonic].

Word Count: 2,4K

Warnings: None, it’s basically all fun and teasing and friends being friends.

A/N: Hope you like this! I had to refrain myself from the dialogues a bit because i had lots of fun remarks and teasing moments in my head as i imagined how the teaching process would be, so it would end up being very, very long if i hand’t stopped myself. Also the title SUCKS because i literally couldn’t think about anything good.

“L/N!” James yelled your last name in the middle of the library, shaking a brand new smartphone clutched in his hand; Sirius and Peter on his trail. Remus walked a little further, an apologetic frown on his features as he looked at you.

“Potter!” Madam Pince shrieked. “Out! Now!”

“But I’ve just got here!” The boy with unruly black hair protested.

“I do not care! Screams and loud tones of voice are strictly forbidden in my library! Go on – out! Out before I hex you!” The witch brandished her feather duster at the boy as she gesticulated for him to leave.

James grimaced, pushing his glasses higher up on the bridge of his nose, “I just need to talk to my friend, please! She’s right there!” He pointed to you, who watched the unfolding scene with a look of pure terror, in fear that Madam Pince would banish you from the library for good after James’ antics.

Madame Pince sent you a death glare before turning back to the Marauders with a fulminant look on her face, “out, all of you! NOW!”

“We haven’t even done anything!” Sirius shrugged with a frown, trying to defend himself.

The older witch gave them a last warning glare and, getting the message; Remus mumbled an apology and dragged the other three boys out of the room. Madam Pince waited until they were completely off the library’s limits to walk angrily to the table you were sharing with Lily, Marlene and Alice in the quieter corner of the study room.

“L/N!” She spat as she approached your table. “You know you’re one of the few students that I actually tolerate in this school, but this better not happen again because next time you’ll be kicked out with them!”

You widened your eyes in horror and nodded vigorously, afraid to make any noise and irritate the librarian even more. Madam Pince huffed satisfied at your acknowledgement of her threat before turning on her heels and leaving you with a dumbfounded look on your face.

“I don’t know how you and Remus can be friends with those twats,” Lily said in a belittled tone of voice whilst rolling her eyes.

“They’re not that bad once-“ you started to defend the Marauders but trailed off as you looked in the direction of the closed window by the side of the door and saw James and Sirius with their faces glued to the glass, waving for you to come to them.

“You were saying?” Marlene frowned disgustedly at their behaviour.

“Come on, they’re nice people, girls!” Alice chuckled, defending the boys as the sweet and kind person she was.

“They are! Thank you, Ali!” You wrapped your arm around the girl’s shoulders in a gesture of appreciation.

“Sure,” Lily teased with a frown as she studied the boys, whom were now making silly faces at your group from behind the glass window. “I’m sure if you google stupid twats their names won’t come up as soon as you hit the search button.”

Marlene high-fived Lily at her remark and you couldn’t help but smile, even though you rolled your eyes at your redhead friend, “you know you and James have a lot in common, don’t you?” You teased, getting up and grabbing your phone and laptop.

“Where are you going?” She asked amidst a blush, purposely ignoring what you had just said.

“To see what they bloody want before Madam Pince spots them and forbids me to step a foot into the library for good of course,” you shrugged with a lopsided grin and walked away from your lady friends, heading to the boys in the corridor.

 -

 “Y/N, I’m so sorry! I told these idiots that you were studying and they should not bother you!” Remus said as soon as he saw your moving figure approaching the door, his arms up in an apologetic gesture.

“That’s okay, Rem. I know their stupidity is uncontrollable,” you chuckled, squeezing the taller boy’s shoulder.

“Hey!” Sirius exclaimed, offended, as he ran a hand through his thick dark locks.

“She’s not lying,” Remus said with a light shrug of his shoulders, pressing his lips together to contain a smile.

“What do you bloody want from me anyway to barge in the library like that?” You winged your brows, specifically scolding James.

“Sorry about that, little one. Madam Pince really needs to learn how to relax,” he frowned, recalling her unpleasant screams. “Anyway, we got ourselves brand new phones and this muggle box you call a laptop and we were wondering if you could help us out with those… things.”

You lifted a brow as you crossed your arms across your chest, “you got phones? And laptops?” You repeated his sentence with a surprised tone of voice.

“That’s what I just said, yes,” James frowned.

“I reckon you saying something like,” you started, raising your hands in the air and mimicking quotes as you tried your best to impersonate James, “’I will never trade my owl and parchments for these bloody muggle things with these annoying noises.’”

“I’ll admit I may have spoken too soon,” he shrugged with a grimace. “Blimey, it’s hard not to surrender to those things when the entire school and even the Professors are using it!”

You gazed at James with an amused look on your face.

“So, will you help us out, love?” Sirius steadied himself on you as he wrapped his arm around your shoulders and stared at you with puppy eyes.

“I could use the help of these things to improve my studying method and have easier access to books,” Remus said shyly, putting his hands into his pockets.

“I want to try those games the lads have been playing, they’re even talking about doing championships and starting clubs,” Peter’s eyes twinkled as he nodded excitedly.

You heaved a sigh as you looked to the pleading faces of the four Marauders. “Fine, I’ll help you idiots out.”

 -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 You had been helping the Marauders with the muggle technology for a few days now and it wasn’t getting any easier. As wizards born and raised into wizarding families, the boys never had any sort of familiarity with technology nor muggle devices before, which hampered the task in hand considerably. Even Remus, who was unquestionably the cleverest among them, was struggling to learn how to properly use a phone.

Beginning with the smartphone was your idea, because you thought that after they mastered this complex device, learning how to use a laptop would be a piece of cake. You just didn’t imagine that it would be so bloody difficult.

“Wait, wait, and wait!” Sirius interrupted your explanation about the Face ID for the third time with a confused frown as he threw his head back heavily into the back pillow of the Gryffindor Common Room sofa. “How am I supposed to make my face unlock this thing? Will I have to hex it?”

“No, you daft dimbo!” You huffed, annoyed. “I’ll get there if you just stop interrupting me!”

“Sorry, love,” he smirked satisfied at your apparent annoyance, resting his elbows on Remus’ and James’ shoulders. “I’ll admit I have a liking to piss you off; and apparently I accomplish that even when I’m not trying to.”

“You sure do!” You smiled wryly at him, curling your legs on the seat of the stuffed armchair you were occupying, leaning yourself a little in the boys direction. “Anyway, you’ll access your phone settings right… here,” you said, showing them with your phone where to tap. “To register your face, you’ll need to hold your device between 10 and 20 inches away from you. With your face centered in the circle, you’ll move your head around until the scan is complete.”

The boys quickly followed your instructions and registered their faces, finally completing the basic configurations of their phones as they did so, allowing you to start teaching them how to use its apps and download other ones.

“There’s a camera in this? Cool!” Sirius exclaimed excitedly once he unlocked his phone screen. “What?” He added with a smile when you chuckled at his reaction.

“I’ve always thought that if you were a muggle, you’d sort of be an edgy photographer,” you answered with a lopsided grin.

“I could be one to,” James shrugged uninterested. “I’d definitely be edgy.”

“You, James? Come on!” You rolled your eyes, laughing wholeheartedly. “You’d be an annoying influencer jock.”

“A what?” He asked, utterly confused as if you were speaking in another language.

“You’d definitely be an overachiever high school athlete who were not only famous at school but also on the internet,” you winged your brows at him, resting your chin of your fist.

“You’d definitely be like that, mate!” Remus laughed, pointing his index finger at James.

“Yeah? And how would all-mighty Moony be?” James teased, crossing his arms across his chest and bending his head a little so he could playfully stare at his brown-haired friend.

“Rem would be a total hipster!” You shouted excitedly, clapping your hands. “He’d definitely be an outsider to the cultural mainstream, he’d have an online blog where he’d review books and would definitely be vocal about structural issues in the muggle society.”

“Why would he be the coolest among us?” James frowned, a little annoyed.

“Because he already is,” you shrugged, winging your brows.

“I can totally see muggle Moony being like that too,” Peter nodded vaguely from his seat on the arm of the sofa, picturing what you had just said inside his head.

“Can we focus on the tech again?” James said, swinging his phone in the air.

“Yes, we can, you pampered berk,” you answered, the ends of your lips curling up into an amused smirk as you got up of the armchair and motioned to the sofa, squeezing yourself between James and Sirius.

Slowly, you started to explain to them how to use the iMessage service and how to text someone and read the texts you receive. The boys seemed awestruck by the fact that you could get in touch with someone so easily and get an instant response back.

“Wicked! Now I can ask Lily out without putting myself in danger!” James exclaimed excitedly, the blaze that crackled in the fireplace lighting up his features. “Can’t I?”

“Well, she can always block your number, you know…” you frowned mockingly at him, earning amused laughs from Remus, Sirius and Peter.

The four of you teased James for a while before you and the boys got back to the teaching process. An hour or so later, you had already covered all the phone basic apps and they were already familiar with their functions and how to properly use them.

“Now, to the fun stuff!” You announced excitedly. “Let’s introduce you lads to the wonderful world of the trending apps.”

“Are there more?” Sirius widened his eyes as he rested his head on your shoulder.

“Indeed, my dear Black!” You quirked your brows satisfied, tilting your head so you could look him in the eyes. “There are tons of apps you can download to improve your experience, apps that match your likings such as, in your case, dating apps.”

“Dating apps? Can’t you just charm the ladies through texts?” He asked confusedly.

“You sure can, but these apps are basically made for people who want to engage on… knowing someone a little bit better, if you know what I mean,” you chuckled. “With the dating apps you don’t have to ask yourself if the other person is somehow romantically interested in you, because when they swipe right and the match is made, it means the interest is mutual.”

“And how would you know all this?” He asked, lifting his head and smirking mockingly at you. “Y/N L/N, do you use dating apps?”

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” you retorted, blushing furiously. Sirius’ smirk grew wider.

A sudden silence fell among the five of you as you and Sirius stared at each other with narrowed eyes; he holding a teasing look whilst you held a deadly one. James and Remus watched the scene with delighted expressions whilst Peter monotonously scrolled through his phone screen.

“Ahem,” Remus cleared his throat with an amused smile, dragging you and Sirius back to reality. “Are there any good apps to download books and to read them?”

You slowly tilted your head in Remus’ direction and, nodding, started to show him the apps you had on your phone for reading purposes and which ones you thought would fit his needs better. Remus avidly listened to your tips whilst downloading each and every app you had mentioned on his own phone.

The day quickly faded into night as you and the Marauders went on and on about the technologies and its functions and soon, the five of you were the only ones in the now silent Common Room, the light coming from the fireplace and the displays of your phones being the only things shining in the almost complete darkness.

“And done!” James exclaimed, getting up from the sofa and stretching himself. “TikTok is already downloaded and ready to be used! Tomorrow we’ll pull the ‘Dance Like a Hippogriff’ prank and Y/N here will film everything so we can upload the edited video on our TikTok account later.”

“Excuse you?” You frowned, crossing your arms across your chest.

“It’ll be fun, I promise!” He joined his hands pleadingly. “Come on! Please?” He added at the grimace you made.

“Fine!” You rolled your eyes with a smile after a few seconds. “Now I’m going to bed before another brilliant idea pops up into that twat mind of yours."

Saying goodbye to the Marauders, you walked to the stairs that led to the girls’ dormitory and took a quick look over your shoulder. Before you climbed up the stairs, a smile formed on your lips as you saw the four boys talking excitedly and laughing whilst scrolling through their phones.

[someonewhowannadielol]

What is Love?

