#and I started trying to catch a dart?? flying through the air? before I realized wait no I shouldn't do that

[dira333]

Glass Heart, take flight - Asahi x Reader

A/N: Soulmate AU, requested for the Follower Celebration, tagging @screamin-abt-haikyuu because DUH!

You’ve got a Glass Heart tattooed just below your left ear. 

It’s small enough to hide behind your hair or a pair of earrings if you want to. 

You don’t know when you’ve got it. It’s what happens to people who are too young when they meet their soulmate. You're pretty sure you know who it was though, not that it helps.

-

Gravel flies everywhere as you fall off the swing. You’d meant to fly as high as you dared, when someone grabbed chains from behind, bringing you to an abrupt stop. You fall face first, tears spilling over your bruised cheeks way before you can start wailing.

“Are you okay?” Someone asks, picking you up with ease. For a moment, you think it’s someone’s parent, but when long fingers carefully grab your chin and turn your face around to inspect the damage, you see it’s a boy, maybe a few years older than you, lanky and long-haired. 

His touch is soft and tickles, surprising you enough to stop crying.

“Who are you?” You ask.

Your words break whatever spell there had been. He jumps back, blushing.

“I, uh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

He moves back, step after step after step. You try to grab him, what for, you don’t know yet. But you miss, nothing but air between your outstretched hands.

“I’ll go grab your Mum,” he insists, jogging away. 

-

“What school are you going to next year?” Miri asks over Lunch.

Your fingertips find the little heart beneath your ear that appeared last night. 

“Sekodai,” you tell her as confidently as you’ll ever be.

“Ah.” She nods. “They’ve got a great Volleyball Club, or so I’ve heard.”

“Yeah.” You shrug. “But I’m more into art.” And cute guys. But you don’t say that out loud.

-

“Hi. I’m from Class 1.5. Could I draw you? It’s for the Art Club.”

You watch as he blushes, the redness reaching even the tops of his ears.

“I…” He stammers helplessly.

“Dang, Asahi!” One of his classmates whistles lowly. “You’ve got game!”

“I…” His voice’s barely a voice anymore. It sounds more like a kettle whistling. Well, at least you know his name now. He cut his hair shorter and it’s wavy, framing his face in a way that makes you want to drag your hands through it. Or paint it, whatever he’ll allow.

“Please?” You ask. “It won’t take long. It’s just a sketch.”

“F-Fine…” He’s still red-faced when he arrives for the session, relaxes only slightly when he realizes that he’s not the only one. 

Most students have asked their classmates to sit for their panting. He’s not the only third-year, but the teacher eyes him curiously. 

“Do you need something?” She asks. “We normally don’t have high schoolers visiting.”

“I-I… I’m a student here.” Asahi stutters helplessly. “Third year.”

“Oh.” She blinks. “How old are you then?”

“He looks older than he is.” You interrupt, reaching forward to take his hand, to pull him away from the discussion he’s clearly dreading. 

Asahi pulls his hand away like you’re a snake, ready to bite.

It hurts more than you let on.

He barely speaks as he sits for his portrait. Today’s lesson is meant to be in black and white and while you’re glad he agreed to sit for you, you hate the fact that all his blushing is lost to you. You can do nothing more but hope the image will burn itself into your brain, for that you’ll never go without it.

When you’re done and you turn the canvas for him to see, he stills. 

A multitude of emotions flickers over his face, each too fast for you to catch before he bows so low you fear for his spine.

“Thank you for considering me.” He presses through his teeth and darts from the room and you pretend you don’t notice that he takes a few extra steps to avoid the risk of touching you.

-

The sound of a whistle cuts through your heart.

Below you, Karasuno loses, Dateko wins. 

Asahi’s grown taller in the two years you haven’t seen him. His hair has grown out too. 

But there’s added weight on his shoulders, you can tell by the way he walks. 

Your fingertips reach for the Glass Heart below your ear. You wonder how it’s holding up now.

“Are you sure you wanna go to this school?” Miri asks next to you. “I mean, you don’t have to come to Aoba Johsei with me, we’ve been friends for long enough, but you got a ride to Shiratorizawa.”

“No, I want this one,” you say, your voice firm. 

Miri sighs. “Well, at least the Art Club there isn’t bad.”

-

Barely one week into the school year you get the chance to deliver some papers to the Third Year Classes.

Well, the task had been meant for the “strong boys” in your Class, but you’re too stubborn to take the hint. 

Now you’re sweating under the weight of too many folders to count and your hair is sticking to your face in a way you hope is looking cutely disheveled instead of ready-to-murder-you.

“Ah, thank you. That looks pretty heavy, didn’t Takeda-Sensei send someone with you?” The teacher asks. You ignore her words and let your eyes run through the Classroom. There, a little bit further back, sits Asahi.

When your eyes meet his there’s instant recognition. You’d be proud about it, proud that he remembers you even two years later if he didn’t turn away right after. Your heart plummets all the way to your feet, but you need to keep up the facade as well as the weight of folders in your arms.

“Azumane,” his teacher orders. “You’re tall and strong. Help this student out, will you?”

He blushes furiously, but he gets up nonetheless and walks out stiffly.

You pull your sweater over your hands, one by one, so that he won’t have to fear touching you before you offer the folders for him to take.

“I…” He starts, but he doesn’t finish his sentence.

-

It happens. There are Soulmates who don’t fall in love. 

You never thought you’d be one of them.

If only you’d have been born without a stubborn head as well.

It would make everyone’s lives easier.

-

“Can I walk you home?” You ask, stepping out of the little shed that holds the bicycles.

Asahi flinches away like you’re the one towering over other people.

“What? How? I..” He stammers. 

You shrug and pull the straps of your backpack a little tighter to hide your shaking hands.

“Can I?” You ask again.

He stares, wordlessly.

“You don’t have to agree, I can just follow you home on my own, two steps behind you so you don’t see me sneaking.”

That brings something like a smile to his face but he turns away to hide it the moment it flickers over his lips.

But he starts walking and you rush to catch up to him, taking two steps everytime he takes one.

“You know,” you say, a little breathlessly when you need to tackle an incline, “As much as Hinata’s going on my nerves, I think he’s good for the team.”

Asahi stops again. “You know Hinata?”

“Uh, yeah. Everyone knows Hinata. Also, I’m a First Year.”

“Right.”

He walks two steps before stopping again.

“You know about the team?”

“Yeah?” You huff, trying to hide the fact that you’re already out of breath. “The only reason I’m not a manager is because I’m way better at art than I ever was at managing.”

“Why don’t you play?”

You point at yourself, still unable to take a proper breath after less than five minutes of jogging next to him. He doesn’t seem to understand.

“I’ve got the Athletic Genes of a Muffin,” you translate when you can breathe a little better. On the other side of the hill, the sun sets the sky on fire. “But I think it’s all the same. It doesn’t matter if you paint or play Volleyball, really. Humans have no wings, so they search for other ways to fly.”

When you look back at him, there’s something in his eyes you haven’t seen before. It makes you nervous and you swallow thickly, try to regain the composure you’ve had before.

“Do you… do you believe in Soulmates?” You ask, your mind running on empty.

“Sure.” His voice sounds weirdly detached. His face is tinted golden from the sunset. 

“Is this why you don’t want to be touched?” It’s a guess, really. He could still be a germaphobe. But he flinches like you’ve caught him.

“Maybe.”

“Why?”

“It’s a great burden,” he admits, quietly, staring at the sun. “What if they touch you and then you’ve got a mark but they don’t like you like that? You’d always be tied to them, whether they wanted that or not. I’d rather not put that on anyone.”

“It’s a bit late for that.” The words slip out your mouth too fast for you to catch them. You’d wanted to say something else, to put it differently. But he understands nonetheless, his head snapping over.

You pull your hair back to reveal the Glass Heart below your ear. 

Whatever you thought would happen, doesn’t. 

Asahi takes a step back instead of forward. You can see the doubt cloud his mind.

“Please.” You step forward, lunge for his arm like you’ve done all those years before on the playground.

This time, your hand closes around his wrist. It tickles.

But Asahi is taller, stronger, faster than you. When the turns to run, you’ve got no chance to follow.

-

The boy is about as tall as Hinata, dark hair with one bleached strand that makes it look like he’s being hit by lightning.

You remember hearing Yamaguchi talk about him, but his name is lost on you.

“Can I help you?” You ask rather rudely. You haven’t slept well ever since that evening. It’s been a week and it’s starting to catch up to you. 

You wonder if you’ve left a mark on Asahi. Maybe you’d read it all wrong. Maybe you’d run after the wrong guy all these years.

“Are you in the Art Club?” He asks.

“Yeah? Why?”

“You’re really pretty.”

“Thanks?” 

He grins, gives you a thumbs up and leaves. Whatever that was, you don’t have the energy to deal with it right now. 

It takes two more times of him showing up until you learn his name.

Nishinoya-senpai is weirdly adamant about getting to know you. He’s also hilariously bad at it, spending most of his time telling you about how great he did at training today, how he almost couldn’t save a ball Asahi had spiked, or how their manager is the prettiest being in the whole wide world.

“Why are you here?” You ask when he catches you after school. You’re in the middle of washing your brushes and you’d like it very much if your heart just gave in. But it has been two weeks and you still cannot stop thinking about Asahi. Even though you haven’t seen him since that evening. Has he stopped going to school?

“I’m a friend of Asahi.” He tells you.

“Aha.”

“He talks about you a lot.”

“Sure he does.” The sarcasm in your voice would be enough for two more people.

“No, really, he does. I think you’re Soulmates. But you know, we didn’t win against Dateko last year and… well, I think he needs to prove to himself that he’s worthy- Are you okay?”

You can taste the salt of your own tears. You nod, hoping he will leave you alone. He doesn’t.

“What does it matter?” You ask. Not necessarily Nishinoya, but if he’s not willing to leave you alone, he’s going to have to deal with it. “What does it matter if he wins or loses? Isn’t he worthy no matter what?” You try to dry your nose on your sleeve but the tears just won’t stop.

There’s a more pressing question to it all, a question you hadn’t dared voice before but it won’t leave your mind so why not give it the room it craves?

“Am I even worthy?” 

When your tears finally dry, Nishinoya is gone. 

Well, you’ve always known that not all boys are created equal. Some just cannot deal with tears. 

-

“Can I walk you home?” Asahi asks, stepping out of the little shed that holds the bicycles.

You flinch. You thought you’d be the last one to leave.

“You don’t have to agree,” he stutters. “I-I can just follow you home on my own, t-two steps behind you…”

“Why?” You ask, voice a little hoarse from crying.

“Nishinoya told me… About what you said.”

“So?”

Asahi stretches out his arm. His shirt is pulled back.

On his wrist is something you haven’t seen before. Two black wings spread out on either side, like a bird taking flight.

“I’m sorry I didn’t realize sooner,” he tells you. “If you want, you can take my hand.”

You move to grab it, half expecting him to pull away again. But his hand is warm, big enough to swallow yours and he squeezes back even as he blushes furiously.

“What about Dateko?” You ask, not willing to let go. “What about being worthy?”

“I tend to get lost in my own head,” he confesses. “I doubt that will ever change. But, I- I want you to know that I never doubted that you were worthy. I knew ever since we met for the first time, well, I hoped, but I… I didn’t want to-”

“Put a burden on me, I know.” You nod and squeeze his hand at the same time. “You’re going to have to get used to it, you know? I’ve got pretty strong shoulders.”

You can’t see the sunset from where you’re standing. But the way Asahi smiles makes you think you don’t need to anyway. He’ll always be golden anyway.

-

“Careful, door opening.” Asahi announces, one arm on your back as he guides you into the coffee shop. 

Your eyes are glued to your phone screen, but you trust your fiancé that he will keep you safe on your early morning hunt for breakfast.

He orders for the two of you, squinting down over your shoulder every once in a while to check in on your live feed.

Your newest art project hasn’t been online for long and the comments are flowing in almost too fast for you to read.

It’s only when Asahi awkwardly clears his throat behind you that you look up. You spot it right away.

“Excuse me?”

The Barista looks up right away, flinching slightly when she locks eyes with you. 

“He asked for oat milk. That’s soy.”

“Sorry, I mixed that up.”

“No worries, just making sure.” You smile as Asahi deflates behind you, leaning all his weight onto your shoulders.

“Thank you,” he mumbles into your ear. “I wouldn’t have been able to say anything.”

“I know.” Your right hand finds his, squeezes tight. “That’s why we’ve got each other.”

My Kofi if you want to tip me

[rocketinthesky]

Partners in Misery

“You fucking idiot. Would it kill you to be careful so I don’t have to worry about you all the time?”

- A GAX Zombie Apocalypse AU (George Russell x Max Verstappen)

‼️-cw: injury, blood, adult language ‼️ ~1.1k words one-shot | read on ao3 instead

George felt lightheaded, gasping for air as he fell to the ground. He’d sprinted away from a hoard of clickers and got caught in a broken window in his escape, a shard of glass digging into the flesh of his left side. So much for a quick supply run.

As expected, Max was none too pleased when he showed up busting through the front door of their temporary hideout.

“What the fuck?”

George glanced up at him from where he leaned against the doorframe, a sharp pain shooting up his side where he still tightly clasped down at the bleeding wound. He was struggling to catch his breath, let alone give Max any response.

“George? What the fuck happened?” Max’s voice started to sound more frantic, eyes darting all over George’s figure before landing on where his palm is pressing into his abdomen. Max’s eyes widened, terror, anger—grief, George thought, a flicker of it, but maybe he was being delirious—washing over his face as he growls, “Did you get bit?”

George barked out a laugh, ignoring the smarting in his side. “You’d be delighted to put us both out of our misery, mate.”

“George.”

George’s eyes travelled from the serious look on Max’s face, down to the tautness of his shoulders and finally to his fists clenched at his sides, trembling ever so slightly. It was hard to take Max’s anger too seriously with that cute lisp of his.

He heaved out a sigh. Everything ached. He wondered if he would bleed to death soon. He was too scared to check the wound.

“Clickers.” He finally said, averting Max’s gaze but aware of its intensity boring into his skull. “A hoard of them. I needed to get away as fast as possible, y’know they’re some speedy motherfuckers. Leapt through a broken window and got a shard slice through me.”

Max didn’t say anything. The silence was resounding; George could hear the blood rushing to his ears, his heart pounding in his eardrums, and Max’s quick, soft breaths filling the space.

And then—

“You fucking idiot. Would it kill you to be careful so I don’t have to worry about you all the time?”

George snapped his head up, equal parts incredulous and exasperated at the scowl on Max’s face. Max turned around, walking away from him in swift steps to rummage through his backpack. When George saw him carrying the first aid kit towards him, he felt his frustration subside.

Max didn’t utter a word as he carefully goaded George into removing his hand from the wound. His expression didn’t change, giving nothing away to the severity of it. George decided to do himself a favour and not look down.

“Take off your shirt.” Max ordered. It was pointless when before George could even move a hand, Max began to do it himself.

George flustered at the action, the proximity, then flushed redder at the realization that Max’s touch was evoking such a reaction from him when he was teetering the line of death.

Max worked silently, disinfecting the wound before bandaging it up, only opening his mouth to tell George to stop moving so much at every violent jerk of his body from the pain.

“Mate, I’m trying, but it fucking hurts!”

Max looked up at him then rolled his eyes. “Your fault for being a fucking idiot.”

“Fuck you.”

A hint of a smile played at the corners of Max’s lips. George tried to relax as much as he could now that he wasn’t in any immediate danger. Rather, he was quite safe. Besides, he was a little distracted as he watched Max. He was aware of how blatantly he was staring at Max’s concentrated face, but Max was kind enough to not call him out for it.

“I wouldn’t be happy doing that.” Max said suddenly.

George didn’t know when he’d closed his eyes, but they fly open, a little dazed and confused as he looked at Max. Max didn’t look back, still working away at his wound, but continued.

“Putting you out of your misery. If you got bit.”

George’s heart had finally settled a little but at Max’s words, almost a whisper between them, has the muscle galloping in his chest. He glanced down, notices how Max’s hands are shaking a little as they carefully work at his wound.

“Wouldn’t be less miserable yourself?” George said.

“Such an idiot, Georgie.”

There was something uncharacteristically fond about the way he said it that had George’s eyes widening in disbelief.

“Since when were you such a romantic, Maxy? Thought you hated me.”

George expected a quip back, perhaps even annoyance. Instead, Max looked up at him, the hard set of his jaw relaxed, eyes softened and gleaming under the dim amber glow of the dissipating sunlight piercing through the gaps of the boarded window.

“Since we ended up together in a zombie apocalypse, maybe.”

George only realized his jaw went slack when his tongue started to feel like sandpaper. He closed his mouth shut with a click of his teeth, in his mind a deluge of emotion. Some old, some new. All of them insanely complicated, as it always was when it came to Max.

He thought about the irony of it all, the first person he’d find after the world had essentially gone to shit being the guy he always butt heads with on and off the track. He missed racing, the controlled thrill, the passion, the competition. In a world now overrun by more zombies than living humans, George only had his feet to run and keep him alive. Running into Max was an accident, and staying together to keep each other alive was only convenient.

He wondered, when had it become the goal to keep each other alive and not to keep themselves alive?

“You’d rather live on in misery with me then?” George said after a long silence.

Max’s lips curled up, something feline-like in its quality.

“Misery loves company.”

George would laugh, but the sound hitched in his throat when Max suddenly cupped his cheek.

They locked gazes. George swallowed down his nerves, his disbelief that this was happening. That Max Verstappen, three time formula one world champion, his biggest rival on the track since the day George started racing, the man who rarely even looked at George without any cameras around—Max was leaning towards him, head tilted ever so slightly, breath ghosting over George’s lips.

George’s eyes flutter closed at the press of warmth against him.

Kissing Max Verstappen felt just as good as it used to whenever he beat him on the track.

Kissing Max Verstappen made George want to try and keep going despite the inevitable doom the world was heading towards.

Kissing Max, the softness of his lips despite the rough slide of his cracked skin, the heat of his palm bleeding into his cheek, the pain in his side now bandaged and forgotten…kissing Max felt like misery.

Misery in its impermanence.

In its bittersweetness.

In the way it made George forget he was ever miserable to begin with.

A/N : hello hello i do plan to post the second part of the soulmate au very soon! But i asked for a prompt from bestie and she delivered and then happened hehe hope yall enjoy this little drabble. Also! I would love to get prompts in my asks, so feel free to send any with what ship you’d like, and i’ll try my best to write them out! Can be dialogue, trope or word prompts. Thanks for reading <33

[yuurei20]

Twisted Wonderland: the Novel. Ace Apologizes.

After a difficult first day of school Yuuya is awoken by Ace, who is asking to spend the night after stealing a tart at Heartslabyul.

Important note: just moments earlier Yuuya tells Ace that if he apologizes from the heart, Riddle will forgive him for stealing.

--

“‘I’ll let you stay, so you’re gonna have to pay me in ten cans of tuna.’

‘Okay, we have a deal.’

‘A friend~!’ The Ramshackle ghosts dart through a wall and into the room, flying about in delight.

‘So much life in Ramshackle Dorm! I never thought I'd see the day.’

‘Shut it! Stop appearin’ outta no where like that!’

Grim bats at the air as if warding off insects; his usual chasing of the ghosts has begun.

Watching the spirited interactions between Grim and the ghosts from a slight distance, Yuuya hears a conversational ‘Hey’ from Ace, to catch his attention.

Yuuya looks over with a start only to find Ace already facing him, his features distorted into a difficult expression.

‘Oh, sorry—what is it, Ace-kun?’

‘Are you still mad at me?’

‘Eh?’ Yuuya blinks. ‘What do you mean?’

‘You know. For before. Come on, in front of the Great Seven statues, when we met for the first time.’

Yuuya’s heart skips a beat. He remembers, but he has been trying so hard to forget.

Trying to forget how Ace deceived them by approaching in such a friendly manner. How his hopes had been crushed by Ace’s mockery. How Ace had looked at him and said, ‘So boring.’ His cruel laughter. 

Yuuya does not know what to say. It is not that he is angry. But he is afraid. He has no idea how to interact with someone who is this straightforward.

What can Ace be plotting by asking a question like that, at a time like this? Yuuya steals a glance at Ace’s downcast face, but he wears no expression. No matter how he turns the question over in his mind, Yuuya cannot think of how he is meant to answer.

But if he doesn’t respond fast enough, Ace will probably get confused and follow up with ‘Why can’t you just let it go?’

It is hard to tell what Ace himself thinks as he watches Yuuya’s silent panic. Ace looks down at his feet and coughs.

‘I was wrong.’

‘What?’ Yuuya asks again; Ace has spoken so gently that Yuuya does not believe he has heard what he thinks he’s heard. 

‘Oh, come on.’ Ace sharply raises his eyes. ‘I’m saying, I was wrong. I might have said some horrible things to you because I didn’t know your situation. All I heard was there was someone in the school who doesn’t even have any magic, so I thought you’d forced your way in or something, while the rest of us all had to get in on our own merit. I thought it wasn’t fair, so I got a little pissed off.’

The words leave Ace in a rush, fast and awkward, and then he hangs his head. ‘I’m sorry.’

Then Ace lifts his head again just slightly, giving Yuuya a glance.

‘…if you apologize then you get forgiven, right?’

It is such a clever move that Yuuya cannot help but laugh. 

‘Yeah. It’s ok. I mean, I’m not actually mad. Not even a little.’

Ace’s words had been malicious and cruel, but he wasn’t wrong. That’s what had been so terrifying. But now, Yuuya realizes that Ace had just been acting overly defensive towards a boy his own age. 

Looking back, hasn’t Ace been expressing concern for him, too? Even just this morning, but Yuuya had suspected him of some hidden agenda and gotten so nervous—Yuuya feels bad about it now. What must Ace have thought of him, seeing him so frightened?

As he reflects, Yuuya realizes that there is something important that he has failed to do as well.

‘I wanted to say, too—thank you for saving me yesterday.’

Now it is Yuuya who lowers his head. He has not been able to thank Ace properly for saving him in the nick of time from that monster. 

‘If it weren’t for you, Ace-kun, I don’t think I’d even be here right now.’

‘This isn’t some academy for spoiled rich kids, you know—just Ace is fine.’

‘…Ace. Thank you.’

Ace smiles and raises his head, and his cheeks look a little flushed. Much different from his usual airs, he seems almost childlike.

’So we’re square, and I am guilt-free about staying here tonight.’

‘Hey!’ Grim holds up a pillow given to him by the ghosts, pressing it against Ace with both paws.

‘Just tellin’ you now, every room except the one where we sleep is buried in dust, so you’re findin’ your own space on your own.’ 

‘That’s the kind of attitude you take with visitors? Why don’t you just give up your space? Yuu is different, but you can sleep anywhere.’

‘Nah, I’m a genius--can’t sleep anywhere but in a bed.’

‘Liar! You slept like a baby through our whole potions class today.’

‘On your first day at school!?’ The ghosts angrily exclaim at Grim, and the lounge of Ramshackle Dorm grows lively once again. Ace’s cheerful personality brightens the whole atmosphere. It is like his depression of mere moments ago never actually happened: it is as clouds have parted, and Yuuya finds himself laughing.

Nothing that happens to him ever seems to make sense, but it may be that he is moving forward—just a little bit. If that’s the case, he might be able to get through tomorrow, too.

When Yuuya goes back to sleep, it is with a comfortably warm feeling."