Requested by @sassysaxsolo​

Pairing: BadBoy!JK x Innocent!Reader

Genre: Smut, Fluff, Angst

Warning: Dirty talk, degrading, oral sex (m and f receiving), pussy slapping, exhibitionism (??). Oh god this has like 4 smut scenes in it, it's nothing but porn bye

Summary: Jungkook has a degrading kink. Y/N doesn’t seem to like it. Also, JK is bad at this entire love thing but totally whipped for the girl of his dreams.

WordCount: 3.6k

A/N: The first scene is inspired by Hunter and Amy from “Hot Summer Night,” because it’s such a cute couple! P.S this might not be my best work because I wrote it at 3AM, so :( sry

You wouldn’t exactly call your boyfriend mean by any chances, but it doesn’t mean he was the nicest person you’ve ever met either. Sometimes you look at other people, like Hoseok, or Jimin, they could most definitely keep you happy – and speak to you like you’re an actual human when you both fuck.

You still remember the first time Jeon Jungkook had ever well, noticed you.

“-and then they both crashed into each other!” your friend was telling this story for the nth time, and you paying your 101% undivided attention to your fries sitting in front of you, basically drowning in ketchup, while trying to ignore the eyes that bore in the back of your head.

It was the last day of your exams as a sophomore in high school, and just like everyone else in town, you’d gone to the diner you always went to, at the end of 15thStreet Avn. Everyone and their mom had decided to come, so it was really busy, you literally had to speak loud to your friends, sitting just across you.

Fifteen minutes ago, Jeon Jungkook had walked into a diner and chose the place that gave the perfect view of you from the back.

Seven minutes ago, your friends had noticed that he was – shamelessly – staring at you, strawberry milkshake in one hand, a lit cigarette in the other. When you tried to look back, his eyes didn’t even flinch when they made contact with yours. On top of it, he winked at you. It was weirdly strange, yet made you feel all giddy inside.

What. The. Fuck. It was a well-known fact that girls would actually die to have one date with Jungkook, willing to get plastic surgeries, buying the most expensive clothes, and even leaving gifts in his locker at school. So why was here he here, in this lame-ass diner? And that too, wasting time while staring at you? He clearly didn’t even take a sip of his beverage.

“Oh my gosh, Y/N, he’s so totally staring at you,” your best friend from across the booth said, while pretending to look at her nails.

“He’s so hot, I would totally take a bite,” your other friend says while taking a bite of her burger.

“Yuck!” you exclaim, as you can’t help but laugh at the thought of it. You had a certain laugh, especially when you were sitting around with your friends – it wasn’t that loud, but your eyes would bunch up as you would unconsciously bring your hand up to your mouth, and would throw your head back.

You dare to look back at him again, but this time you see his coming towards you, while taking a puff from his half smoked cigarette. You immediately turn your head back, so quick that you feared you’d broken your neck.

You look at your friends adjust their hair and posture when they see him coming towards your booth, and you can’t help but play with the hem of your sleeve, biting your lip. He stands across you, leaning on the booth in front of yours, swirling his straw so the whipped cream becomes one with the milkshake.

As soon as he makes eye contact with you, you just freak out and amidst that panic, you blurt out, “I have a boyfriend.”

He looks back at you and smirks, oh God, he looks so, so amazing. This year, he’s grown out his hair, so the waves were sprawled against his forehead, and he pushed it back with his hand after placing the milkshake next to you. He’s the pitch perfect image of a fuckboy; leather jacket, a motorbike, tattoos (even though he’s totally not 18 years old yet), and the lingering scent of cigarettes.

“Nah, no, you don’t,” he takes another puff of his cigarette, “but if you don’t stop being so fucking cute, you will,”

You chuckle, thinking he’s pranking you, thinking it’s just a joke him and his stupid friends had planned out to humiliate you publicly, “You don’t know the first thing about me,” you say as you dip a fry in ketchup.

“I know you like ketchup,” he says, before taking a sip from his milkshake.

That was also the day when Jeon Jungkook had officially asked you out.

-

When you’d spent the entire summer with him, you got to realize one thing about him, he loved to degrade you while having sex. Sure, it was fun the first few times – but after that, words like “slut,” and “whore,” had started making you feel like one.

It was obvious that to you that you weren’t his first priority; football and his friends were always going to be before you. You still remember he was less than enthusiastic when you told him about the art gallery you’d host after working on your still life pieces for two years.

But in reality, everyone on the team knew he was head over heels for Y/N, he had quitted smoking right after he heard you cough, he’s started wearing a helmet whenever he rode his bike, and even let you decorate it with your frilly stickers. He would always, always go out of his way to get a fresh pack of chocolate milk for you, because you once mentioned that your dad doesn’t let you drink it because it’s unhealthy.

“Here, babe,” he says tossing you your daily supply of chocolate milk.

“Hey, remember when I told you about the art gallery I was preparing for?” you said, but it seemed like he was more interesting in scrolling Instagram on his iPhone, “um, because I have to go to art school,”

“Yeah, what about it?” he said, pecking your cheek as he got up for class.

“Well, it’s on the 28thof October, that’s next week,” you say before taking a sip of the milk he got you.

He waited a minute before speaking anything, and you wished, you wished deep in your heart so sincerely that he wouldn’t come up with an excuse.

“You know Jake’s birthday is that day, right? Can’t you reschedule it?” he said, looking down, adjusting his leather jacket.

You felt as if someone was stomping on your chest, it was getting harder to swallow the milk in your mouth, and it didn’t taste like the too sugary drink it was – instead it felt like you were swallowing poison. He surely remembered your rants about how it was so hard to rent a place in that gallery right? Or how it took you three months to manage to snag it for a couple of hours? Or how it took you two years to compile your best art pieces?

“B-but I don’t think I can do that, I barely got to rent the place an-and I- “

“Babe, I don’t think I can make it. The boys and I are going out to the city,” he said, tilting his head.

He didn’t wait for your reply, already walking down the hallway, leaving you heartbroken.

On 28thOctober, you met all the professional people you had dreamed of meeting, it was an honor, especially since you were just a Junior in high school. But, you never saw the face you wanted to see. You couldn’t help the sinking feeling in your chest when the exhibition finally finished, and you had to close the gallery.

That night, around 1AM, Jungkook broke into your room through your window how he usually did, only this time he had a bouquet of roses in his right hand, and red eyes.  When he noticed your tear stricken eyes and smudged mascara, he didn’t think twice before throwing the flowers on your bed and hugging you hard. Then, when he was so close, you noticed that he reeked of alcohol and weed. But it was fine.

He spent the night trying to make you laugh by reciting jokes he was forced to listen from Seokjin, and trying to make up for not being there. He cuddled you, putting your head under his chin, your body resting on his chest. It felt like home, when you would be with him, alone.

“How did it go?” he asks, nuzzling his face in your neck, peppering kisses there.

“It went amazing, I got a lot of good critique from artists and college professors,” you say, running your hands through his hair, you still missed his long hair that he cut last week, but it was way softer now,

“I missed you,” you say as he hummed.

He loved how you were like an open book, not like the girls he had been with before. You wore dresses – which he loved, because easier access – and you had long, virgin hair. He loved how untouched you were, innocent, pure and uncorrupted. He loved the little chub on your cheeks, he loved your pillow soft breasts, he loved how you always tasted like strawberries because of your chap stick. He loved virtuous you were. His to taint.

“I’m here, baby, and to make up for it, we’ll go to that café you always wanted to go to, my treat for being the best girlfriend,” he mumbled in your ear before taking off your dress and peppering kisses all over your body.

Of course, your mood had evidently changed, “Okay, you goofball,” you laugh as he tickles you.

“Baby, even if everything is wrong, it’s always going to be alright, and you know why?” he says as he kisses you on the lips. It was a chaste kiss, a huge contrast from his usual drunk kisses, they seem to be more chaste, more genuine, “you’re the only good thing in my life,”

You forgive him, like every other time.

You also toss him out the window before 6AM, before your father catches you with a boy. And that too, Jeon Jungkook. He’d probably kill you. It reminded you of the time when Jungkook decided to eat you out, on a weekday, on your bed, with your room unlocked.

It was no surprise when you found out that he was especially skilled with his tongue, not that any boy had ever even touched you there. You fought your moans, because your dad was literally downstairs watching his daily 9pm news. You knew he’d check up on you at 9.30 PM to ensure that you were studying for the SAT.

But here you were, your face stuffed with your own panties as the taste of your cum took over your tongue, it was a little embarrassing for you to taste yourself, but you paid more attention to the brown haired man between your legs. He’d mutter the same obscene words that used to give you the pleasure you needed at first, but soon became insecure of.

“You like that, dirty slut?” you mewled as he worked his tongue on your clit, adding another finger to the previous one inside of you. His two fingers did more than what you could do with your entire hand, the long slender fingers were now knuckle deep inside of you, doing wonders to your body.

“You’re such a whore, moaning here like a bitch in heat, when everyone thinking you’re an angel, huh,” he says as his fingers thrust in and out of you, lewd noises filling your small room.

You felt your blood run cold, when you could hear your dad’s footsteps on the stairs. Fuck.

“Three. You have three seconds to cum, or forget about it,” he said looking your straight in the eye, his fingers working faster than ever.

You could feel yourself pent up, your walls clenching down on his fingers.

“Two,” he said, attacking your bud with his tongue, a circling pattern, making you shake.

Before he could say ‘one,’ you were cumming, all over his fingers, your thighs and your sheets.

Jungkook chuckled, “Fucking whore,” before jumping out of your window in time, just a second before your dad came in your room. You were under the blanket, your panties under the bed, and your pride out of the window.

As you excused your flush face as a small fever, you couldn’t help but feel a weird twist in your stomach. You didn’t exactly like the way you felt.

You had avoided Jungkook as much as you could the next week, but he didn’t exactly notice because recently the football team had been putting in more hours to prepare for the nationals. He’d still slipped loving notes in your locker, and strapped a red rose on Thursday as well, that made your heart flutter.

The next time you met him was on the bus, on your way home.  

He could’ve rode his bike to his home, but he wasn’t born yesterday, he knew something was up with you when you didn’t respond to any of his messages, and didn’t even acknowledge him in your English class.

The was bus was packed, to say the least, as he followed you as you went to the tail of the vehicle, excusing people. The next stop had more people stepping in here, and he was even more pressed towards you.

You instantly regretted wearing the tennis skirt you wore yesterday, because it was short short, and also thin. You no longer had an excuse to avoid your boyfriend as you felt him press up against your back, you could feel his bulge on your butt.

You tried to look back up at him, but whimpered when you saw the animalistic look in his eyes, and the way he towered over you wasn’t helping either. You sucked in a breath when you felt his finger hitch up, and up, and up, until it was so, so near your panties as he circled your inner thigh with his thumb. He could notice how you were hyper-aware of the surroundings, as if people could see everything that was happening, everyone could see how your boyfriend was basically fingering you on the bus.

“Do you wanna do this?” you heard Jungkook whisper in your ear, and truth be told, you had missed him, the feeling of his dick, his fingers, that you needed him, and you needed him now.

You nodded, and just as soon, you heard him chuckle, “You really are a dirty slut huh?” he said as he slapped between your thighs, making your knees buckle.

With one hand, he held the handle above so he would stay balanced, but with the other one, he steadied your hips, grinding his hips against you. You almost felt embarrassed by how aroused you were, and how quick you were wet. Seconds later, you could feel his fingers separate your folds, “Spread your legs, whore.”

As you spread them, you finally noticed how many people were actually here, and how to the untrained eye it just looked like he was hugging you, but his fingers were now scissoring inside you, stretching you.

You could feel him taking his cock out of his sweatpants, brush it in your folds. You were always so sensitive, the smallest of touches against your clit would make you cry out and moan, so it was no surprise that you let out some noises as his cock entered in you.

“Make one more noise, and I won’t be scared to fuck you senseless in front of all these people,” he whispered in your ear again, this time rocking his hips into you.

“Such a slut, huh? Tell me you’re a slut,” he said, and when he noticed that you didn’t do as he said, he completely stopped all movements. You couldn’t thin straight with his dick sitting inside of you, you needed to get off, and this neediness of yours made you want to crawl into a grave and die.

“I- I’m a slut,” you whispered, and Jungkook wouldn’t have been able to heard that, if he wasn’t basically glued to you.

“S-say it again,” he stuttered and you could feel the both of you coming closer.

“I’m a slut! I’m a whore for you, Jungkook,” you whispered, as you felt yourself cum. As for him, instead of cumming in you, like you thought he would, he took himself out, and jerked off in your panties. The feeling of his cum against your soaked panties was lecherous to say the least, you could feel your panties stick to your clit, almost as a reminder of the disgusting deed you’d just done.

“Keep those on until you get home, such a fucking bitch, fucking her boyfriend in a bus,” Jungkook whispered in your ear, and stepped off the bus after slapping your ass.

And you were left alone again, thinking if you really were the slut he made you out to be.

Your next interaction with Jungkook had been next week, when you both had decided to do the English homework together, at his house. While you spent at least two hours, researching on the topic, Jungkook had simply bullshitted the entire essay in half an hour. Sigh, this is why he was failing. As you were left on his bed, completing the essay, he sat on the other end, gaming with Taehyung and some random boy through his PlayStation party.

Finally, another two hours later, you were done with the horrid essay and were desperately craving your loving and adoring boyfriend’s attention.

“Jungkook,” you tried to get his attention, but didn’t even turn around to look at you. You continued to annoy him, “Kookieee,”

Suddenly, you saw a blast on the screen, as Jungkook slammed his controller on the floor.

He muted his mic before speaking, “You just don’t wanna be a good girl for me today, huh?” At this point, you straddled his lap. He picked you up without a glimpse of hesitation, settling you between his legs, as he took out his cock.

“Suck me, and be quiet about it, unless you want Tae to hear what a desperate bitch you are,” he says, and you’re left to suck him. Jungkook definitely wasn’t small, not even close. In fact, when hard, he was bigger than you had expected dicks to be. So, 4 rounds of battle later, your jaw had started to ache, and you couldn’t help but cry out an elicit moan, forgetting Tae could hear everything.

Jungkook turns off his gaming station as soon as he hears you, “I think I told you to shut the fuck up, but you’re just too fucking stupid to understand,” he says as he harshly picks you up by your ponytail.

“I’m gonna fuck you, gonna fuck you so hard that you’ll be nothing but a dumb bitch hungry for cock,” he says as he thrashes you on the bed, stretching you out with his fingers.

Before adjusting his dick, and putting it in front of your entrance, he slaps your cunt, “that’s for fucking my game night, you bitch,” and he enters you, rough and fast.

He pushed his hair back, it’s been growing again, as he looks at you with his doe eyes again, this time they’re a shade darker. This turns you on, as you let out a whimper, “Jungkook c-close,”

“Cream yourself on my dick, go on, my dumb baby,” he chuckles, before increasing his speed, the sound of skin slapping filling the silence of the room, “Such a desperate cock slut, you can’t get off with me, huh?”

Moments later, when you both cum simultaneously, he lays down next to you and stares at the ceiling.

“What are you thinking of?” he asks, minutes after your silence. This time, he’s not harsh, but instead you’re surprised by his loving tone.

“Just thinking if you love me or not,” you mumble, closing your eyes, missing the surprised look on his face, eyes wide open, jaw ajar.

“Wha- Baby, of course I love you,” he stutters on his words, not knowing what to say. What had made you believe that he wasn’t head over heels in love with you?

“I just… I don’t know, I don’t like it when you call me names,” you explain already feeling embarrassed at being such a prude.

“Baby girl,” he sits up, and kisses your cheek, “you should’ve told me, I- I’m sorry,”

Jungkook looked like a hurt puppy, his eyes downcast, as he fiddled with his fingers. The next week, he had spent making sure you felt like the Princess you were, his Princess. Obviously, you had noticed his behavior, bringing a donut along with the chocolate milk, ditching football practice to meet you, kissing your hands every time he met you, peppering you with kisses.

“Kook, you don’t have to do this,” you exclaimed when he took you to see the beach, two hours away from the town.

“I just my Baby to know that I love her, and I want her to be happy,” he says, and for the first time, you feel like you’re free. You’re free when you’re with him and you love it.

You’re always happy with him. You loved his sloppy kisses, his shit eating grin when his fingers made you cum, his habit of bringing you chocolate milk every day, his scent which was a mixture of cologne and cigarettes, his hoarse voice after he wakes up. You knew no matter how much he accidentally hurt you, he loved you too.

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You Saved Me - Derek Hale x fem!reader part 17

------------------

That night, Scott and I were meeting with Derek to discuss what our next plan of action was. Scott had said that he had found Jackson walking around downtown where there was an old abandoned warehouse that was primarily used for raves. The only problem was tickets were sold out and way out of Scott’s high school budget. 

“What’d you get from your dad?” I asked Stiles over the phone. 

“We figured out that all of the victims knew each other in some way, Harris’ class.”

“What about Isaac’s dad?” 

“We think maybe it has to do with Isaac’s older brother.” 

“Camden right?” 

“Right, he was killed in active duty but he would be the same age as all of the victims.” 

“What does that have to do with Jackson though?” I asked, parking outside at the same time that Derek had pulled up with Isaac in tow. 

“Not sure yet, but I’ll keep looking.”

“Alright, keep me posted.” I hung up, getting out of the car and walking with Derek and Isaac to the front door. Scott finished unlocking it, staring directly at Isaac. 

“What’s he doing here?” Scott asked suspiciously. 

“I need him.” Derek said. 

“I don't trust him.” 

Isaac scoffed, “Yeah, well, he doesn't trust you, either.”

“(Y/N) is indifferent.” I said, rolling my eyes. 

“You know what? Derek doesn’t doesn’t really care.” Derek said sarcastically. We made our way inside the lobby. Isaac sat down in a rolling chair in the corner of the room. I was happy just leaning against the front desk while Derek was content with staying annoyed.

 “Now, where’s the vet? Is he going to help us or not?” Derek asked. 

“That depends...” The veterinarian came around the corner, crossing his arms over his chest, “Your friend, Jackson... Are we planning to kill him, or save him?”

“Save him.” Scott and I said while Derek said: “Kill him.” 

Scott stared Derek down, “Save him.” He looked back at his boss, “Save him.” Happy with that answer, we were brought back into the operating room. He placed small bottles in front of us on the operating table. Being back here reminded me of the day Derek almost died. Sensing my distress, Derek pulled me closer to his side. 

Ever curious, Isaac reached out to touch one of the bottles. Instinctively, I reached out and grabbed his wrist before he made contact. Both alphas stared him down. 

“Watch what you touch.” Derek warned. Isaac backed away, turning his attention to Deaton. 

 He leaned against the table, “So, what are you, some kind of witch?”

“No.” Deaton said drolly, “I'm a veterinarian.” He went back to searching the cabinets for more vials. 

“Unfortunately, I don't see anything here that's going to be an effective defense against a paralytic toxin.” He said. 

“We're open to suggestions.” Derek sighed. 

“What about an effective offense?” Isaac asked. 

“We already tried. I nearly took its head off, and Argent emptied an entire clip into it. The thing just gets back up.”

“Has it shown any weaknesses?” Deaton asked. Derek and I shared a glance. 

“Well, one: it can't swim.” He said. 

“He acted like the water burned.” I added. 

“Does that go for Jackson as well?”

“No. He's the captain of the swim team.” Scott said, leaning back against the wall. 

Deaton looked over all of us, “Essentially, you're trying to catch two people: a puppet, and a puppeteer.” He pulled a metal medallion from a drawer, holding up and flipping the sides. He placed the medallion on the table, “One killed the husband, but the other had to take care of the wife. Do we know why?” Deaton was referring to the latest victims. A married couple, pregnant with their first child. While the husband had been killed on the scene, the wife had been killed in the hospital.

“I don't think Jackson could do it.” Scott said, “His mother died pregnant too, and she was maybe murdered. I think he couldn't let the same thing happen to someone else.”

“How do you know it's not part of the rules?” Isaac asked from the corner of the room, “The Kanima kills murderers. If Jackson kills the wife, then the baby dies, too.”

“Does that mean your father was a murderer?” 

“Wouldn't surprise me if he was.” Isaac said grimly.

“Hold on-” Deaton interrupted, “The book says they're bonded, right?” Derek nodded Deaton grabbed a glass bottle of black powder, the label read Mountain Ash, “What if the fear of water isn't coming from Jackson, but from the person controlling him? What if something that affects the Kanima” He opened the vial, making a circle around the coin with it, “Also affects its master?”

“Meaning what?” Isaac asked. 

“Meaning we can catch them.” Scott looked back, mostly at Derek, “Both of them.”

-

Walking through the halls after lacrosse practice, I didn’t think I would see anyone. But when I heard the sound of an angry individual, I wanted to check it out. I turned the corner, seeing Coach Lahey with a young kid backed against the wall near the boys bathroom. 

“You didn’t say anything, did you? Huh, you little punk.” He said through his teeth. 

“No...” The kid whimpered. This wasn’t right. Why the hell was Coach Lahey getting in this kids business. 

I rushed up to them, “There you are.” I grinned. Coach Lahey and the kid looked at me, “C’mon, mom’s waiting for us in the car.” I held a hand out of the kid. He looked between Coach Lahey, then me before quickly taking my hand. 

“Thanks for finding him, Coach Lahey.” I smiled, tilting my head to the side, “My mom’s been really worried.” Coach Lahey stood up straight. 

“Well, you’re welcome.” He mumbled, turning on his heels and walking towards the pool. I held the kid’s hand tightly, walking him through the school. 

“You okay?” I asked, looking down at him. He nodded, keeping his eyes towards the ground. He was practically trembling. 

“Lahey’s pretty scary, huh?” I asked. 

“Yeah.” I leaned over to look him in his eyes, they were pale blue.

“Well, if he ever corners you like that again, just tell him that your big sister is waiting for you with Coach Finstock. Lahey might be mean, but Finstock is crazy.” I smiled, “What’s your name, kid?”

“Matthew.”

-

The next morning, Stiles drove Scott and I to the high school seeing as my car was still in the shop. We looked over and saw Matt locking his bike to the bike rack. Matt for sure had tickets. We got out of the car, walking towards the building.

“There's got to be some other way to get tickets, right?” Scott asked.

“It's a secret show, there's only one way, and it's a secret.” Stiles said, gripping the shoulder of his backpack. 

“Even if it wasn’t a secret, we couldn’t afford them anyway. I would get them but my parent’s estate isn’t settled yet. If it was, do you think I would be working as an assistant coach?” I said. Working with Coach was a blessing and curse. 

Matt walked up to us, “Hey... Either of you guys know why no one's getting suspended after what happened the other day at school?” I had completely forgotten that Matt had been there for the attack too, but he seemed to miss  seeing Jackson as a lizard man.

“Just forget about it. Nobody got hurt.” Stiles said evasively. 