[actuallykiwi]

Don't Let Go

Ho, ho, ho @livnimbe, I'm your @portal-secret-santa!

For your gift, I wrote you a little ficlet about the final battle with android!cores... and a few twisties ;)

I hope you enjoy! Merry Christmas <3

"You like revenge, right? Everybody likes revenge! Well, let's go get some!" GLaDOS prompted, shaking her little fist in the air. Being a little shorter than a foot tall, clad in a potato sack and one small finger jammed into a computer port, it was hard to take her seriously. But those glowing yellow eyes were filled with murderous determination.

No, that's not what was making Chell nervous. As the elevator raced upwards, there was one thing she was most apprehensive about seeing again: Him.

Chell didn't even look down as she stepped off the platform and into the chamber. He was descending from the ceiling, perched on the console like a king on his throne, blue eyes pulsating with the power coursing through him. "Welcome, TO MY LAIR!" Wheatley's gangly arms outstretched with pride.

This wasn't Wheatley. This wasn't her Wheatley. This wasn't the Wheatley she spent weeks exploring the facility with. The one she let share stories about the scientists over the campfires. The one that made her feel less afraid because of just how terrified he was and how she had to be the brave one. The one that was always encouraging her, even with seemingly almost no way out. Because he believed, no, knew if anyone could find a way, she would.

This wasn't that Wheatley. What he had become was completely foreign to her, nothing like her friend. Even as he ranted about the fires, the neurotoxin, and the bombs, even as he boasted about killing her, Chell was hesitating.

But in Aperture, hesitation meant death.

So though it hurt, she readied her portal gun and darted as the bombs began to cascade. The whole time it was his voice taunting her, trying to distract her. She had been through this before, but last time it was different. She was ready to destroy GLaDOS. But Wheatley...

Chell dove behind a pipe transporting conversion gel. As the last bomb struck it, everything become white and covered in the portal surface. Just what she needed. But the realization hit her. She had to hit Wheatley with the bombs.

She grimaced as she took her place on the far side of the room and let the bombs follow her, popping a portal behind him. When the next wave started, she popped the other below her and dove out of the way. She couldn't look as it made contact with his back. Wheatley cried out and her heart ached. But she had no time to feel remorse. He was temporarily knocked out, and GLaDOS was bringing the first corrupted core in.

From above the catwalk, a chittering android with orange eyes softer than GLaDOS was cradling a rocket ship toy. The metal arm he was dangling from released him, and Chell leapt across the catwalk to catch him. Luckily, these hard-light androids were primarily composed of sunlight, so they were very warm, and very lightweight. Which helped, as they were all the same height or taller than Chell.

The catwalk collapsed and splattered repulsion gel, leaving her a bouncy blue path to Wheatley. With the space core bumbling about galaxies to her, Chell sprung to Wheatley's incapacitated body and latched the core's back to an exposed port.

Space core was wiggling and playfully parading his rocket around as Wheatley came back to, stretching as if Chell had just hit him with a fly swatter. She couldn't lie and say she wasn't a bit relieved, but it was time for the next one.

The second time she hit him with the bomb, from underneath him, Chell could see the scorch marks it was leaving on his hard-light body. She was now angry that she was having to do this. Angry at him for making her, for this being the only way. And the next core was no help.

When she caught the fact core, it perched itself on her awkwardly like a cat, spewing some nonsense about cats, in fact. She almost threw his lanky body at Wheatley dead-on, but couldn't risk missing the port.

Wheatley was now furious. She had seen him frustrated before, back before he changed, but this was unadulterated rage. Whatever had possessed him truly wanted to kill her. If Chell knew what fear was anymore, she would probably feel it then. But she pressed on and portaled a bomb to him once more. Sparks from the power withdrawal and damage to the console were beginning to sprinkle the floor.

So, hard-light had synthetic pain, apparently. Rick, the adventure core, was an odd mixture of pride and shame when being carried by Chell. His attempts at flirting had no affect on her, but it was him stroking her cheek that set her off. She flung Rick off of her and jammed the butt of the portal gun between his legs. Rick perfectly simulated how a man would react to this, and with his perversion out of the way, Chell slung him onto one of Wheatley's ports upside-down.

Wheatley was twitching periodically when he came back online. Much to Chell's relief, the bodiless announcer voice came on to initiate the core transfer. GLaDOS appeared from where the elevator was, her tiny body eager to get this over with.

Chell was tired. But she knew Wheatley would argue, and he did, and she would have to press the stalemate button. However, a fire had been started in the Stalemate Resolution Chamber, and the sprinkler system turned on. All of the white portal surface gel washed away, back to the stale grey steel of the chamber. All, but one.

Wheatley hadn't noticed that he had created an umbrella over himself and left one small patch of gel beneath him. Or maybe he had. If Chell had looked closer at the chamber, glimpsed what was behind the fence around the button, she would have seen the bombs. But exhaustion, frustration, and grief had caused a momentary lapse in her cautious judgment. She created a portal to the button and leapt through.

And was sent flying in a fiery frenzy back into the chamber.

Everything burned. All she felt was fire. She smelled burning skin. Her vision was distorted. And she could hear Wheatley's unbridled fury as she somehow managed to survive the blast. If you could call it surviving.

She had no strength left. Even the fight with GLaDOS had not hurt this bad. But maybe the pain wasn't all physical. Her friend, her only friend in her small, bland world, was doing his best to kill her. She trusted him, helped him, and he spat at her and called her selfish. Any hope she had had diminished. She was done. She painstakingly turned to roll on her back, every inch of her body either simmering or sore from the fight. Her only friend was screaming at her, calling her worthless, wishing she were dead and sharing her "all hope is lost" sentiment.

The ceiling crumbled above her as the facility neared its end. And there was the moon. Beautiful Luna. Bright, shining, and huge in the abyss of the sky. Had it always been so big? Just how long had it been since she'd seen it?

And then a thought occurred to her. The moon. Moon rocks. Moon rocks make a great portal conductor. Portals...

It was crazy. A crazy, girl-at-the-end-of-her-rope thought. But at this point, what choice did she have? Despite her body's protests, she raised the portal gun at the face of Luna, and fired. The recoil of the gun slammed her further onto the crumbling floor, nearly knocking her unconscious, but she was awake enough to see what happened next.

There was a moment of utter quiet. And then the chamber became a vacuum. Everything that wasn't nailed to the building, even some things that were, were now being sucked through the portal beneath Wheatley. This included Chell. Wheatley was struggling to keep himself attached to his throne, but the entire console was fighting, a mess of wire and metal thrashing in the vortex. Chell found herself suddenly flying right towards him, and reached for absolutely anything to hold onto. She found the collar of his shirt and clung on for dear life. There was an intense pulling, and then there they were.

Chell was clinging onto Wheatley's shirt in the facility, while her body was flailing in outer space.

Object were being hurled around them, knocking them this way and that, but despite having little strength left, covered in wounds, and on the brink of losing consciousness, Chell clung to him. "Let go! I can fix this! I can still fix this!" He yelled over the vacuum.

"I already fixed it!" GLaDOS had metal arms reaching through the portal. One had a hold of Chell's waist, "and you are NOT coming back!" and the other was about to cut Wheatley loose.

There was a moment. A brief, sudden moment, when Chell met Wheatley's eyes and the deafening sound of the vacuum faded away. She no longer saw the monstrous, maniacal machine that wanted her dead. She saw fear. He was afraid. He was the same tall, dorky, chatty android that showed her around the facility. That saved her from her sleep. That helped calm her down after nightmares by just speaking nonsense. That wanted her freedom just as badly as she did. He was still there. Buried, possessed by something he had no control over. And she was about to lose him to oblivion.

Even if it meant her death, even if it was a dream and he was really gone, she made a decision. Just as the metal arm reached his connection, she wrapped herself around him and held on with all the strength she had left.

The arm stopped. There was a pause, then something that could be perceived as a mechanical sigh. Then a jolt as the arm around Chell pulled back into the portal, and the portal closed.

They both collapsed to the ground, and GLaDOS ripped Wheatley's connection from the console. He cried out and curled up next to Chell, who was slowly fading. "You.. you saved me." He whispered.

"You really do have brain damage, don't you?" GLaDOS's tall and slender original android form stood over them, Wheatley's ripped cables in hand.

Chell could only see blurry shapes, their voices sounding a mile away. Everything was going numb with pain, but she felt a hand. A warm, gentle hand cradled her head. "Hey, you're gonna be okay, luv, you're gonna be just fine..." Before her consciousness left her, she saw gently glowing blue eyes watching her, not pulsating ones. And she knew.

That was her Wheatley.

[revenant-ao3]

The Hounds of Fate - Ch 8

Read on Ao3: here

A loud bang drags Shoto back to sluggish consciousness. An acute pain pulsates through his head and down his neck in tempo with his heart, leaving him sensitive to even the slightest of movements. How it’s managed to make his teeth ache is a mystery, one he’s extremely displeased about. A groan dies in his throat as he shifts on his mat to sit upright. At first, he doesn’t know what’s happening, barely even knows where he is. What…?

Then another bang.

His eyes widen minutely as he scrambles to his feet, driven by instinct and muscle memory. It’s frustrating how he nearly trips over nothing and has to catch himself on the wall to keep from collapsing back down. Shit, this is worse than I thought.

Shouts seep through the wall, hard to make out at first, but when Shoto presses an ear to the door, he can faintly grasp the situation. There’s the sound of grunts and impact, something or someone hits a wall.

“—n’t erase this,” comes a soft, serpentine voice.

Even amid this godawful haze, his mind latches onto the word. Erase. His heart races for a different reason now.

Eraserhead?

Something warm springs to life in his chest and he feels a relief unlike anything he’s ever experienced before. It leaves him nearly shaken.

He came. It’s something no hero had ever done for him before, finding him in his moment of weakness and pain and offering him a saving hand. He’s here now.

There’s no denying the hope that takes root in his heart. It finds itself nearly suffocated by fear. Fear that Eraserhead will suffer just as these people have suffered because of Shoto. He hasn’t been fast enough or smart enough to escape, which brought the Eraserhead here. And like they thought, these bastards prepared a guard force meant to counter the hero.

If they get him...He cuts the thought off ruthlessly. That won’t happen.

Because Eraserhead is skilled and far more intelligent than Shoto. He wouldn’t walk himself into a trap like the teen did without being prepared. He wouldn’t get caught and make other people save him.

A pang of protectiveness sparks to life. Eraserhead may not need rescuing, but that doesn’t mean Shoto can’t be useful. (It’s the only way he can prove his worth, he knows this. Useful, useful, he can be useful.)

He takes a step back and takes a deep breath. It’s impossible to tell where anyone is on the other side of this wall, so launching a big attack may be detrimental. If I can warn him, though, then he can prepare himself.

Shoto sends out a small line of ice that darts under the door and hopes Eraserhead notices it.

“What the—” someone starts, clearly not the hero, but is cut off by what Shoto presumes is an attack.

“Heads up.”

The callout is loud, louder than any had been thus far, and very clearly Eraserhead’s gruff voice. Just a moment later, there’s a bang on his door and the sound of someone gasping in pain. Shoto almost smiles, knowing exactly what to do.

He wastes no time in following up on that crash and sends ice careening forward at the door with unforgiving force. It collides with the metal like a crack of thunder and sends it flying off the hinges before the door is frozen in the air. Along with it, one of those masked guards gets caught in the torrent like an insect stuck in amber.

It doesn’t stop there. Like his quirk was backlogged from disuse and aching to release for his own protection, it surges out, nearly spearing the ceiling with its unforgiving spikes and catching the other guard that scrambles away from the deluge.

Shoto doesn’t have much time to relish in his vindication because as the cool breeze blows back at him, he realizes something important.

He’s not wearing a mask.