Matt narrowed his eyes, “I-I had a concussion...”

“Well, no one got seriously hurt.”

“I was in the ER for six hours!”

“Hey, do you want to know the truth, Matt?” Stiles snapped irritably, “Your little bump on the head is about this high on our list of problems right now.” He bent over, holding his hand above the ground. I rolled my eyes, grabbing him back the strap of his bag and pulled him back up. 

“Are you okay?” Scott asked sincerely. 

“Yeah, I'm fine now. So, you didn't get any tickets last night either?” Matt asked. 

“Are they still selling?”

“Uh, no, but I managed to find two online. You should keep trying. Sounds like everyone's gonna be there.” He started to walk away. 

“I’ll tell coach to take it easy on you at practice!” I called, he held up a hand, continuing his walk inside. 

“I don't like him.” Stiles grumbled, staring daggers into the back of Matt’s head.

-

It was time for afternoon practice, which meant explaining a few things to Coach. 

“Where in the hell did you go last game, (Y/N)? You just disappeared.” His eyes were somehow even wilder. I should probably tell him to look into an endocrinologist. We hadn’t gotten a chance to talk this morning since morning practice was about drilling new plays and him asking where Jackson was every fifteen minutes.

I rubbed the back of my neck, “I’m sorry, Coach. It’s just a little hard to explain.” 

“No, having to explain to your wife that you lost her favorite testicle is hard, explaining where you went during the semi-finales? not hard.” At this point I think Coach was just a little too comfortable telling people things. 

After processing and hopefully blacking out what he just said, I came up with a lie that would definitely make him drop the topic. 

“I uh started my period.” I lied. Finstock closed his mouth and nodded. 

“Say no more.” I gave him an awkward smile, putting on the eye mask and heading out into the locker room. It was easier to find Scott and Stiles than it was before since I could pick out their scents. 

“Hey, are you sure about this?” Stiles asked. 

“Last time, whoever's controlling Jackson had to kill somebody because he didn't finish the job. So, what do you think he's going to do this time?”

“Be there to make sure it happens.”

“Can anyone tell me where the hell Jackson is and why he missed morning practice?” Coach Finstock’s door flew open, slamming against the wall. 

“I thought I told you to keep an eye on him!” Stiles leaned in to Scott. 

“Stilinski!” Coach shouted, “Jackson?” Was he not aware of the restraining orders?

“Sorry, Coach... I haven't seen him since the last time I saw him...” He said nervously, causing me to elbow him in the side. 

“Oh, and when was that?”

“Last time I saw him... was definitely the time I saw him last...” He said evasively.

 “Yeah. Again, Danny, tell Jackson no missing practice this close to the championships, okay?”

“Sure, Coach.” Danny was near, maybe a couple feet. I hadn’t really “seen” him since he was attacked at the nightclub. He was another victim that didn’t make any sense. Danny hadn’t seen anyone get murdered by Jackson, while I had definitely watched Jackson attack people.

“That goes for all of you.” Coach’s shoes squeaked against the floor as he turned back to his office, “I should be coaching college.” He mumbled under his breath, slamming his door shut.

“Sooo Danny.” Stiles said in his smooth voice, or at least I think he meant for it to be smooth, “Got any extra tickets for the secret party this weekend?”

“Sorry, but I only got two myself.”

“What-- do you even have a date yet?” I smacked Stiles’ in the back of the head blindly. Still accurate. 

“I'm working on it.” He said, clearly offended. 

“Okay, okay... Hear me out. You give us the tickets, and you devote your life to abstinence, and just-” Danny walked off. 

“How do you two losers even survive?” Isaac’s voice appeared.

“What are we supposed to do? No one's even selling.” Scott said. Two players were walking by, talking about the tickets they scored. 

“Isaac,” I grinned, “Be a dear, would you?” I motioned my head towards the players’ general direction. 

“...Wait here, boys.” Isaac walked off.

“What is he gonna-” Scott said before being cut off by the sounds of scuffling and shouting.

“Ow. Oh, my-” Stiles commented, ”Yup, that's excessive....That'll bruise.”

“Ow.” Scott winced.

“Wow, okay...” Stiles said grimly. I heard the sound of paper against their jerseys when Isaac came back.

“Enjoy the show.” Isaac said, walking back to his locker. 

-

After practice, we made a stop by the vet office. We were inside the operating room, watching Deaton grab a vial of clear liquid from a cabinet and a syringe.

“Ketamine?” Scott asked. 

“It's the same stuff we use on the dogs, just a higher dosage. If you can get close enough to Jackson, it should slow him down enough to buy you some time.” He set the syringe and vial on the operating table, turning back to get the familiar bottle that held the dark mountain ash. 

“This is some of what you'll use to create the barrier. This part is for you, Stiles-- only you.” He set the bottle on the table in front of Stiles

“Uh, that sounds like a lot of pressure... Can we maybe find a slightly less pressure-filled task for me?” Stiles looked at me. 

“Don’t look at me, I can’t do this.” I held my hands up. 

“Why can’t she do this?”

“It's from the Mountain Ash tree, which is believed by many cultures to protect against the supernatural. This office is lined with ashwood, making it difficult for someone like Scott or (Y/N) to cause me any trouble...”

“Okay, so, then, what?” Stiles asked, “I just spread this around the whole building, and then either Jackson or whoever's controlling him can't cross it?”

Deaton nodded, “They'll be trapped.”

“Doesn't sound too hard.” Scott shrugged. I leveled him a look. Wasn’t he the one to say don’t say something was too easy?

“Not all there is...Think of it like gunpowder-- it's just powder until a spark ignites it. You need to be that spark, Stiles.”

Stiles started at the vet in bewilderment, “...If you mean light myself on fire, I don't think I'm up for that.”

“Let me try a different analogy. I used to golf. I learned that the best golfers never swing before first imagining where they want the ball to go. They see it in their mind, and their mind takes over. It can be pretty extraordinary what the force of your own will can accomplish.”

“Force of will...” Stiles whispered. 

“If-if this is going to work, Stiles, you have to believe it.” Stiles hummed and exhaled loudly. 

-

After getting a few more things ready at the house, Stiles and I were about to get into Roscoe when Uncle Noah pulled up in the driveway. I paused, watching him get out. He seemed down and lost. The other thing I noticed was that his sheriff badge was missing. 

"Hey! Can't talk gotta run." Stiles said without looking. I grabbed the back of Stiles’ shirt, causing him to be jerked back. He looked at his father, taking him in.

“Hey, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait-- what's wrong?” Stiles’ voice stopped Uncle Noah from going further up the driveway. 

“Nothing.” Uncle Noah said evasively, not meeting either of our eyes. 

“Oh...Where's your gun?”

“I left it at the station... along with my badge...” He breathed out. My mouth dropped open, then closed quickly. 

“What?” We asked in unison.

“It's all right. You know what? We'll talk about this later. You both seem like you’re going somewhere.”

“Dad-”

“Don't worry about it.” He started walking towards the house again. 

“Dad!” Stiles shouted. Uncle Noah stopped and turned back towards us. 

He sighed, “It was decided that the son of a police chief stealing police property and having a restraining order filed against him by one of the town's most respected attorneys did not reflect well on the county...”

“They fired you?” Stiles asked, stunned. I looked down at my feet, I couldn’t look at either of them. Stiles was going to blame himself for everything and that wasn’t a Stiles that I ever wanted to see again. But what were we supposed to think? This whole situation with Scott was starting to affect home life. He shouldn’t have asked Stiles to steal that van. 

“Nah. Look, it's-it's just a leave of absence. It's-it's temporary.”

“Did they say it was temporary, or...?”

“Actually, no.” He sighed, “You know, I- It's fine. Don't worry about it, though.” He started walking back towards the door when I looked back up at him, “Hey. We're going to be fine.”

“Dad, I don't get it... “ Stiles was beginning to feel overwhelmed, “Why-why aren't you angry at me?”

“I don't know. Maybe I just don't want to feel any worse than I already do by having to yell at my son in front of my daughter who I’m sure is tired of any violence...” He didn’t yell, but his words still stung. Not intentionally though. We watched him walk into the house, a broken man.

“Oh, shoot.” Stiles mumbled. 

- 

After picking up Scott, we parked outside the warehouse of the party. There were a bunch of people outside waiting to get in, oblivious to the events that were going to take place. Stiles opened the back of the Jeep, pulling out huge sacks of mountain ash that were given to him by Deaton. He didn’t look okay, he had been tense our whole drive over here. 

“You okay?” Scott asked.

“Yeah, why?” He avoided the question. 

“You just didn't say anything the whole way here...”

“No, I'm fine. Just grab the other bag.” Scott and I shared a glance. 

“I can't.” Scott said sheepishly, “Remember, Deaton said you have to do it alone...”

“Okay, this plan is really starting to suck!”

“No. Not here. Not now!” Scott groaned. 

“What?” Stiles asked as Scott ran towards the main entrance. I followed close behind. 

Scott and I went our separate ways once inside, apparently Allison was here which completely ruined the plan because she really wasn’t supposed to be. While he was talking with Allison, I kept Matt distracted.

“Hey.” He smiled, “You got tickets.” 

“I did! Took some convincing but I’m pretty good at getting what I want.” I smirked. 

“Really?” He said, narrowing his eyes in a playful way. I inhaled deeply, getting the familiar scent of spearmint gum.

“Yeah. Like I can get a stick of your gum.” I held out my hand. He dug in his pocket and produced a stick of gum.

“Not bad, not bad at all.” I took the gum from his hand and started chewing it. I looked around him, seeing Allison coming back. She seemed a little upset, so I decided to bail. 

“I’ll see you around.” I waved and walked back into the crowd. I walked around the best I could, pushing through sweaty bodies, grabbing a water bottle while I was walking through. I hadn’t seen Jackson yet so that was both good and bad. We needed a visual of him. Soon enough Isaac and Erica were supposed to be here, Derek probably wouldn’t though. 

“Derek definitely isn’t a party person.” I took a long swig out of the bottle. 

“But I was.” I froze, looking over my shoulder. Michael... but how?

“Don’t you remember?” He stepped forward, “Hm? My parties lasted well into the early morning and we always had a good time, didn’t we?” 

“Am I? You wouldn’t know, would you? Because after your little mutt boyfriend clawed my jugular and left me to die, burying me under the dirt, you didn’t check, did you? DID YOU?!” I decided now was the time to run. I don’t know if I was drugged or if he was really there but I wasn’t waiting to find out. My heart felt like it was going a million miles a hour and my eyes burned with tears. This wasn’t like Michael’s apartment, Derek wasn’t outside in the parking lot to save me. Even when I was supposed to be so powerful, why did I still feel so helpless? I found a corner of the warehouse and pressed my back against the cool bricks. Trying to regulate my breathing. I squeezed my eyes shut trying to calm down. 

“You’re dead...” My voice trembled, the water dropping from my hand. 

“Yeah, I’m fine.” I shook my head, “Just thought I saw someone.” As a group, we found Scott, going into a secluded area where he showed us the syringe filled with ketamine. Since Scott had to keep the hunter’s at bay, it was Isaac’s job to stick Jackson. 

“(Y/N)?” A soft voice asked. My eyes shot open, seeing Isaac and Erica staring at me.

“Are you okay?” She asked. Letting out a shaky breath, I nodded.  

“Why me?” He asked. 

Scott sighed, “Because I've got to make sure that Argent doesn't completely ruin the plan.” Isaac didn’t look completely convinced, “Okay, look-- you better do it intravenously, which means in the vein. When you find him, you pull back on this plunger right here. In the neck is probably going to be the easiest. So, you find a vein, you jam it in there, and pull back on the trigger. Be careful.” He added intently.

Isaac scoffed, “Oh, I doubt it'll even slightly hurt him.”

“No, I mean you. I don't want you to get hurt.” Scott took off through the crowd to find the Argents. I sent Isaac and Erica off to find Jackson, keeping behind them at a safe distance. I made sure to check all the surroundings as I walked, making sure that Michael didn’t show up again. No, he wouldn’t. He’s dead. Very dead. 

Pain in my side made me wince, squeezing my eyes shut. 

Derek slammed his body into the side of a concrete beam outside the warehouse, keeping Boyd close to him. Hunter’s gunfire ricocheting off the concrete. 

 Gasping, I opened my eyes, looking over in the direction that Isaac and Erica had gone. They had found him. Erica was using her looks and her body, grinding against Jackson’s front. Isaac came up behind her, dancing with the two. 

“Keep your eyes on Isaac and Erica.” Derek’s voice echoed through my head. 

“What about you and Boyd?” 

“We’ll be fine.” I guess that answered that question. As I began walking towards the group, I tensed up. The familiar pain of electricity shocked through my system. But it wasn't’ me who was getting the zap, it was Derek. When I opened my eyes again, Isaac and Erica were on the ground. Jackson still stood there, staring at me with eyes that were solid like stone. 

“You won’t stop me.” He growled in a disembodied voice. Jackson took off quickly. I rushed forward to Erica first, who was breathing erratically. She had this reaction before to Jackson’s venom, it seemed that it triggered her epilepsy. I kneeled down beside her, turning her on her side. 

“Erica.” I said, trying to get her to look at me, “Erica, you need to breathe. Look at me.” Isaac reached out, trying to make a grab for the syringe that had been dropped, but it got kicked away. Isaac struggled through the crowd, trying to grab the syringe. Once Erica’s breathing regulated, I helped her to her feet. 

“Come on, you’re okay.” I said, reassuring her and myself. I watched Isaac finally inject the ketamine into Jackson’s system. In the chaos of the party, no one saw Jackson drop and get dragged away. We followed Isaac into a small room of the main. 

“You get out to Stiles, I need to help Derek.” I ran out the back door, seeing a hunter taking aim at Derek. I roared, knocking the weapon out of his hand and shoving him to the ground. I looked back to see Chris and Gerard staring. I was breathing heavily, fangs poking from my lips. Chris was holding a gun on me, one of my father’s guns. We seemed to have a silent agreement as I ran to reach Derek and Boyd. 

“Why didn’t you shoot?” Gerard glared. 

“It jammed.” Chris said, his voice hardened. 

I found Derek and Boyd’s cover, seeing the blood on their clothes. In the distance, I picked up a voice, one I didn’t recognize. 

"They're going to think it was an accident. Like you had an asthma attack and couldn't get to your inhaler in time. Your school records shows that you have a very severe case." Scott was in trouble, Derek and I shared a look. 

"I think I stopped healing." Boyd swallowed thickly, holding a bleeding wound on his side. 

“The bullets. They're laced with wolfsbane. You gotta go. Take the car.” He handed me the keys to the Camaro. 

“What about you?”

“I have to find Scott. Go. Go!” He shouted, I helped Boyd to his feet, helping him across the parking lot away from the hunters and out of sight. I helped him get inside the backseat and got into the driver’s seat. As I was about to start the engine my blood went cold. 

"Jackson, is that you?" Stiles’ voice. I looked back at Boyd in the rear view mirror. He was in rough shape and needed to get back to the depot. But Stiles.... Goddamit, I hate stupid trolley cart problems. I would hate myself forever if something happened to him but Boyd needed help now. I started the engine and sped out of the parking lot. 

“Boyd? Talk to me, buddy.” I glanced at him. He seemed drowsy, his eyes fluttering shut. 

“Come on, stay with me!” I pressed my foot down on the gas, going well over the speed limit. 

I screeched to a halt outside Deaton’s clinic, the vet was already outside, ushering us both inside. 

“I think you got more wounded on the way.” I huffed, laying Boyd down on the operating table. 

“That’s why I’m always prepared.” He said, grabbing a pair of long pliers and a bottle used for flushing out wounds. 

-

After listening to Boyd scream out for a while, he was finally free of all the mountain ash so he was able to heal himself. I sent him back out to the car to sleep. I decided that in between the chaos, I could ask Deaton about the bottle. 

“That is definitely the spell and it was meant to stick.” He pointed to the lock of my hair inside the bottle, “By adding your hair, it made this spell specific to you in a powerful way.” He handed the bottle back to me, “It’s probably why you haven’t gotten your memories back.” He rolled up his sleeves and started washing his hands. 

I sighed, “Great.” I leaned back against the brick wall, “So there isn’t anything I can do but live like this.”

Deaton looked back over his shoulder and sighed. He turned off the sink and turned around, wiping his hands on a paper towel. 

“The supernatural world works in mysterious ways. You never know, they may come back slowly or all at once.” 

“I’ve gotten bits and pieces. The name of Derek’s mother and a girl I was friends with but that’s not enough. And it’s not just me who’s suffering because of it. I can’t imagine how Derek feels.” 

He for thought a moment, “Maybe he can share some of his memories with you. Werewolves are able to do that, you know. With just the simplest touch.” The door to the clinic brought both of our attention towards the lobby, “We’ll talk later.” We both rushed out to help Derek who was carrying a very unconscious Scott. 

“Wolfsbane gas.” Derek said, laying him down on the operating table. Deaton worked hurriedly, grabbing a gas mask hooked up to an oxygen tank. Eventually, he started breathing again. I let out a smile of relief and brushed his curls off his forehead. 

“Thank you.” Derek said to Deaton. 

“You’re gonna give me a heart attack.” I sat back in a chair beside Derek. Deaton excused himself from the room. Derek was tense and rigid, his emotions running high. I rested my head on his shoulder, hoping my touch would make him breathe a little easier. 

“Erica and Isaac okay?” I asked, looking up at him through my lashes. 

“They’re okay.” 

“And Stiles?” He nodded. 

“I told him to go back home.” He glanced down at me, “I know it was hard for you to leave him there. But I’m sure Boyd is grateful to be alive right now.” He paused, “It was Victoria Argent who attacked Scott.”

“Allison’s mom?”

“I bit her.” The confusion on my face made him elaborate, “She lived through the bite.” For a hunter, the bite was always a death sentence. Whether it killed them, or their group did. 

“I know you did it to save Scott... But something tells me you did it on purpose, as a battle strategy.” 

A small smile pulled at his lips, “That wasn’t my intent. But I would be lying if I said it wasn’t good for our side.” 

“Good? Derek, Chris was the only person who was holding back. Now that they have to kill his wife... I don’t think he will follow the code either.” 

He turned to look at me, “Then it’s time we teach you how to fight. Unleash the beast.” 

------------

Read part 18 here!

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[markleesthighs]

Hotel! AU With Lucas~?? 👉👈

-idk what you meant by hotel, but umm manager lucas makes me think, so like crazy rich!y/n x hotel manager! lucas

[7:27 PM] Your finally got off your long plane ride, landing in Seoul. Your sister was getting married to her longtime boyfriend, which was a wedding the talk of all of Seoul. Your sister was an actress and her boyfriend was a famous director, both winning oscars overseas. You, on the other hand was a world class fashion icon, showing up at multiple fashion weeks and constantly having high class brands beg for your to wear their pieces. It would be no shock that once you stepped off your family’s private jet, there was paparazzi active, asking who you were wearing and what you were planning on wearing to the wedding. Your sisters wedding was in one of the most exclusive and expensive hotels in all of Seoul, and they rented out the entire hotel for its guests. Your limo pulled up to the gates where you stated your name and verified your identification to let the guards open the gates. As you pulled up a handsome man who opened the limo door for you and held your hand. You felt some sort of warmth to his touch and his eyes made your heart melt. You hadn’t felt this way about someone since your ex boyfriend 2 years ago. What were you thinking? Someone like you? Dating someone like him? It would be the end of the world for the both of you. You looked down at his name tag as it read “Lucas” An interesting name you thought.

“Hello I am Lucas, the manager of the hotel, let us help you with your luggage and any accommodations you will need.” He said as he graciously held your purse for you.

“Thank you.”

You walked into the hotel to be greeted with your sister squealing bringing you into a hug. You hugged her fiancé as you caught up with her while Lucas checked you in.

“Miss y/n, you are checked in for the presidential suite at the top floor, let me also show you to your room and give you the tour.”

“T-thank you”

You sister noticed your stutter, something that generally can back when you were flustered or around someone you liked. She gave you a smirk and winked as you rolled your eyes and glared at her, hoping Lucas didn’t see.

You walked into an elevator with only you and Lucas as it was dead silent. You looked at him looking at his fashion choices, which you generally judged people on. He had Cartier studs, a perfectly fitted Hermès suit, a shiny new Rolex, and shiny Gucci loafers. He had good taste you thought to yourself. As the elevator door opened you tripped on elevator crack with your heel as he caught you hold you firmly and supporting you.

“Are you alright? You must be more careful when stepping off with such beautiful Louboutin shoes, I wouldn’t want to scuff those.”

You were starstruck, he smelled like Versace cologne and it mixed beautifully with your Chanel No. 5 perfume as you saw he also took a liking to your perfume. He helped you stand back up with his arm now supporting you as you both strolled to your room. You noticed that Lucas was still taller than you with your heels on which was rare since most guys wouldn’t dare approach you with your reflective sunglasses and intimidating behavior. Lucas unlocked and opened the door to one of the most luxurious hotel rooms you’ve seen. You’ve traveled and stayed at expensive hotels overseas but nothing compared to this suite. It smelled like fresh cotton and flowers, and everything was perfectly polished and cleaned. You were marveled, you would usually have at least a complaint by now but you were left speachless. Your clothes were already placed in the closet, color coded perfectly. All of your skincare and makeup of beautifully organized on the sink and vanity.

“Is everything up to your standards, miss y/n?.”

“Y-yes...h-how did.”

“We consulted your assistants, butlers, and maids overseas about your standards and wanted to make sure they were followed accordingly.”

You looked over at the vase of violets.

“How did you know violets were my favorite?”

“I didn’t. I always think violets have a calming scent and look, that can make any place feel like home.” He said with a smile.

“If theres anything else we can do for you, you can give us a call on the phones or use the PA systems located around your room. Enjoy your stay. “

As he walked out you took a look around your room, hoping to find a complaint (to see Lucas again) but you had none. You even noticed your bed was folded perfectly so a flap would be open on the side of the bed you slept on. As you sat down you got a call from your sister who was begging you to come down to the hotel’s restaurant to go have dinner with her and her fiancé, to catch up and go over last minute wedding decorations (since you had one of the most detailed eyes in the world). You agreed as you changed into a Dior sundress, Hermès sandals, and a Prada clutch. You opened the elevator to the entrance of the restaurant where your sister was exitedly waving you down at their table.

“It’s so lovely to see you again, I love that dress!”

“Thanks, it’s from Dior’s 2021 spring line.”

“2021?? Darling that’s a year away how did you get your hands on this piece?”

“I didn’t most brands send me their upcoming lines to see if it meet my approval and will curve with current fashion trends.”

“You never fail to amaze me, y/n.”