It’s something he’s grown accustomed to as of late, this uncomfortable exposure. But hearing the hero, knowing he lingers just a breath away, brings back that realization in startling clarity. He feels exposed all over again. Panic makes a meal of his nerves.

Like a toddler trying to hide from punishment, Shoto hides his face in his hands and turns away from the hole he made in the wall. He curls in on himself like it’ll protect him from being noticed. There’s nowhere for him to go, nowhere to escape. He’s never wanted so desperately for someone to come to him and also leave him alone in his life. This conflicting array of emotions certainly doesn’t help the headache pounding away in his head like a drum.

It’s quiet as he fights this breakdown, save for the sound of the second guard struggling to free themselves. That’s cut brutally short by the sound of a painful strike and a groan. Then, cracking ice as footsteps near him.

“There you are,” Eraserhead says in lieu of a greeting, voice as sleep-graveled as Shoto remembers. It almost sounds like a sigh accompanies the words. Before he can get any closer Shoto frantically holds up his right hand, still protectively hiding his face with the other.

“Don’t,” he starts, voice hoarse from overuse and raw with his plea. “My mask is gone. Please, don’t.”

Eraser can’t see. He can’t. If he does, then there really will be no one left for him, no one truly and unconditionally safe. Shoto couldn’t even have his own sister without the threat of Endeavor looming over him. The moment Eraserhead sees and understands, he’ll act. Things will change and he’ll be lost again. That brings a sense of pain with it that Murmur could not hope to replicate, even at his most ruthless.

The desperation stops the hero in his tracks and Eraserhead goes quiet. Then the footsteps backtrack. Shoto’s heart skips a beat. He has to resist the urge to whip around, to beg the hero not to leave even though he knows, he knows Eraserhead wouldn’t abandon him. But he needn’t worry, because the hero halts once more just outside the hole.

A moment later something clatters near his feet. He peeks down, careful not to expose himself, and spies the white kitsune mask of the guard.

“That should work for now,” Eraserhead says calmly as Shoto gingerly picks up the mask with trembling fingers.

He’s reminded all over again of the hero’s goodness. Shoto had started growing frighteningly accustomed to the dehumanizing talks from Murmur and his own traitorous mind. Even if he knows logically that Eraser wouldn’t be so callous, that he’s respected Shoto’s need for privacy in the past, it doesn’t keep those invasive voices at bay that tell him, but this time will be different. He’ll finally show his true colors.

Those true colors are nothing nefarious, and he’s been shown that time and again.

As Shoto slips that mask on, ill-fitting and clearly tailor-made for that thug, he feels like he can breathe a genuine sigh of relief for the first time in a long time. He misses his old one, shitty as it may have been. This isn’t quite the same, but the separation between himself and the world adds a layer of ease he curls in on.

His shoulders untense and he straightens up. When he turns around to face the hero, he finds Eraser standing in the hall, weapon at the ready and posture alert but unthreatened, as if he’s the guard now. A lump feels like it's lodged in his throat as he watches the man for a moment.

Physical affection is something of a stranger to him, but he feels the bizarre desire for contact pulls at him. Maybe a handshake of thanks or one of those shoulder pats he sees friends do? Whatever it is, he brushes it off. Definitely not the time or place for him to get emotional. (He also doubts the sentiment would be returned. The hero doesn’t exactly exude touchy-feely energy.)

He steps through the hole and glances both ways but sees the floor startlingly empty of opposition. Deja vu. That bodes ill for the duo, but he finds it hard to drudge up any more fear. Like a car that’s hit empty, his reserves have been tapped out. Maybe it’s the confidence of having Eraserhead’s comforting and steady presence at his side, or maybe Murmur truly did crack something fundamental in his mind. (Oh, Murmur should dearly hope not, for that fundamental piece is what’s keeping him from a painful arctic prison.)

Eraserhead drops his defensive stance for a moment at his appearance and looks his way. A degree of tension leaves his posture.

“Are you injured?” he asks. It comes out clinical but it still feels like he’s shooting the teen a scrutinizing look under his goggles. Seeing that Shoto’s moving without problem, he tips his head toward the exit.

Shoto follows without question.

“No, I’m fine,” he says, even if his rough voice sounds anything but.

The feeling of being examined in microbursts hits him again. It feels an awful lot like Eraserhead doesn’t believe him. Understandable, certainly, but this doubt prods at that tender part of him that already screams of his inefficacy. Shoto sighs under his stolen mask.

“Really, I am. They’ve been trying to brainwash me, but the quirk in question is weak. Likely meant to be used over time,” he says, voice markedly neutral. Just mentioning that bastard’s quirk causes a trickle of rage to simmer underneath his skin.

Even though Murmur’s been tearing through his mind like an unruly toddler in a toy store, Shoto fully believes his assessment. It’s undeniably dangerous, but only over time. If it were stronger, Shoto wouldn’t be able to resist it, especially after such forceful use of it. He imagines that’d be different if he remained in the man’s clutches, but overall? Not that special. That may account for his envy of my quirk; an inferiority complex, perhaps? Shoto wants to scoff. Bastard.

If only Murmur didn’t target him. If only he hadn’t been so goddamn greedy. If only, if only.

It’s just unfortunate that he’s a Todoroki.

Because as the world knows – and as Dabi was so gleeful to point out – Todorokis are not known to cope with pain in healthy or passive ways. It manifests itself in flashes of brilliant ultraviolence. Violence that reaches out and mangles those closest to it.

So, it’s just so incredibly unfortunate for Murmur that he decided to kidnap Shoto because all of that pain and all of that loathing – both external and internal – have been festering and building in this time bomb he was abusing.

It was only a matter of time until that genetic rage he can’t escape burst out like the wildfire that consumed his brother. (Todoroki men can only take so many shots until their hurt turns to an unquenchable, almost maddened wrath. This is another universal constant, of that he’s certain.)

He bites down on that anger and drags it back. There’s no one here to focus it on. No one deserving, at least. So, he puts a lid on it and does his due best to ignore this pressure building in his chest. A poisonous part of him hisses, presses at his seams like his quirk wanting release.

Eraserhead grunts at Shoto’s assessment, bringing the teen back to the moment and away from volatile thoughts, though he somehow manages to make it sound dubious. Even so, he takes Shoto for his word and they head toward the stairwell.

“Other pros and law enforcement are on the way,” Eraserhead says as they breeze through the corridor.

Shoto’s heart lurches and he double-takes. (The fact that he feels such instinctual fear at the revelation, even amidst his kidnappers and torturer, only serves to feed into that tender anger nursing under his skin. Too late. They’re always too fucking late.)

“What? How long?” he asks, nearly choking on the question. He has to reign himself in after Eraserhead shoots him what he thinks is a doubtful look.

“Five minutes, give or take. I got a tip about this area and called them in after confirmation of activity,” he explains without slowing.

The reminder of Eraser’s dogged pursuit of Shoto makes that odd, warm feeling kick up tempo. It smothers some of his white-hot anger.

“Thank you, Eraser,” he says earnestly.

It’s awkward to do as he’s running, but he gives the hero the closest approximation of a bow he can while maintaining his stride. That ends up being little more than a dip of his head. Still, he hopes it gets the point across. He’s not even sure Eraserhead sees the motion since the hero doesn’t turn his head, but the slight slowing in his steps and the downward twist of his lips makes Shoto think he might have.

Odd reaction, he notes but brushes it off. This situation is hardly normal to begin with. They still have a couple floors and a couple assholes to deal with before he can begin to contemplate anything deeper than survival. (Hello, anger, he’d nearly forgotten you amidst his pleasant emotions. How unfortunate that would have been.)

“Don’t mention it,” Eraserhead says as he steps into the stairwell, ready to ascend. This floor had been empty of combatants aside from the guards, something Shoto would have found odd, had he not already broken out once.

“They’re likely convening on the main floor. It’s the tactic they used the first time I broke out,” he says as he clears the corner of the stairwell and sees no one lurking down the stairs.

Yep, just like last time. How predictable.

It’s a wonder Murmur wasn’t taken down sooner by rivals at the very least. He’s remarkably unadaptable.

“There wasn’t anyone on that floor when I first– Wait,” Eraserhead pauses and glances over his shoulder at him, subdued incredulousness taking root in his voice.“Last time you escaped?”

“It’s not hard,” he says casually as he catches up to the hero on the stairs, ensuring to keep an eye on their backs just in case. He pauses when he notices Eraserhead still staring at him blankly. What? Is it because I didn’t get out? He probably thinks I’m incompetent.

The idea that Eraserhead finds him useless or disappointing is unpleasant, but not unfair in this situation. There’s nothing he’s done to prove his aptitude otherwise. He’s made a habit of trying to disappoint authority figures, so this irksome pang in his chest throws him for a loop. He doesn’t want Eraser to give up on him, to think this rescue is unnecessary because Shoto isn’t good enough to save.

A useless tool is better discarded than taking up space, a snide voice hisses.

“They used a hostage to get me to cooperate,” he clarifies, trying to defend himself, wanting Eraser to understand he was trying to do the right thing. He just...failed. Not good enough. Not useful enough.

Eraserhead’s jaw ticks, clenches. He tucks his face into his scarf and resumes his former pace in silence. It unnerves Shoto. Useful. I can be useful.

“Sub-level three is called the kennels. It’s where they keep their victims,” he says in a rush.

This gets Eraserhead’s attention. He tilts his head in Shoto’s direction to keep the information flowing. His face remains frustratingly unreadable.

“Sub-level two is the showroom. That’s where sales are made. More kennels are on that floor,” Shoto continues then slows for a moment, confused. His head spikes with pain and he bites back a groan.

He doesn’t quite know how he knows that information. It’s in those fleeting maybe-memories that occupy that murky period between torture sessions. Shoto nearly trembles at the thought that he may have witnessed a sale, may have stood by and passively let it happen because he could barely hold his head up or remember his name. God, he hopes against hope he’d only been taken there as a warning.

(He hopes the memories stay murky. He doesn’t want to know the truth, he really doesn’t.)

A grimace contorts his features as he tries to compartmentalize that thought. He picks up his pace and ignores the look Eraserhead is sending him. If he pretends nothing’s wrong, maybe things will start to go right.

“I’m uncertain about sub-level one. Potentially their bunking quarters or monitoring station?” he carries on as he forcefully directs his attention to what’s immediately important. “The leader is a man named Murmur. Suggestion quirk. Appears to hire outside help for asset acquirement.”

When he wraps up his brief and lackluster report, he falls silent. It’s unusual that he’d seek approval for something so mundane, but he’s hoping Eraserhead finds use in his observations. The hero brings a hand up to his comm unit and relays the information Shoto gave to whoever he’s in contact with, then he gives Shoto a nod.

The nervousness that’d been thrumming in his chest dies down a little. He wants to gloat at that little voice that he isn’t a waste.

Such a good tool.

He resists the urge to punch himself in the head, knowing full well that A) Eraserhead would certainly take it out of context and make the mistaken assumption something is wrong with him, and B) it won’t shut that stupid voice up anyway.

When I get my hands on Murmur, he thinks with renewed anger and a rather large degree of humiliation, I’m going to obliterate him.

They come to a stop at the closed door leading to the main floor. Frenetic, frightful energy buzzes through his body. If this is anything like last time, there’s going to be people waiting.

Maybe another ambush for Eraser, like we first thought. Could explain why no one was there when he came in. Did they see him coming? How far out do they monitor the area? They likely started preparing the moment Eraser got close enough to the building.

Not that it’d matter, because Shoto’s here and he’ll be damned if those assholes get the satisfaction of grabbing the hero.

Shoto’s ready to burst through the door, the temperature around him dropping several degrees, but a silent hand signal from Eraser stops him in his tracks. He motions for Shoto to take the other side of the door, readying to sweep left while Eraser goes right. (The fact that the door swings left, giving Shoto more cover than Eraser, is lost on the teen.)