As you were about to speak a waiter came by and dropped off some warm green tea for you. It was your signature drink, so it wasn’t a long shot, until you took a sip. It was made to your liking. It was seeped from the Da-Hong Pao brand with a teaspoon of Elvish honey. They even got the temperature exactly right, at 175 degrees. You suspected Lucas. He made everything perfect for you, it was nice, but you assumed he did that for all of his guests. You all continued to talk over dinner, creating conversations from cute dogs on Instagram to which way bridesmaids should present themselves at the wedding. After dinner you all transitioned to the grand ballroom, the main stage for the wedding. Your sister was nervously twiddled her fingers as you gazed at the decor. Lucas came in short after following you around taking notes, hanging on your every word.

“These flowers aren’t fresh replace all of them by tomorrow, make sure all of the silverware is perfectly straight next to the plate, turn the centerpieces by 35 degrees so the lights hit them better, the goody bag bags look tacky, replace them with Louis Vultton bags and put in Louis Vultton, Gucci, and Channel accessories, with each bag with different ones so they never match.”

“B-but, y/n, we can’t possibly purchase that in time!”

“Don’t worry sis, Lucas please charge any additional items that I’ve adjusted onto my card.”

“y/n please! You’re our guest!”

“Stop it. What else am I going to blow with all money? It’s worth it for your wedding.”

You handed Lucas your card as he wrote down your information. You continued on your purge to the point where your sister and fiancé got tired and went up to their room exhausted and they definitely needed some rest. So now it was just you and Lucas in the ballroom, alone.

“Miss, y/n, I know you want everything to be perfect for your sisters wedding, but I think you’re beating a dead horse at this point. “

“I am not!”

“Do you really think moving the chair in by one centimeter it really necessary?”

You sighed as you looked at your sandals.

“No, it’s not.”

“Why are you so punctual about this, miss y/n, if you don’t mind me asking.”

“It’s cause, this, was supposed to be my wedding. I was engaged two years ago, to a man who only wanted me for my money. I had all the wedding planning set until I was informed he was trying to sell my stocks and take everything from my bank account and runaway with some other famous B lister model. So once I heard my sister was getting married, I let her have my wedding plans. So now, I’m being overly punctual, since I know I would be like this on my wedding day.”

“Well, sometimes imperfect things allow the world to let it be perfect in ways you’ve never known. If this were my wedding, I wouldn’t care how lavish or perfect it was, as long as I was marrying someone I loved.”

Lucas’ words resonated into your mind, maybe you needed to let things be imperfect, even for your sister.

“So be it then, I’m done ‘perfecting’ for the night. Afterall, it’s not my wedding.”

As you walked out Lucas called out your name, and asking for your number. You hesitated asking him why and he said to discuss any issues that occur on the day of the wedding so he can contact you and discuss any certain changes. Right, he wasn’t trying to hit on you, why would he want to, he probably has a girlfriend or something right? You gave him your number and you walked into the elevator back to your room. You fantasized what it would be like to date him, going out on lavish dates, not worrying about who was going to pay for the check, and you felt that you would have a fun time with him. You took your shower and came out of the bathroom to see that you’re missing your roller from your skincare routine. You called Lucas up in your robe and wet hair to ask him for your cold Jade roller you used to smoothen and contour your face. He brought it up and gave it to you. But as he left, you grabbed his arm and asked him to roll your face for you, since your maids would do it for you. He chuckled as he submit to your request sitting down on your bed with you as you watched him gently roll your face. His eyes looked so delicate carefully not trying to put too much pressure on your face. You felt your heart beating faster every time you were around him, he was unpredictable to you and he was never intimidated by you either. You had never been able to open up to someone as easily as him.

When he was finished you noticed it started to thunderstorm, which worried you, since you had a secret fear of thunder and lightning. Lucas looked at you and gently caressed your face, making sure everything rolled correctly. But as he was about to get up a loud clash of the lightning struck and you squeaked as you fell into his arms holding on to him tight.

“P-please, d-don’t leave yet...”

Lucas looked at you in sympathy but got up leaving you in the dust. You were disappointed, knowing things like this would happen, even if you did like him. Who would even want to date- But Lucas returned dressed in his comfortable clothes which he received from the cleaning maids on your floor. He quickly came back to your shivering state hearing another clash of thunder. Lucas pulled you into a cuddling embrace in your bed. He also came back with some Airpods and played your favorite music to drown out the noise of the storm. You soon fell asleep on his chest, feeling warm and safe in his arms.

-pt. 2?? wedding day?

[cats-and-cockatiels]

come to me now (and relive the past)

It is Gran Torino who calls All Might, and it is All Might who tells Aizawa about the Stain Incident.

“I thought you should know,” the Pro Hero tells his coworker. Blood speckles his lips, as it often does in his diminished form, and the taste of electricity is in the air. Rain batters at the windows of the staff lounge, and lightning lances from the boiling clouds, thunder rumbling in contrary reply a few seconds later.

“Thank you,” Aizawa Shouta says. He is staring at All Might without seeing him, his mind spinning, thoughts shattering against each other in haphazard array. He can’t think, can’t concentrate, can’t comprehend what All Might has said—can’t do anything but stare at the wall through All Might’s head, hands clenched into fists in his lap.

“Aizawa,” All Might says, and his voice is stern. “Eraserhead.”

Aizawa blinks—and he feels his Quirk deactivate. He had not even realized he had activated it. All Might offers him a shaky half-grin, then reaches across the table to grip his shoulder. All Might squeezes, and for half a second Aizawa feels reassured.

“I know how you’re feeling,” All Might says. “Trust me. I feel the same way: helpless, anxious, angry.”

Aizawa narrows his eyes at the foremost hero in the world. “Just what does Midoriya mean to you?” he asks. It is a question he has asked before—but All Might has never given him an answer.

He supposes he shouldn’t have expected an answer this time either, Aizawa reasons when All Might stands abruptly, body rippling out into its full, heroic size. All Might smiles, brilliant and blinding, and laughs.

“He is my student!” he exclaims, “just as he is yours.” Then he turns on his heel and strides out of the staff lounge, leaving Aizawa alone with his thoughts.

---

The journey to Hosu takes longer than Aizawa expected. The train reroutes twice, and he is forced to switch trains twice more before he arrives at the Hosu station. When at last he steps onto the platform, however, it is to the smell of smoke still hanging in the air, and to the blare of police whistles and shouts.

He threads his way through the crowd, skirting women holding children, men holding briefcases, children holding stuffed animals to their chests. He is, for once, not dressed in his hero outfit, but in jeans and a plain, grey shirt. His capture weapon, however, is still looped around his neck in the parody of the ever-popular scarf; he hopes no one will recognize it for what it is—though he doubts they will. As an Underground Hero he is rarely, if ever, in the spotlight, and there are very few people who know how to use the kind of capture weapon he utilizes.

With his hands shoved deep into his pockets, a laptop bag slung over one shoulder, his head ducked, and his hair hanging in front of his face, Aizawa hopes that he will blend in with the rest of the crowd—will be nothing more than another citizen aggressively trying to go about his business in the wake of the attack the night before. The subtlety is most likely unnecessary—but Aizawa has not lived as long as he has as an Underground Hero by being careless. He does not know who all is still watching, whether heroes or villains, and he doesn’t want anyone to know he is here.

The city is trashed. Streets are cordoned off every few blocks: red and yellow police tape stretch between orange cones; striped barriers section sidewalks from roads; police officers stand on street corners with whistles, batons, and weapons holstered on their hips. Aizawa sees multiple canine patrols, the dogs on high alert with hackles raised and lips pulled back from fangs, their handlers struggling to keep them under control. They do not, Aizawa supposes, like the scent—or even the memory of the scent—of the nomu.

Buildings are broken, sidewalks are cracked, and char marks litter the concrete and asphalt—Endeavor’s doing, Aizawa assumes. Two of the nomu bodies have already been removed from the public eye, taken to some underground lab deep in the mountains, where they can be dissected and studied—but, Aizawa sees as he walks the city, one has been left where it was embedded in the streets.

He is at the juncture between two residential side streets when he sees the partially dismembered nomu protruding from the ground ten yards away, hidden behind two walls: one of plastic and tape, and one of human flesh. Dogs bark, men shout, and the crack of asphalt smacks through the air with all the alacrity of a gunshot.

Curiosity rises in his chest, choking his lungs and swallowing his heart. It pricks at him, gnaws at him, needles him until his feet move of their own accord toward the dead enemy. A hole has been blasted through its chest, one of its arms has been shredded from its body, and the visible brain is charred black and ashy. It is, quite clearly, dead.

Still, as Aizawa walks towards it, his boots scuffing pebbles and blasted chunks of concrete out of his way, he swears, for just a moment, that he sees the nomu move: a twitch of its fingers, a twitch of its beady eyes, a twitch of its skin.

Adrenaline slams through Aizawa’s body like a knife through flesh, electrifying and enthralling and illuminating. He is moving before he realizes what his body is doing, lunging and reaching for his capture weapon before he can tell himself what he is seeing is not real. The “scarf” comes away in his hands, unspooling around the goggles he always wears around his neck—just in case—and his hair lifts as his Quirk activates.

“Stand back!”

The voice cracks through the adrenaline flooding his blood with fire, through the glass on Aizawa’s eyes, through the fearpanicdesperation pounding in time with his heart. Aizawa sees the wall of police, sees the dogs and the batons and the guns, sees the dead nomu at their feet—and twists his body in on itself, sending himself tucking and rolling onto the ground in a desperate abortion of his attack. He comes up on his knees, one hand propped against the asphalt, his capture weapon falling uselessly to the ground and the red glow leaving his eyes.

“What was that?” he hears one of the police officers mutter, accompanied by an equally confused, “Who is that?”

He straightens, flicking his capture weapon back around his neck, already fishing in his pocket for his wallet.

“My apologies,” he says stiffly, flipping his wallet open and showing the nearest officer his hero’s license. “I thought I saw movement in the nomu.”

The officer’s eyebrows raise. The officer is a young woman, with dark hair and vibrant green eyes that are too bright to be natural. They flick across his license, taking in his hero name—and her eyebrows rise further still.

“Eraserhead,” she says, and it is loud enough for the others to hear her. Aizawa might imagine it, but he thinks, for an instant at least, that a sigh of relief shuffles through the gathered officers.

He hates that the police in a city he has never worked in know his name—hates that anyone knows his name—but after the USJ Incident, he knows his name and face were plastered across every news station for days. It will be years before he will be able to go back undercover as he once could; his face, and his name, are now too well-known in conjunction with UA and the Incident, as he thinks of it still.

Still, though, notoriety may have its perks, he realizes as the officers move aside to allow him closer to the nomu body. It means they do not hinder him, or even speak out when he kneels beside the corpse and reaches out to touch its cold, dead flesh. It means no one questions him, even when his breath quickens in his chest, and his eyes narrow, and his heart pounds, his eyes flickering red, red, red for one heartbeat, then another heartbeat, then another. It means they allow him to leave without demands for answers, or asking him to accompany them to the station.

And if he smells blood in the air, tastes copper in his mouth, and sees the world filtered crimson as he walks away, he says nothing—and neither do they.

----

He eats dinner in a small, out-of-the-way café in a relatively untouched part of the city. He sits alone in the corner, nursing a water with lemon and a cold sandwich, wishing the drink was stronger and the food was warmer. He watches the pedestrians walk past the large windows that fill one full wall of the café, and watches his fellow diners. They are all oblivious—all unaware of the dangers that Aizawa knows lurks in their midst.

The nomu were defeated, yes, and the Hero Killer detained. But the fact that there were three more nomu than Aizawa had thought there were, the fact that the League of Villains was purportedly behind the nomu attack, and that they were also working with Stain all pointed to something very dark and very ominous—even if Aizawa could not put together all of the disparate puzzle pieces just yet.