When Shoto takes position, he nods, ice forming at his fingertips and creeping over his shoe, nearly overflowing with the desire to be released. He places his left hand on the door, ready to throw it open so Eraser can make the first move.

“Compliant techniques first then defensive. Understand?” the hero says quietly as he prepares to breach the hall, scarf wrapped around his hands and ready to use. “Hostages take priority.”

Shoto is fairly certain he’s referring to the use-of-force continuum, something that went hand-in-hand with all those misconduct reports Endeavor would file. Personally, he thinks his father should have just laminated the damn thing and hung it above his desk as a nice reminder, but that’s just him.

He knows the basics of force protocol, that there are steps to match the escalation of the situation, but the finer details are lost on him. However, he does recognize that Eraserhead is more or less saying, Use necessary force, just don’t kill anyone.

That should be manageable, he thinks, even though his anger and hurt simmer under the surface like a volcano ready to erupt.

Somewhere, somehow, he feels like someone is snickering.

Necessary force, necessary violence.

Eraserhead counts down on his fingers before motioning to move. Shoto throws the door open, just a breath behind Eraser as the hero darts through.

The moment his eyes even register people, he’s shooting ice out. It trails forward, fast and unforgiving, leaving just enough linoleum free for Eraser to maneuver without slipping. This immediate attack startles the enemies. They’d been prepared to fight, yes, but first and foremost, they would try to manipulate the do-gooding heroes since it was tried and true. So predictable, he thinks venomously. This viciousness catches them off-guard and Shoto fully intends to capitalize on it.

His ice doesn't discriminate in who it goes for since he doesn't know who's hostile and who isn't and he certainly can't give them the time to make that distinction. Should there be a hostage, which he's betting there is, restraining them with his ice may be unpleasant, but it's not harmful and can even prove to protect them should Murmur decide to give another nasty command. It should be quick, restrain them and make the terrain disadvantageous if they evade the initial strike so Eraser can take them down. The hero can handle any non-heteromorphic quirks and Shoto can take on those he can't erase.

Clean and surgical, done before reinforcements even show.

But then he sees him. Murmur.

The bastard is there, gun in hand, just like last time as he dives out of the way of the ice.

Rage ruptures out of him like he’s severed an artery and all he sees is red, red, red.

“You,” he snarls and throws himself forward, propelled by a burst of ice.

Murmur looks at him with wide eyes. An expression not unlike cornered prey takes over his face. He moves his gun to threaten the nearest person regardless of whether they're friends or foes, but he's forced to dodge again when Shoto throws a spear of ice at him like he’s trying to impale the man. Shoto follows hot on its trail with another burst of ice that launches him over two thugs and the desk Murmur tries to hide behind. He barely misses cracking his head on the ceiling in his haste but he doesn’t care.

When he lands, it’s nearly on top of the now frightened man. Ice bursts from his hand as he grabs Murmur by the shirt and freezes him from chin to toe. A visceral, violent reaction is dragged out of Shoto the moment Murmur opens his mouth to talk. He thinks of the pain and the torture, of all those people he’s hurt, all the people he broke and sold like toys.

Red, red, red.

“Now, S—”

“Shut up!” he screams as he punches the man square in the mouth but it doesn’t satisfy the anger in him, doesn’t chase away the fear or soothe the pain. He punches again, knuckles coated in a layer of spiking ice. Again and again.

He forgets the battle waging behind him, the ambush set for two, as he explodes. He forgets about Eraser, the hostages, the incoming heroes. Everything.

“You want my quirk so bad?” he snarls, only further angered by the terror in Murmur’s eyes, like he has a right to be afraid. This is what he wanted, after all. “Take it!”

Ice bursts out of him and floods the room. It races down the hall like a tidal wave, consuming those in its path that weren’t quick or agile enough to avoid it. Eraserhead manages to swing himself above the surge, but only just. The thugs are caught and submerged, lost in glistening tombs. The hero tries to look at him but the desk and pillars of ice obscure his view. He calls out something but it goes unheard amidst the thundering, cracking quirk and Shoto's own fury drumming in his ears.

It swells, crashing through windows and racing up the building until it becomes an arctic fortress.

It’s still not enough. Not for Shoto.

Red, red, red.

He keeps punching, even when the man is silent and more blood than man. Shoto wants to keep going until there’s nothing resembling a man left. Wants to put his hand on Murmur’s mouth and choke him with his quirk until it freezes him from the inside out so the bastard can never speak again. He shouldn’t even breathe.

Shoto’s ripped out of his savage trance when something wraps around him and literally drags him away from Murmur.

“That’s enough!” Eraserhead yells out to him as he holds his capture weapon tight.

“Let me go,” he hisses as he struggles to free himself. His ice fails to heed his command and he wants to yowl in anger.

“No, you’re going to kill him,” Eraserhead continues as he pulls Shoto further from his target.

Good. He deserves it.

Shoto continues to fight his bindings. His eyes burn and it feels like he’s choking on air as he throws himself forward. Anger turns to desperation and he fights like he needs this to survive, like Murmur is the one attacking him.

“Let me do it! Please, let me do it,” he begs, voice breaking.

“I didn’t come here just so I can arrest you,” Eraserhead says, voice softer this time, still gritty, still commanding, but there’s a shocking undercurrent of a plea threading its way through his words.

It brings Shoto to heel. That blood-sick haze fades and he’s left looking at the devastation wrought by his hand. His entire body trembles like an earthquake, though he isn’t sure if it’s from quirk exhaustion or emotional exhaustion. Either way, he feels a moment off of toppling over.

The building is more ice than anything now and Murmur? Fuck. It’s hard to see his face beneath the blood and displaced teeth, but he’s going to need a hospital fast, probably even surgery. If Eraserhead hadn’t stopped him, if he’d continued just a little bit more, then Murmur would have died. Fuck, fuck. I almost—

His red-soaked hands tremble as he stops resisting. He stares, aghast at his own brutality. What he’d done to that thug who tried to harm Ishikawa is merciful in comparison as Murmur rattles out ragged, uneven breaths. It looks like a snapshot straight from a crime scene. He doesn’t even notice when his bindings loosen and fall away until Eraser is next to him. His expression is hidden beneath his scarf but it can’t be good.

Shoto feels horrible and grotesque. Eraser doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to because Shoto knows. He knows he’s a monster. A violent, ugly thing that can’t do anything but hurt.

The hero is quiet as he approaches the trapped and wounded man to make sure he isn’t on the verge of actually dying. Seeing the way the hero tends to the villain only highlights the disparity between the two. Shoto opens his mouth, ready to apologize, but the words don’t come out.

Is he really sorry for this? Sorry for bringing Murmur to the brink? He hates himself for it and for what he’s become but that isn’t the same as remorse. That only makes him feel worse. What a violent, unruly weapon.

Just then, Eraserhead’s radio crackles to life. Reinforcements. I have to get out of here, fast. Especially after the shitshow he just created. They’ll haul him off without a second thought for his actions.

While the hero is distracted, Shoto makes his move. It’s only the cracking of glass that alerts the hero of his actions. Shoto’s out of a broken window before Eraser even realizes he’s moving.

“Wait!” the hero calls out, but Shoto doesn’t hesitate.

The teen launches himself onto the neighboring roof, desperate to get out of Eraser’s sight.

I need to get away before I snap on him too.

And he will, won’t he? He’d failed to consider his presence when unleashing his quirk, could have easily overrun the pro with ice, and wouldn’t have noticed until his tantrum was over. When the anger pushes too high or Eraser pushes too hard, it’ll come out all over again. Because he’s violent, temperamental; a Todoroki through-and-through.

Just like him, a rancid, rasping voice laughs.

It’s what happens when there’s no one to direct me, his subconscious supplies. A weapon without a handler is a danger to society.

He wants to slam his head into a wall, and very nearly does when he almost misses his next jump. If only these thoughts would shut up.

Shoto isn’t even sure where he’s going. He just knows he has to go. Like a hunted animal, his instincts lead him away to hopeful safety. He runs on autopilot as he fights back against these mocking voices.

It’s not much of a surprise that instinct draws him back to the burnt-down husk of a convenience store. His heart cracks further as he walks through the remains like it’s a sacred burial site. When he enters the office he’d once called his room, he nearly folds down onto the floor. Nothing is salvageable. Nothing is even recognizable. It’s all charred rubble and ash.

Slowly, almost gently, he kneels and picks up something. What it used to be, he doesn’t know. He clenches it tightly in his fist and bows, forehead touching the ground in prostration as he apologizes to the ghosts in the room.

Sorry. I’m so sorry.

He doesn't know what he's apologizing for, but his heavy soul needs this repentance. His breath hitches and a sob catches in his throat, but tears still don’t find their way out of his eyes. He’s stuck in a perpetual state of almost-shattered.

Shoto remains there, kowtowing to no one and trying to keep from falling apart. Things had been good, great even. He’d finally started to feel like the future was golden, that things were looking up. He’d even made plans, actual solid plans on what he wanted to do, and who he wanted to be without anyone else’s opinion. And then…

His stomach roils as he thinks of Murmur, of the obsession in his eyes, the anger and greed, of lost memories, and just how violently Shoto responded. And that was without prompting. What would I do if he actually controlled me?

He almost retches at the notion.

The rubble in his hand drops, leaving streaks of ash on his pale hands. He cradles his head like he had back in his cell. I’m free now. I’m free. I’m safe.

So, why doesn’t it feel like it? Why does he still feel these disgusting emotions? Why does he still hear Murmur’s voice?

He loses time again, but this time it’s all his own fault. It’s only the crunch of steps next to him that brings him back to the present. Even then, he can’t bring himself to care who it could be. If it’s another criminal, they can strike him down, he doesn’t give a fuck.

“Figured you’d be here.”

Eraserhead.

Savior, saint, and precisely who Shoto doesn’t want to see right now. It’s almost disappointing when instead of someone coming to attack, he’s treated to a calmer, kinder presence. Shoto doesn’t respond immediately. He remains looking at the floor, at nothing.

Done with the arrests already? How long has it been? Maybe my information proved useful after all.

Instead of satisfaction, he’s filled with a deeper sense of desolation.

“Why?” he asks, voice hoarse even though he hasn’t shed a single tear.

“It’s rational that you’d—”

Shoto shakes his head and cuts him off, “Why can’t I just be a person?”

That brings the hero up short. He gets quiet, shifts, and then crouches down beside Shoto.

“You are,” he says firmly.

The teen scoffs under his mask and finally sits up. His posture is strong, despair leaking away to irritation. Can’t live without it. Always come back to anger, don’t I? He hates himself a little more.

“I’m not,” he says sharply. When he turns toward the hero, he notices how the hero has grown stiff. “All my life, I’ve been nothing but a tool, a weapon, for other people to use. It’s always my quirk, never me. Always their aspirations, never mine.”

His voice tapers off, caught between resignation and rage. He grabs that piece of charred rubble back up and freezes it in his hand like it can prove his point. Then, he throws it at the wall and watches in dissatisfaction as it shatters into pieces.

The voices are silent, no hissing or jeering, no trying to convince him as he finally accepts their truth.

“I wasn’t born out of love or even an accident. I was made purely to be used. I’m not a person, I never was,” he says, the resignation winning out. It’s hard to fight back when he knows it’s true. His parents didn’t want a son. Hell, he’s not even sure his mom wanted him at all. Endeavor just wanted a fucking weapon. Well, he got it.

A heavy silence weighs down the atmosphere and Shoto would find it hard to care on a good day. Now, he just hopes it drives the hero away. Leave. Just leave, he wants to beg. I’ll hurt you or you’ll hurt me.

But Eraserhead remains a steadfast presence at his side. After a moment longer of this unbearable silence, the hero speaks up.

“Would I be talking to you if that were true?” he asks. It’s almost conversational, so different from the desolate and aching way Shoto spoke. It does wonders in dragging Shoto from his spiral.