More than that, though, there was evil in every gathering of humanity. From cutthroats to robbers to worse, Aizawa had seen the darkest dredges of the human soul, and he knew just how far a person could fall—even a seemingly innocent and good-hearted person. There was evil buried in every heart, darkness in every mind. It was only a matter of unlocking it, of watering it, of tending it and letting it grow. Any one of these people could become the next Stain, the next member of the League of Villains, the next one he would have to take down to—

To what? To protect the human race? The notion of good versus evil? The peace of society?

Somehow, none of those things felt particularly right.

Fear, crashing through his chest, echoing between his ribs, sparking against his skull. Anger, threading through his fingertips, igniting in his lungs, pooling in his mouth. Determination, steeling his bones, strengthening his resolve, tearing through his terror.

He could hear his students behind him, 13 hurriedly reassuring them. He could hear the villains below him, laughing raucously and jeering at him, at them, at 13. He could hear the thrum of his own blood in his veins, the breath in his lungs, the beat of his heart in his chest.

He was so, so alive.

Then: pain.

Splinters of bone, and fragments of thought, and droplets of blood. His own voice tearing at his throat as he screamed, screamed, screamed. The taste of copper, of iron, of death in his mouth. The coursing heat of blood, blood, blood on his face, on his arms, in his chest and stomach and mouth.

“You really are so cool, Eraserhead!”

They’re all going to die. They’re all going to die. They’re all going to—

“Sir?”

Aizawa blinks, looks up and to his right, sees the waitress who had been serving him standing at his elbow. She is small, with frizzy, dark hair and dark eyes, a worried frown stamped on her lips and her brow. She is holding the tablet with his check, a stylus in her other hand, her apron an off-white. The air is cold against Aizawa’s skin, the hum of the air conditioning accenting the chatter of the patrons, the clang of pots and pans echoing from the kitchen. The chair is real and solid beneath him, the table’s surface cool under his palm and fingers. The smell of grease and old food and cleaner is stark in his nose, snapping his thoughts away from the artificial smell of recycled air, of long-standing chlorinated water, of man-made mountains.

“Sir,” the waitress says again, then asks, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” says Aizawa. His elbow throbs. His arms twinge. The scar beneath his eye prickles.

“Do I know you?” the waitress asks.

“I doubt it,” Aizawa lies.

“Hm,” says the waitress. Then she shrugs, and offers him the check. “Thanks for coming in,” she says, and then disappears back into the kitchen.

Aizawa pays, then stands and leaves without a glance back. If anyone stares at him—at the scar on his face, at the capture weapon around his neck, at the dark hair that falls into his eyes—he does not care.

At least, that’s what he tells himself.

----

He is halfway to the hotel he chose to stay at while in Hosu when he sees him: a tall, broad-shouldered figure cast in shadow by the flames dripping from shoulders and face. Endeavor walks down the street without glancing to either side, his stride purposeful and his footsteps certain, confident that no one will stop or hinder him while he wears his glare.

Aizawa quickens his pace, pulling abreast of the Spotlight Pro, and then falls into step beside him.

“Hello, Endeavor,” he says casually.

Endeavor stops abruptly, whirling with eyes narrowing. He takes in Aizawa’s face, the scar beneath his eye, the capture weapon looped around his neck.

“Eraserhead,” he growls, folding his arms across his chest. “What are you doing here?”

Aizawa shrugs. “I could ask you the same thing,” he says blithely.

“I am here doing hero work,” Endeavor bites out. “I cannot say the same for you.”

Aizawa squints and cants his head to one side, as if he is considering his next words—as if he is considering the man standing before him. The truth is, he already knows what he is going to say, and where he wants this conversation to go; he only wants the façade of stumbling blindly down a dark alleyway in the middle of the night.

“And why is that, Endeavor?” he asks. “Can the Pro who fought the nomu first not take an interest in their continued existence?”

Endeavor frowns. “You nearly died the time you fought them,” he says pointedly. “I wouldn’t think you’d be so keen on repeating the experience.”

“Ah, but the nomu are dead, are they not?” Aizawa points out. “You killed them all, didn’t you?”

Endeavor hesitates. Aizawa waits.

“What do you know?” Endeavor asks, instead of answering Aizawa’s question.

“Only a little,” Aizawa lies.

“Hm,” says Endeavor. Then, “Walk with me.”

He turns and begins down the street again, heading toward the intersection at the end of the road. Aizawa falls in step beside him, shoving his hands into his pockets. He hopes, futilely he suspects, that no one will notice him in Endeavor’s shadow.

“The nomu attacked unexpectedly,” Endeavor says, “and it seems as if they were in league with the Hero Killer.”

“Hmm,” hums Aizawa. “So is that why you were in Hosu City when the nomu attacked? Because of the Hero Killer?”

Endeavor shoots a look down at Aizawa, who keeps his face blank.

“Yes,” says Endeavor. “I was hunting the Hero Killer.”

“And you found him,” Aizawa says. “According to the paper I read this morning—”

“Yes,” says Endeavor brusquely, cutting him off. “I found him, after disposing of the nomu, and defeated him as well.”

“I see,” says Aizawa thoughtfully. He had not truly expected Endeavor to tell him the truth—not without him revealing that he already knew who had really taken down the Hero Killer. To do so would be dangerous, to both Endeavor and to Aizawa’s students. Still, it answers a question Aizawa had wondered about Todoroki’s father.

“So why are you really here, Eraserhead?” Endeavor asks, when Aizawa makes no move to say anything else, but also makes no move to leave Endeavor’s side.

“I told you,” says Aizawa. “I was curious about the nom—”

“I’m not so sure that’s it,” Endeavor cuts in.

“Oh?” Aizawa asks, the faintest hint of a grin curling his lips. “Then why am I here?”

“You’re here to open old wounds.”

Aizawa raises his eyebrows a fraction of an inch. “What old wounds do you speak of?” he asks.

“That scar on your face, for one,” Endeavor says bluntly. “I would think that the one who nearly died when facing the nomu would be less inclined to rush back to face the instrument of his downfall.”

Aizawa grins properly now. “How can the nomu have been my downfall when I am still standing, and it is not?” he asks.

“How indeed,” Endeavor says. He is silent for one step, two, before saying, “Or perhaps you are here for a completely different reason. Perhaps you are here to check on your students.”

Aizawa misses a step, catches himself, walks on. He had not thought that Endeavor would be so intuitive, and he hopes Endeavor did not see his reaction to his words. If he did, however, Endeavor makes no comment on it, and he does not look at him as they reach the corner of the street and the crosswalk there, and at last come to a halt.

“And why do you think I’d be here for that?” Aizawa asks, lacing his voice with just a drop of derision.

Endeavor finally turns and looks at Aizawa properly once more. His expression is stern, his face half bathed in light cast by his flames, half in shadow cast by the angles of his cheekbones, his brow, his chin.

“You fought 50 villains for your students,” Endeavor says, once more crossing his arms over his chest. “You fought 50 villains for your students, and though you did not win—you did not lose, either. It takes a great deal of fortitude—and a great deal of purpose—to achieve something like that.”

Aizawa smiles bitterly. “It depends on your definition of losing, I suppose.” It is more than he meant to betray, though he does not think Endeavor will realize what he has just said. Not, at least, the full implications of it.

“You are still standing,” Endeavor says, echoing what Aizawa had said but a moment before, “and they are not.”

“That’s true,” Aizawa says. He turns, cants his head to one side, looks Endeavor in the eye. “What do you want, Endeavor?”

“I want you to stay away from my son,” Endeavor says.

Aizawa smiles, bitter and broad, and asks, “And how am I supposed to do that, Endeavor? He is in my class, after all.”

“You know what I mean,” Endeavor growls.

“No,” Aizawa replies with a sharp edge of steel at the corners of the word. “I don’t.” He pauses for just a second, a breath, a heartbeat, and then he asks, dangerously soft, “Are you threatening me, Todoroki?”

Endeavor looks as though he’s been slapped in the face with an old dueling glove. “How dare you—” he starts to say, only for Aizawa to activate his quirk. Endeavor’s flames vanish from his face, leaving him looking suddenly pale and small. He twitches, takes half a step back as if Aizawa had slapped him again, looks around at the small group of onlookers that has gathered since they began their conversation.

“I don’t take well or kindly to threats,” Aizawa says softly, eyes glaring red. “Especially when they are threats that involve my students.”

Endeavor glares in return, takes a step back forward. “And what are you to your students?” he sneers, pitching his voice low. “Their father?”

Aizawa blinks and turns away. Endeavor’s fires flicker back into existence.

“I’m their homeroom teacher,” Aizawa says simply. He hesitates, then turns back to Endeavor and says with a carefully controlled smile, “And I daresay that’s a little more than what you can say.”

With that, he strides away, pushing his way through the gathering of onlookers. They give way before him, startled and almost-afraid—almost-afraid of the man who could silence Endeavor, the Number 2 Hero; almost-afraid of the man who could extinguish Endeavor’s flames. Their eyes follow him, and their shoulders turn to face him, as he threads his way through the crowd. He ducks his head as phone cameras click, and he wonders if he did the right thing by challenging Endeavor out in the open as he did.

Too late for regrets now, he thinks, and tucking his hands into his pockets, he leaves the crowd behind.

----

Aizawa spends the night in a run-down hotel in the middle of the city, some two blocks away from Hosu’s hospital. He doesn’t touch the lumpy bed, instead electing to sit at the pitted and stained table with his laptop, which glows blue against the darkness permeating the room. Aizawa leaves the lights off, but a sharp, yellow glow sneaks in through the cracks in the curtains, lining the thinly carpeted floor with footprints of light. The chair is squeaky and flat and even more uncomfortable than he assumes the bed would be, but Aizawa ignores the discomfort, instead slumping over the table with his chin resting on his folded hands, his elbows splayed out, his mouth flattened into a thin line.

He reads article after article about the Stain Incident, but none of them line up with what Aizawa knows to be the truth. Each paints a different picture—of Endeavor the hero, of Endeavor the villain—but few of them mention the students involved, and none of them, of course, give the students the credit for Stain’s capture. By the time the glow of a grey sunrise begins to creep through the yellow footprints on the floor, Aizawa’s eyes are gritty and tired, and all he wants is to lay down and go to sleep.

He doesn’t. Instead, he closes his laptop, packs it away, changes his shirt and loops his capture scarf around his neck, and leaves the room, locking it behind him.

Aizawa walks the two blocks to the hospital through a fine, misty rain, shoulders slouched and hair dripping. He walks in through the sliding double doors, hands shoved deep into his pockets, and meanders his way up to the main desk situated on the far end of the main foyer.

“Hi there,” the nearest woman behind the desk says, looking up at Aizawa. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m here to get some information on a few of your patients,” Aizawa says.

The woman frowns. “I’m sorry, sir,” she says, sounding put out, “but I’m afraid I can’t give any patient information to you, unless you are a direct relative or have jurisdictional relevance, such as being a pro hero involved in an on-going investigation.”

Aizawa looks at her, then says, “Lucky for me, I am a pro hero, and this has to do with my jurisdiction.” He pulls his wallet out of his pocket, flips it open, and shows the woman his hero license. “I’m running a tangential investigation into the Stain Incident, and I would like information on the three students who encountered him.”

“Ah,” says the woman, and after inspecting his hero license for a few seconds, nods and turns toward her computer. She taps on her keyboard for a few seconds, then says, “What information do you need?”

“What injuries did they sustain?”

“I don’t have access to that information.”

“Then get me someone who does.”

The woman sighs, taps on her keyboard for another few seconds, then she looks up at Aizawa and says, “I’ll have a nurse come and speak with you. If you’d like to take a seat in the waiting room, they’ll be out shortly.”

Aizawa turns and slouches over to the waiting chairs and takes a seat. He folds his hands in his lap and leans back against the back of the hard-cushioned chair, eyes half-closed and half-hidden behind his hair. He thinks while he waits—thinks of Todoroki, of Iida, of Midoriya. He thinks of revenge, and of pain begat by losing someone loved, and of the wrath and fury birthed by heartache. He thinks of Ingenium, and of a boy named Loud Cloud, and of his three students facing an unspeakable evil in a dark alley, alone.

The door into the back of the hospital opens, and a nurse walks out, looks around, calls, “Eraserhead?”

Aizawa stands and makes his way over to her, hands once more shoved into his pockets. She looks him up and down, then turns and leads the way out of the waiting room.

She takes him to a small office off of the main hallway, and gestures for Aizawa to sit in one of the small, plastic chairs situated across from the desk. He does so, and she brings up the computer sitting on the desk, accessing a set of files in the database.

“Their injuries were relatively minor, all things considered,” she says. “The worst was Iida Tenya, who suffered reparable nerve damage in his hands.”

A shot of ice arcs down Aizawa’s spine. “Nerve damage?” he asks.

“Yes,” says the nurse. She peers at him over the keyboard, then repeats, “It is reparable.”

Aizawa nods, and asks only, “What of Todoroki and Midoriya.”

The nurse tells him about their other, more minor injuries, Aizawa listening intently, and then asks if Aizawa has any other questions.

“What room are they in?” Aizawa asks.

“Room 213,” the nurse says, and closes her files.

“Thanks,” Aizawa says, and stands.

He slouches out of the office, hands once more in his pockets, feeling the nurse’s eyes on his back. He knows what she’s thinking—or, at least, what she’s likely thinking: surprise that he, of all people, is a pro hero, along with wariness and uncertainty about whether or not she just broke any laws by giving him the information she had. Lucky for her he was a pro hero—and one who was used to skirting around the edges of proprietary law, and thus knew what he could and couldn’t get away with.

Aizawa takes the elevator up to the second floor, then counts the doors on his way down the hallway. He reaches 213, and there he hesitates, waits, stops dead still, one hand half-raised as if to reach for the handle.

They don’t want you, a quiet, snide voice whispers in his mind. If they’d wanted you, they would have asked for you, not left it to All Might to tell you what truly happened.

Aizawa’s hand drops to his side.

The door cracks open.

Aizawa spins and turns on his heel, strides away from room 213. He hears footsteps shuffle out of the room behind him, hears a confused exclamation, hears someone call out after him, “Hello? Did you want something?” It is Todoroki.

Aizawa keeps walking, and hopes he is far enough away already that Todoroki does not recognize his capture scarf.

----

“Who was that?” Midoriya asks as Todoroki reenters the room, looking perplexed. His brow is furrowed, his lips flattened into a thin line.

“I don’t know,” Todoroki says. He hesitates, considering, then says, “But it looked like Mr. Aizawa.”

“Mr. Aizawa?” Iida repeats.

Todoroki nods.

Iida looks thoughtful.

“Why didn’t he come in?” Midoriya wonders. “Is he angry with us for going up against Stain ourselves? But if he was, wouldn’t he have come in to lecture us? Then again, perhaps he is waiting until we are back at school to give us the lecture��”

“Why would he care?” Todoroki asks, cutting Midoriya’s rambling off. “I mean, sure, he’s our teacher, but would he really come all the way out to Hosu City for us?”

“He did fight 50 villains for us,” Iida points out softly.

That kills the conversation. It is hard for any of them to talk about the USJ Incident, even now.

Finally, though, Midoriya says, “We could always ask him when we get back.”

“If he had a reason for not coming into the room—which I assume he does, because he never does anything without having a reason,” Iida says, “then he won’t tell us the truth.”

“How can you be certain?” Midoriya asks.

Iida smiles, but it is not a happy expression. “I know Mr. Aizawa,” he says.

“Don’t we all?” Todoroki asks.

But Iida shakes his head. “I’ve known him since I was a kid,” he admits to them softly.

“What?” Midoriya asks, shocked. “You mean to say—”

“My brother, Tensei, is good friends with him,” Iida confesses.

“Oh,” says Todoroki.

“Yeah,” says Iida. He shrugs then, and settles his shaking hands into his lap. “I’m not surprised he didn’t come in,” he says, but no matter how hard the other two press him, Iida refuses to explain his statement.

----

Aizawa walks back to his hotel room lost in thought and half-lost in direction.

I wasn’t there for them, he thinks. They needed me, and I wasn’t there.

He hates Stain, he realizes. Hates Stain, and hates the nomu, and hates the League of Villains.

Most of all, though, he hates himself.

I wasn’t there. He grimaces. Even if I had been, though, would I have made a difference?

He thinks of air chlorinated with standing water, thinks of recycled air, thinks of man-made mountains and man-made flames. He remembers the sound and feel of bones shattering in his arms, remembers the taste of blood in his mouth, remembers the crunch of his face impacting concrete not once, not twice, but three times.

What had he done then, but almost die in front of Midoriya, Asui, and Mineta? Nothing. He had accomplished nothing but traumatizing the very students he’d tried so hard to protect.

What good was he, then, if he couldn’t even protect his students from the villains they weren’t yet ready to face? What was he, but a failure?

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

He reaches the hotel, climbs the stairs to his room, unlocks his door and steps inside. He looks at the bed. Turns away.

Instead, he goes to the bathroom, turns the shower on. He waits for the water to heat up to unbearably hot, then sheds his clothes like a second skin and steps under the spray. He lets the scalding water wash over his body, lets it burn his self-loathing into his bones with ribbons of red skin. He washes his hair with hotel shampoo—just another way of hating himself—and scrubs his arms and legs and torso until his skin stings from the abrasive washcloth.

He finishes, steps out of the shower, towels himself dry. He brushes his hair, uses the blow-dryer, changes into fresh clothes.

He has one more thing to do in Hosu, and then he can go home.

----

“He’s asleep, but you can come in.”

Aizawa steps into the sterile hospital room after the nurse, who closes the door behind him. She hovers close by as Aizawa pulls a chair up to Iida Tensei’s bedside, then turns and leaves after he sits.

Aizawa settles his masked face in his hands and, for a long time, simply sits there, head buried and eyes closed. Finally, though, he lifts his head and looks at Tensei, still asleep, and says, “You’d be proud of him, Tensei. Angry, probably, but proud.”

He sighs, settles back into his uncomfortable chair, and stares at Tensei. “I don’t even know if you’re going to be given the true story,” he admits softly. “But I hope they do tell you the truth. Even I wasn’t supposed to know, but thankfully All Might ignores rules as often as he ignores his own health, which is to say “he doesn’t care about them at all”.

“He did it, though, Tensei—him and two of his classmates. They avenged you. And I can’t say I’m glad about that, but God, I wish I’d been able to avenge Oboro. I wish there’d been some way for me to avenge him—some way to put the past in the past, and move on. I hope—I hope Tenya was able to do that with this. I hope…” He takes a deep breath, and shakes his head. “And now I’m rambling,” he curses softly.

Tensei stirs, opens his eyes. He turns his head, looks at Aizawa, and crooks a small smile. Aizawa can see it in his eyes.

“Shouta,” Tensei rasps. “So you did come to see me.”

“Hizashi and Nemuri send their love,” Aizawa says. “They’re sorry they can’t get away to come see you themselves. My kids are currently in the middle of internships, so I had some free time.”

“Right,” Tensei says. “How—how’s Tenya?”

Aizawa sighs. “He’s gonna be okay,” he tells Tensei.

“Going to be?” Tensei asks. He looks away. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I didn’t—”

“No one did,” Aizawa says, cutting him off. “No one blames you either, Tensei.”

“Except me,” Tensei admits bitterly, softly.

Aizawa sighs again. “Except you,” he accedes. “You’re going to have to let this go someday, though,” he says.

“I passed my name on to Tenya,” Tensei says, instead of answering Aizawa’s statement. “I wanted him to be Ingenium.”

Aizawa grimaces, the pieces slotting into place. “I guess that makes more sense now,” he says aloud.

“What?” Tensei asks with a frown.

“Nothing,” Aizawa says with a flap of his hand.

“What?” Tensei asks again.

“They chose their hero names last week,” Aizawa says dismissively. “I was half-asleep for most of it.”

Tensei rolls his eyes. “Right,” he scoffs. He knows better than to think that Aizawa is anything but constantly aware of what is going on around him, no matter if he is feigning sleep or actually asleep. He hesitates then, and then asks, “Is everything okay, Shouta?”

“Yeah,” says Aizawa. “Why?”

Tensei looks at him suspiciously. “I’ve known you a long time,” he says. “I think I know when something is bothering you.”

“Reparable nerve damage.”

“I’m fine,” Aizawa says.

Tensei shakes his head against his pillow. “Look,” he says, and he sounds both tired and weak. “Whenever you say that, you aren’t fine.”

Aizawa rolls his eyes. “This isn’t about me,” he almost snaps. “I came to visit you, who is the one in the hospital for serious injuries.”

Tensei snorts. “Don’t tell me you’re about to start pitying me too.”

“Pity?” Aizawa asks. “When have you known me to ever pity anyone?”

“Fair point,” Tensei replies. “I’m just…tired.”

Aizawa thinks of bandages swathing his body from head to waist, thinks of casts around his arms, things of stitches beneath his eye. “I know,” he says, and the almost-teasing lilt is gone from his voice, leaving it heavy and dry. “It gets better.”

Tensei looks at him, sees the grim knowledge in his eyes and in the cant of his lips. He smiles. “Thanks.”

“Sure,” Aizawa says. “Now get some rest. You need your strength.” He stands, and Tensei settles back against his pillows. “I’ll see you later,” Aizawa says, and with that, he leaves the hospital room, and his friend lying in the bed behind him.

----

“Did you get what you were looking for?” Hizashi asks him.

They are sitting at dinner in some fancy restaurant that his friend had wanted to try, cocktails at their elbows and seafood pasta in front of them. Aizawa picks at his noodles, swirling them around the bowl through the sauce, and tries not to think too hard.

“Yes,” he lies.

Hizashi laughs. “You’re a terrible liar.”

“No, I’m not,” Aizawa retorts.

“You are to me,” Hizashi says.

Aizawa rolls his eyes.

Hizashi is quiet for a moment, then he asks, “How’s Tensei?”

“He’s fine,” Aizawa grunts.

Hizashi sighs. “What aren’t you telling me?” he asks.

“Nothing,” Aizawa lies again.

Hizashi puts his fork and spoon down, leans forward over his plate. “You can’t keep holding this in forever,” he tells Aizawa.

“What’s that?”’

“Everything,” Hizashi says, waving a hand through the air to punctuate his point.

“Illuminating,” Aizawa grumbles.

Hizashi smiles. “I know,” he says, and sits back in his chair. “My point stands, though.”

Aizawa shakes his head. “I can,” he says.

“No—”

“Then I will.”

“That’s not how it works,” Hizashi points out.

“It is if I try hard enough.”

Hizashi sighs again, picks up his fork and stabs at his pasta. “Whenever you’re ready to face your problems,” he says, lifting a bite of food toward his mouth, “I’ll be there.”

They finish the rest of the meal in silence.