He tilts his head as he turns the question over in his head, but no matter which way he looks, it doesn’t quite click.

“I don’t understand,” he finally relents.

Eraserhead levels him with a flat look but there’s no heat in it. His patience remains temperate.

“I don’t waste time on irrational things. Would I spend my time talking to an object?” he clarifies.

Shoto blinks beneath his mask.

“No?” he answers, his coming out more a question than Eraserhead’s own did.

The hero nods and continues.

“Would I waste my time talking to a tool?”

The teen grimaces, knowing now where this is going and only just resists the urge to sigh.

“No,” he says instead, eyeing the hero uncertainly.

“Correct,” Eraserhead starts before tipping his head in consideration. “Would you consider your brother less than a person because your father decided to create him for his own gain?”

Shoto’s grimace tightens at the reminder of Toya. He almost forgot he told Eraserhead about him. While he didn’t know his eldest brother, he knows well enough that he’d never consider him in such a dehumanizing manner. That’s different. He’s different.

But he can’t figure out why. They were both made for the same purpose, both started down the same path. But Toya’s still different. He wasn’t like me.

Because he wasn’t perfect, right? Not a good enough weapon for Dad?

He shakes his head, almost rabid in the motion as he tries to throw that gross, invasive voice away. All he ever wanted growing up was to play with his brothers and sister, to get the chance to hang out with Toya. His father had been viciously adamant against it. Shoto refuses to let these nasty, parasitic thoughts poison his memories of his brother, few as they may be. (Oh, if only he knew.)

“No,” he says firmly, trying to shut that voice up.

Eraserhead hums.

“And would you consider Murmur’s other victims objects because he decided to sell them?” he asks, gaze piercing Shoto.

“No,” he responds, almost horrified at the implication. He’d never – never – see them in such a light, never blame them for what happened. They needed a hero to help them and Shoto failed them entirely.

The hero nods to himself before shifting his goggles up to his forehead so he can level the full strength of his stare at Shoto. It makes the teen uncomfortable, this almost knowing, caring expression.

“Then why are you different?” he finally asks.

Shoto falls silent, held captive by that persistent stare. The question prods so many sore spots he wasn’t even aware of. It’s different because… Because I’m me. I don’t count. It’s just- It’s different.

And no answer he formulates will suffice. None make enough sense for him to fully grasp. Logic clashes with emotion and he’s left floundering in uncertainty.

His silence is enough of an answer for Eraserhead. The hero sighs and reaches out a hand slowly, making the gesture obvious so Shoto can move or stop it if he desires. Then, he rests a reassuring hand on his shoulder. It takes an embarrassing amount of willpower for Shoto to resist leaning further into the touch.

(He feels a little like crying again and it annoys him.)

“You’re a person, always have been and always will be. The decisions others make don’t reflect on you,” Eraserhead says with the utmost certainty like he read it verbatim from a rulebook. Shoto appreciates the straightforward tone more than that soft, semi-sensitive voice he’d used earlier.

The teen drops his head and sighs, shoulders drooping like a dying flower as he accepts what Eraserhead says, even if he doesn’t fully believe it. It’s different. It’s all different. He just doesn’t understand.

“It doesn’t feel that way,” he admits in defeat.

“Trauma will do that to you,” Eraserhead says dryly. It nearly makes Shoto chuckle.

If he weren’t mistaken, he’d almost say the hero sounds like he’s speaking from experience. Practically a given with his line of work.

The duo lapse into a far more companionable silence this time. It’s not like before this incident when things were easier, but it’s closer. Comforting.

Eraserhead retracts his hand and Shoto will die long before he admits to missing the contact. No amount of torture could drag that confession out of him. He busies himself with rubbing at the soot marks on his hands.

“Do you have another place you can stay?” Eraserhead asks out of the blue after a few moments of quietude.

Shoto shakes his head forlornly.

“They found me before I could find somewhere new,” he says.

For as ragged as this place had been, he’d grown to care for it like it was a real home. He’s going to miss its gross wallpaper and cracked tiles. It had an ugly sort of charm to it, once one got used to it.

“Do you trust me?” Eraserhead asks.

The question makes Shoto pause his attempts at wiping that black off his hands. He looks back up at Eraserhead quizzically. He opens his mouth to respond but hesitates.

This question should be a hard answer for Shoto because every instinct tells him he shouldn’t trust heroes, but the truth of the matter is it’s not. It’s easy, so much easier than he’d ever expect to find a yes lurking behind his teeth. Even still, he respects the hero too much to give him a half-assed answer. So, he thinks it over seriously.

While heroes rouse a sense of discomfort and fear in him, he can’t say Eraserhead does anymore. In fact, he’s come to find the man’s presence agreeable, safe even, as bizarre as that may be. Nothing he’s done resembles the actions of the heroes he’s used to seeing. And, there’s that undeniable hope he’d had when locked away that Eraserhead would come. Not All Might, not Endeavor or Best Jeanist or Edgeshot, but Eraserhead.

And he had come.

If he had to sleep in the man’s presence, he feels he could do so comfortably and know that he’d be safe.

I trust him. I really do, Shoto finally consciously acknowledges, perhaps extremely belatedly, and with no small degree of surprise. It had been there in his subconscious, this bond he’d developed, but he pushed it down out of fear. But that’s not fair to the hero.

Shoto swallows, finding it hard to admit aloud, like it’ll cause Eraserhead to turn even when he rationally knows he won't.

“Yes,” he finally says, and he says it with finality, refusing to let his doubts deny it. “Yes, I trust you.”

Eraserhead nods, a small line of tension bleeding out of his shoulders as if he’d been preparing himself for a negative. Then, he stands up with popping knees and a small grunt.

“Follow me,” he says as he steps away from the building. He glances back at Shoto, seeing just how far that trust extends.

And Shoto follows without a second thought because he knows that he’s safe around Eraserhead.

[pat-the-togorian]

Pat's Febu-Whump Day 28: "You're Safe Now"

I was flying. I wasn’t sure how, but I was. Familiar wingbeats whipped through the air behind me. Sinvulkt? I seemed to be merely an observer; I couldn’t feel her holding onto me, or the old feeling of the wind on my face. As she swooped towards the ground, I recognized a tree covered in claw marks. 

As I saw my den, I felt guilt and fear stir in my chest, but the emotions were someone else’s. 

Then, I was awake. And it was starting to feel like that was all I knew. 

I hurriedly stood up and bolted for the outdoors, carried by the first spark of hope I’d felt in a long time. Was it possible my Master had survived? What about the others? I wanted so badly to track them down and feel their warm embraces again… I only wished I deserved it. I’d never be able to forget the fact that in the end, when everyone needed me the most, I had fled. 

“Well, since I’m up, I may as well head out,” I spoke softly to myself. If I didn’t, I was worried I’d forget how to talk at all. 

I prowled the usual hunting trails around my cave, in ever-expanding circles. Of course, the local prey population had realized the new predator’s presence, but today, I found even fewer scents than usual. The forest was… eerily quiet. 

Togorians weren’t usually seen as anything except for the top of the food chain, but at this moment, even I felt the need to run for cover. 

I chose the wrong way to run. 

As I streaked past a large bramble of trees and bushes, a lithe but enormous figure darted impossibly quickly towards me, and with one swift headbutt, knocked me into the thick trunk of a nearby tree. Dizzy from the hit, I cursed myself for not bringing my lightsaber or any other gear with me. 

I gathered my wits and charged before the massive, rhino-like beast could catch up with how far I’d been thrown. Jumping, I rode its neck with my claws as it bucked and pitched furiously from side to side. I was in over my head, I knew that, but with its size and speed, I knew I couldn’t run from it. 

My paws grew weary of their grip. 

No, hold on—

I lost one handhold, then another, and vainly tried to grab on with my legs before a final, furious buck sent me hurtling to the ground. My chest and forehead took the brunt of the impact, and I once again dipped towards unconsciousness. 

I woke to the smell of searing meat. The creature lay dead on its side, a clean, cauterized wound straight down its spine. Faintly, I heard the whoosh of retreating wingbeats and a primal, avian screech. 

How could my Force senses have been so blind? Then again, the last time I’d seen her, she’d had a Light Side presence. I did my best to remember that. 

The days continued their monotonous march. It was so incredibly thrilling to think that my Master was close by, but it was also terrifying. After all, I reprimanded myself, the Order that bound us together was gone. She turned away from the Light. I was no one’s Padawan anymore. The last time I’d seen her… it had been a day. 

The fact that she had saved my life was the one bright point in the cloud of darkness and uncertainty. If she’d really meant to use that lightsaber to kill me, she’d clearly at least changed her mind since. But how could I judge her for that, when I had actually killed?

My final treatise came down to this: If she accepted…whatever Force alignment I was now, I’d go back to her in a heartbeat. 

I just hoped she’d recognize calls to her through the Force. 

A horrible pain in my collarbone and shoulder stung me one day as I pounced on an unsuspecting rabbit. Before now, I’d been lucky to be able to butcher and survive off that giant beast, but the moment I put any strain on my right arm and shoulder, I hissed in pain. 

This wasn’t good. This wasn’t survival. 

I cursed the thick fur around my neck for obscuring the wound and its bruising. All I could do was try and rest, and beg the Force to let it heal before I ran out of stored food. 

It began to hurt even when I shifted in sleep, when I cut my daily mark into the tree, when I stood or sat. I started to ration my supply of food, but it went disturbingly fast. I stopped training and the pain became too much to meditate through. The only thing I kept doing, like clockwork, was to emerge at dusk and dawn to call for Sinvulkt, Aheka and Rema through the Force. 

M-Master… Aheka… Rema, my sister… I called. The pain is getting worse… I don’t know how much more time I have… 

I lambasted myself for my weakness. After running from them, did I really expect them to come back for me? If they could even hear me. Sinvulkt wasn’t even technically my Master anymore… wait. 

S-s–sinv.... I struggled to articulate. Only at my lowest had I risked breaking the protocol and calling her by name. 

Sinvulkt… if you’re still watching over me… please. I need you. 

I fell forward, my right side erupting in agony as I fell on it, but with no strength to catch myself. 

I felt fear, regret, and a different type of agony, but I realized that these once again were not my own feelings. And they were approaching. 

Wingbeats crested the hill, and with the last of my energy, my ear swiveled to face the wonderful sound. I was found. 

Sinvulkt warbled in concern. “Oh, Pat…” she quickly knelt down, hesitant to even touch me. I could feel her tortured emotions through the Force. 

I froze, remembering the last time I had heard her voice, trying to wash away the fear I felt at seeing her Dark for the first time. Remember, she saved your life after that. 

I burst into relieved yet guilty tears. “I… I… didn’t want to be found this way! I didn’t want to see you if everything had changed… the Order is gone… My rank is gone… I may not even be a true Jedi anymore… why would anyone still care for me?” I sobbed.

“Did you really think the only reason I’d care is because of the Order?” Sinvulkt chided, on the verge of tears. 

“The Order was the only stability I’ve ever had,” I confessed. “And I ran from it. Ran from you.”

“The Order failed and endangered all of us again and again! Do you remember every heartbreaking decision Aheka had to make? They tried to make me either destroy Scélérat’s superweapon or leave Aheka, the one who found me…” she took a deep breath. “Rema…” she looked at war with herself over divulging Rema’s secrets. “Rema’s creation and all they did to her was entirely legal.” Then, she looked at me, her sulfur-toned eyes shining golden as they revisited every scar and patch of rough fur on my body. “They either sent you into battle or left you with no choice. They… they used you…” 

“So… we’re really safer without it…” I mused. “Right?” I looked into her eyes, not sure I was brave enough to ask what I was really thinking. I hoped my gaze would speak for me. Will you take me back?  

In the next instant I was wrapped so quickly and tightly by feathers that my head spun. It had been so long since any touch had been kind, I trembled fiercely for a moment, before my startled relief became silent tears of joy, and relief, and rest. 

“I did promise I’d come back,” she whispered in my ear. “And with the Dark Side on my side, nothing will touch you.” 

She helped me back into my den and made me as comfortable as she could while she fetched clean water, both for hydration and cleaning the matted fur around my neck where it hurt too much to groom myself anymore. Thank the Force the impact hadn’t broken the skin too deeply. She managed to boil the water, feed me with fruit from the trees she had been living off of, and scan my injury, though she wasn’t sure what else she could do for it. At night, in the cold, her feathers and my fur each kept the other warm, and we both slept deeper when we knew the other was awake. I held her in the nighttime hours and she covered me during the day. 

I woke one morning covered in sweat, and at the same time, feeling terribly cold. 

“Pat, Pat,” Sinvulkt called into my ear frantically. “You’re burning up!” 

I groaned, rolling over painfully. All of her attempts to dress the wound had been for not. Infection had finally caught up with me. 

“I’m so sorry,” she wailed. I felt a pang of fear. She’d apologized to me and shown regret before, but never such deep guilt.

An impossibly good idea sprung into my mind. “W-we need to find Aheka,” I slurred. “She can help us.”

Sin looked at me with the most fear I’d ever seen from her. “I… I’ll do it. For you…”

She swept me up, knowing it would be painful and risky to move me, but lethal not to. 

“C-can we… fly there? I’ve missed that…” I mumbled into her ear. 

“Anything for you,” she whispered, chokingly. 

I rejoiced in the wind hitting my face as I drifted off into a feverish sleep. 

I awoke at the jarring of our landing. The air smelled different enough that I knew this was another world. Prying one eye open, I caught sight of Sinvulkt’s face, streaked with tears. She laid me down in front of another, larger cave, gave me one last tight, feathered hug, and flew off into the deepening dark. 

“H-hello?” I called out. “Rema? Aheka?”

Two sets of frantic footsteps rushed to meet me. “Pat? Pat! How did you… oh dear Force, we need to check you out right away…” Aheka rushed out to me, Rema following close behind. 

“Pat!” Rema exclaimed. “It’s so good to see you! How did you get here? Have you seen Sinvulkt?”

“Mmm…yes…” I mumbled. “Bring her back…” 

“Well, first, we need to get you medically stable,” Aheka asserted, preparing her Force healing. She let out a pained cry of sympathy. “You have a very badly sprained shoulder and a cracked collarbone,” she reported on her scan. “And this infection is very severe. Nothing I can’t fix, though.” 

A horribly familiar voice rang out from the back of the cave. “What’s going o—Pat?”

Scélérat. No wonder Sinvulkt didn’t want to come here. 

I hissed and struggled to sit up straight, baring my claws and snarling weakly. 

“H-hi, Pat,” Scélérat greeted in nearly a whisper. 

“W-what is he doing here?” I growled. “After everything he’s done to us! How could you harbor him?”

“I-I’m…” Scélérat stuttered. “I’m sorry, Pat.” 

My energy was gone. All I could do was hold onto Aheka like a shaking leaf.

“Pat! I know this will be a lot to take in… but Scel here has become a Jedi.” 

“He what? He wasn’t supposed to have the chance to hurt us again!” 

“Pat,” he choked up. He’d cried before, though, when he had tried to charm me into being his sacrifice, or his tool of revenge. “I came back to the Light. And… there’s a path to redemption for you, too.” 

That was something new. He’d never suggested I could do something well on my own. Only with some kind of Master…

“R-redeemed…” I whispered, remembering the blood I had shed during Order 66. I stood to benefit from forgiveness as well. 

“Take your time, Pat,” Scélérat finished calmly and walked slowly back into the depths of the cave, giving me space. 

“Wh-when was the last time you saw Sinvulkt?” I asked Rema as Aheka kept working. The healer butted in. 

“Pat, you need to rest. Wherever she is, she’s survived a long time this way. And if we can get you patched up, the sooner you can help us! You always had that knack for finding her!” This was the best incentive I needed, and it seemed to quiet Rema as well. As Aheka Force-suggested I sleep, I felt Rema grab onto my paw. In my last moments awake, I curled it around her hand. 

I awoke feeling worlds better, ready to spring to my feet and start searching. Aheka had drained the infection, and fortunately, my sprain and fracture had healed well enough on their own to be a quick fix for the trained healer. 

“Easy, Pat, I can’t let you go yet,” Aheka warned, a calming hand on my chest. 

I took deep breaths and calmed down, hoping that if anything befell Sinvulkt, I would feel it in the Force again. “Can you at least tell me when the last time you saw her was?” I pleaded. 

Aheka hung her head, a momentary lapse in her constant determination. “She brought down a wall of rock to save us from the Clones, and flew back into the fight. She sacrificed so much for us. I’d do anything to bring her into our family again.” 

The day of “medical observation” dragged past. Aheka left to search for more food and herbs for healing potions, and Rema joined her for the rehabilitating exercise, not to mention the therapeutic effects of walking in nature. They looked hesitant to leave me alone with Scélérat, but it was clear he’d proven himself to them. I still made sure to stretch, examine my claws, and be alert, to demonstrate that despite Aheka’s refusal to clear me, I was capable of protecting myself. As I stretched my arms again, one of the bandages around my chest folded over, creating a painful rub. I hissed faintly, attracting Scélérat’s attention. 

“Are you alright?” He asked, cautiously approaching me. 

I gave him the silent treatment. 

“Pat, as crazy as it sounds, I can help you. Rema was in bad shape when I made it here. A coma, actually. Aheka was on her last legs. She… helped me learn to assist her with healing. And…” he paused. “There was a time when you could have easily killed me. I thank you for leaving me alive every day.” I raised my arm and beckoned him over, begrudgingly. “Okay, let’s see what we can do,” he muttered gently. 

The dull but wonderful feeling of relief rushed into the irritated skin around the now-relieved crease. Tears sprung to my eyes at the gentle touch. I felt gratitude, that was certain. But alongside that… this person, who I’d never have given a second chance, had proven himself worthy.  

I still thanked the Force he hadn’t noticed my tears… or if he had, that he’d left me the remainder of my pride. 

After that excruciating day of rest, I was cleared from observation, and the three of us charged out blindly to find Sinvulkt. We had decided that for obvious reasons, we shouldn’t bring Scélérat with us. I was still grappling with her new Force presence, and I turned a few times only to circle back. I wasn’t sure where she’d been living all this time—something told me she hadn’t had a home at all. 

I doubled back for the dozenth time, cursing myself for my faulty compass and likely drawing the ire of Aheka and Rema, when I realized something: If she always seemed to be behind us, could she possibly be following us? 

I turned my back one more time, holding my arms outstretched. “S-Sinvulkt,” I called, still struggling with her name instead of her former title. “You always cared for me. And from what they tell me, you risked your life to save Aheka and Rema too!” 

I continued my standoff with the silent wall of forest. “We want to care for you, too,” I whispered. 

The sound of rustling branches was unmistakable this time. With my ears and the Force as my guide, I sprinted through the underbrush, catching faint glimpses of a ragged, winged figure flapping tiredly ahead. She didn’t look good, my familiarity told me. 

“Don’t run from us, Sin!” Rema called. “We want you back!” 

Suddenly, with a sickening crunch, she snapped a fallen branch with her leg and sprawled onto the forest floor, her brutalized wings on full display. Rema and I charged up to her and each took her by the hand, Aheka panting as she rushed up behind us. 

“N-no…” Sinvulkt quivered, furiously struggling to get up. “Pat, stay away. It's not safe.” I could tell she was fighting a bitter war inside herself—Flock or forsakenness. 

“With you, I always was,” I murmured, grabbing onto both of her arms tightly. She flapped her bleeding wings, trying to take a step back.

“Not anymore," she shook her head. "You are better off with Scélérat."” She looked over my recently-healed chest wound. “He’s a better packmate than I am.”

I shook my head. “Scélérat has… changed a lot and learned a lot. But he wasn’t my discoverer or teacher… I trust you. So… I’m not moving. I’m staying with you, wherever you decide to go.” 

Her face screwed up at the choice I implied, massive wings curling around her. The Dark and Light twirled madly around the area, attracted to the conflict like a swarm of moths by a flame.

Rema spread out one of Sinvulkt’s extra appendages with a wince from its owner, and gently shook loose a shower of dirt and loose feathers. Sinvulkt struggled at first, but as the feeling of the long-overdue preening changed from suffering to soothing, she fell limp. Her head fell forward, and I caught her against my chest. 

“Let’s take her home,” Aheka whispered, a relieved smile covering her face. 

We walked carefully back to the cave, me being especially careful not to wake the sleeping Sinvulkt. When we arrived, Rema and I sat down and preened her wings from tip to tip. By the end, the sunset shone a brilliant orange into the mouth of the cave, and Rema and I nodded off on either side of Sinvulkt, who didn’t seem like she’d slept properly in months. It wasn’t just me who was safe, now. Everyone was. And tomorrow, we’d emerge as one, ready to lend a hand to as many others as we could.

THE END

A/N: So here we are! Everyone's safe... for tonight. I'd like to thank @sinvulkt, my beta reader and the creator of Sinvulkt; as well as @kit-kat-of-midgard and @ct2002-rema, creators of Aheka and Rema. @febuwhump for reblogging my works three times! And last but not least, every one of my readers! It's been an amazing month! And it's only the beginning of The Amazing Adventures of Excentrics Jedi!

You can see more from this universe on our AO3 collection here, as well as our in-character blogs:

@sinvulkt-moeta

@aheka-tyl

@ct2002-rema

@formeralleycat (Me!!)

[stickycave]

BoaF Shaun

You've always been more accustomed to the water than the air, your wings the best made for it. So you head to the river.

You take off, knowing where you can hide out for the season. Your wings are one of the best suited in the flock for water. 

The river's surface is wild as the rapid water rolls. Your sleek feathers and years of play have taught you how best to use them as fins. Plunging into the currants, the water has a chill you've gotten accustomed to even in the growing cold season. You speed down with water, a flash of shadow under the ripples as you head for the lake where reeds will hide you from any potential mates and the underwater plant life will entangle the ones who find you.

Sound is different underwater but even with the water rushing by your ears, you know you hear something in near you, darting past, no, not darting past you, you darted past it. A splash above you. It repeats a few times, something just barely brushing past you from the opposite direction, too consistent to be wood or rock. 

Something keeps flying ahead of you and diving into the water, trying to catch you with each swoop. The blood in your veins turns cold as the water, heart beating in your ears like the thundering waves around you. Predicting their moves, you fake right and left, but you can only go for so long, an ache spreading through your wings from effort and cold.

You will not make it to the river's end.

You have to make a move.

No more dodging or weaving, you keep a steady path straight ahead, faking to be more tired than you really are, slowing down. Listening carefully, taking advantage of how sound moves faster through the water, you wait. There. As soon as your hunter breaches the surface, your wings give a push and then wrap tight to your body, barrelling you forward. Slamming into the figure, you both tumble through the currants. It holds unyieldingly onto you. Your wings and shoulders crashing into dirt and stones, but your pursuer's holds on you shelters your head and stomach, all your tender parts, even a hand on the back of your neck from any real damage.

When the river spits you both out into the lake it’s like hitting a cushion that would wind you if either of you could breath. Your bodies are too large to move with the tapering strength of the rivers mouth as it joins the softer flows of the lake. What must be arms wrap around your waist as water is pushed around you in one strong gust and you surface. Gasping and panting for breath, the adrenaline of before had distracted you from the burning of your lungs that now feels almost seared into them.

The figure is panting and gasping for its own breath as it pulls you both onto shore, collapsing back, you land on something firm and he starts to laugh, squeezing you as he does, and you realize who it is.

Shaun, your best friend! You push up to see it's his chest you've landed on, your laughter joining his.

“That’s why you were so good in the river!” There’s not a lot in your flock suited or interested in the water, but when you befriended Shaun, he spent many days swooping through the water to join you in play. “Why are you almost drowning me? You should be…”

Your laughing dies down and words trail off, replaced with a warmth spreading over your face. Below you, his eyes are crinkled at the edges from a wide grin, fingers tips just barely tracing the sides of your face. You can note the red out of the corner of your eyes, and realize one of his hands is bleeding on the back.

“I should be what? Putting my feather in your wings?”

Another laugh bubbles form your chest as you realize of all your possible suitors, even in your indecision, a part of you was hoping it’d be him. Maybe that's why you choose the river, even if you didn't realize it at first.

“Yes! You should be, before someone else gets here.”

Shaun’s grin grows impossibly brighter as sits up with you in his lap, making quick work of swapping feathers between you.

“I don't know about you, but I'm starving. Let's eat before we start nesting,” one of his wings unfurls to drop a pile of fish into the grass. You can't tell if he's really hungry or already showing off how well he'll look after you and your future clutch.

---

back to start

[gravekeeps]

it was impossible not to notice that even with the carnage covering his form, the creature was .. handsome. every bit the legend kellen had heard of, all the men in his family before him sharing their belief in the hunt for his kind. he'd simply chosen with his life to hunt a singular vampire instead of many, and for a purpose instead of for none. his breath catches in his throat then and he feels the heat of leroy's gaze on him, dragging up and down his frame and clearly sizing him up. kellen's face reddened, he'd always been a shy man and this sort of inspection caused him to try to cross his arms over his chest and relax his shoulders.

there's no time for him to take up that posture, as in less than the blink of an eye he feels a pressure around his neck and the air rushes from his throat with both the surprise and the strength of it. he can still breathe though it is tightly restricted, his eyes darting wildly in his momentary panic before coming to settle back on leroy as he spoke to him. kellen grunts and tries to take in air, his lips parting to attempt a response when leroy leans in closer to him and then abruptly casts his attention elsewhere. it's only now that he realizes tara's absence, but there's little he could do about it now. he had the thought that maybe she'd get away from this, but that deeply selfishly he would miss her sweetness if she did.

" i want .. " he croaks, wincing slightly as the grip on his neck tightens and once again leroy takes a deep inhalation. " to turn, " the words are choked out, his head starting to swim with the dizziness of being restrained this way. he makes no move against leroy though, determined to display his willingness and obedience, his arms at his sides even as darkness prickles at the edges of his vision.

with a thousand thoughts swirling through her mind the one pushing to the forefront at the moment was the location .. and after seeing that monster, the condition of her father. she curses herself for not spending more time on the ship, turning around in a circle as she tries to orient herself and heads off down a hall to her left with stairs that led towards the galley. with the glimmer of that familiarity she moves quicker, putting her arms out in front of her and shoving the heavy door open. " papa ! " she shouts, her voice strained with emotion as she fights to keep her adrenaline up and stop herself from falling into her fears.

the galley is empty, the kitchen left behind as though someone were in the middle of prepping dinner. it was eerie to see it frozen, paused in time, and she walked slowly now through the room before reaching a door on the other side. before she goes to push it open a wheeze to her left catches her attention and she whirls around, red hair flying over her shoulder as her wide eyes come to rest on the shape of a man leaning against a rack of pots and pans, slumped over and clutching his neck. " no, no , no, " she pleads as she rushes to his side, working as fast as she can to take in the state of him. he's barely breathing, the wheezing noise coming from his wounded throat .. which appeared as though a chunk had been taken out of it. bitten.

" what's happening, " she whispers desperately, reaching down to grab her nightgown and tug harshly at the bottom hem to tear it off. it takes a couple tries but she manages to rip it, tearing until she has a strip she can use to attempt to stop the bleeding. " it's .. it's okay, papa. it's gonna be okay, i'm here .. "

He had forgotten this feeling. The one of pure power and vitality. There was a moment of regret, not for any lost lives but for the fact he had spent his resources, well, save for those two. It wasn't fear he smelled on the first one, the male, the brave one but the young woman that almost instantly sprinted away like a good little prey had an interesting scent that overpowered her feelings of fear Her fleeing frame drew his attention and the beast almost followed, always eager to chase after something that smelled so sweet but it was the words spoken from the male that kept Leroy in place and his eyes swept over to the other beating heart again.

These were interesting claims and even though Leroy was most certainly still more beast than anything close to a man his mind worked out scenarios why this man would attest to letting him out. Slowly, like a curious animal Leroy tilted his head as he searched the man's features and then the rest of him, an appraising once over that showed he was analysing for hidden motives. He had just regained his strength and it thrummed through him like a force stronger than he remembered. In a flash, a blur of movement Leroy closed the distance between him and the male, strong hand closing around the other's fragile throat. His grip was firm and perhaps a little too much, still getting used to his strength again but no more pressure than to cause a little struggle. Playing with his food always a habit Leroy couldn't shake.

"And what reasons have you to release me, human?" Leroy asked, tone low and almost a growl, his face moving closer to the others, his senses drawing in Kellen's scent and getting a better feel on the woman that had left. Reflective eyes snapped over in the direction she had fled, not really concerned or worried about any sort of attack from the man, he had been right about her scent, fear and something sweet, delicious and tingling with magic. He'd find her after he dealt with this one, figuring out Kellen's motives to claim giving Leroy his freedom.

His hand flexed against Kellen's throat, eyes narrowing suspiciously as he once again drew in air and the copious scents. Kellen didn't smell as if he had been influenced by any other vampire but there was a hint of something sour like an illness in his blood. That certainly could be motive enough, immortality was greedily sought by many men and Kellen wouldn't have been the first sick man to plead for it from Leroy. His bloody lips twitched into something of a sneer, fangs exposed as a threat and a promise.

Leroy could still hear the frantic pounding of the woman's heart even as she paused briefly to make sure a door locked and he almost had the heart to laugh, past that he lost the sound of her heartbeat but that sweet scent of hers would lead him straight to her. He wasn't worried, let the little mouse run. She could even call for help, the beast would feast on them as well. Leroy didn't care, he was fucking free from that box and with the power he'd found within that abyss of darkness, no one, not even his father could stop him.

[bookwyrminspiration]

Response to an ask from Ophelia:

(this is the being frustrated one)

Hello to you too! Also haha nicknames!! I love nicknames so much I hope to acquire as many as possible. And you're not bothering me; you never have. And even if you did, that would be okay too .Friends are allowed to bother each other and I'm not just gonna stop responding or being your friend because of it. I bother my friends sometimes, but that's part of relationships. It's okay.

And you're welcome for the previous message. You mean a lot to me, and I think you deserve kindness. You're very cruel to yourself at times, but I don't think you deserve it. So I'm going to continue being as kind as I can <33

I'm sorry that you're going through all that. It sounds really infuriating and I can't figure out what the other emotion is but like...collapse? Like dark grey and rickety and over it and collapsing. I'm unsure how to articulate it, but it doesn't sound pleasant. I hope whatever it was that sent you there wasn't too serious. Seeing as it's such a small part of the ask I'm going to assume it's not a big deal, but either way. I hope whatever situation put you there eases.

Patience can be difficult, you're very right about that. It's not an infinite resource and can be depleted, which sounds like it might be similar to what you're going through. Everything just starts to build on each other without break so everything starts to feel worse and worse. Or your ability to deal with it is lessened and things you used to be able to deal with gradually get more and more overwhelming until it's hard to believe you were ever able to do it.

The school thing sounds frustrating, as I know you've mentioned in the past how much you were struggling with it and trying. And some things about teachers being unhelpful with support. I'm only going to say one thing in counter, so please bear with me. It's entirely valid to be angry and think it's a waste, but you could also consider that maybe if you do everything again you've already got a head start. You're already familiar with some of the content and know what kinds of things to expect, so maybe that'll help. I don't want to just tell you "well it's not bad because of this!" but maybe there's a small positive to be found in the situation. That's generally how I work through situations like this, just finding the small things to focus on. Maybe it'll help you too, but you're welcome to ignore that. Because yeah, a lot of that sounds awful and infuriating, and your reaction is justified. Please forgive me if my suggestions are unhelpful or unwanted. My reaction to things like this is "how can I help?" so if you'd prefer I stop please just let me know.

I've undoubtedly talked to way fewer doctors than you (I tend to avoid them), but I think i've been in a similar situation. Where it's like you tell them things and they're like "ah yes, the 20 seconds you talked about the most surface level part of what you're experiencing was enough for me to tell that you're entirely wrong and actually the problem is something entirely different and don't worry I'm qualified." A lot of healthcare professionals are great (I'm a little biased as my dad is a nurse), but sometimes it's like they just don't listen or they assume you're exaggerating, especially when it comes to mental health. There was this one time I told my primary care doctor that I thought I had an anxiety disorder (a few years ago before I got diagnosed) and she was like "hmm. we should test you for a stomach bacteria. that might be it." Like thank you but also no.

And I think it might be more common in mental health because so much of it is subjective, if that makes sense. Like when you have a broken bone you can clearly see that the bone is not doing the thing it's supposed to do, but it's harder to tell when the brain is. I mean, there are parts of the brain that we still don't know what it does, and combined with all the stigma it's like a battle to be taken care of.

But that definitely sounds like an annoying conversation, so I hope that doctor gets some sense knocked into them. it's like you're debating about whether or not something's happening and not what to do about it. And it's so hard to be clear and direct with them sometimes because we've been taught that they're an authority and we should respect that. But respect goes both ways, so I personally think if they're not listening you are fully entitled to interrupt and correct them and set them straight.

Also you don't need to shut up! You're welcome to talk as much or as little as you want as often as you want! I like talking to you, and you're allowed to rant and vent in my inbox.

And yeah i'm doing alright. My typical schedule for homework got messed up this week so not thrilled about that but I'll manage. And my family has been dogsitting for the neighbors this weekend and I feel so bad every time I leave because Lucky (the dog) just starts whimpering and doesn't wanna get in her kennel and I'm just like "I am so sorry but I cannot stay I'm sorry :(" and then she stares at you as you leave and like girl please no I can only handle so much guilt

I hope things smooth out for you and become easier to deal with. It's lovely to hear from you!!

[primofate]

Breaking up Part 2 Albedo x gn!reader

Sorry it took so long! Haha. Yeah tumblr effed over for me. But here it is! :D

Scenario: Breaking up and getting back together again

Characters: gn! reader x Albedo

Warnings: angst, break ups, regrets, did I say angst? NOT PROOFREAD

Categories: angst in Part 1, comfort in Part 2 (It was getting too long so split it into two parts)

Read:  (Part 1) (Part 3 - Final)

“Sucrose... Do you know where Y/N went?”

5 days 3 hours and 12 minutes. He’d been counting. He’d been counting since you left. It was only today that he had the courage to ask Sucrose about it. 

Sucrose jumps at the sudden call of her name. 

Albedo had not been the same. The frequent mistakes in the lab proved it. The constant slips of the hand and test tubes shattering on the floor told Sucrose that perhaps that was how his heart looked like too.

“...No, I don’t,” Sucrose simply says, then lets the silence of the lab fill the air. Only the bubbles from their experiments hanging. It was still for a moment, Sucrose going back to her calculations and research. Albedo sat in front of his alchemy set, blankly staring at it.

He doesn’t even understand what being “tired” feels like anymore. He hasn’t had a decent sleep. Every small movement in the house, every whisper of the wind he would bolt up in bed, thinking it was you coming in from the front door. Sometimes he would hear someone shuffling, he would stop and listen for you, but then realizes that the sound was the sound of his legs under the covers, trying to keep warm without you around. 

Sucrose glances up at her mentor. He’s buried his face in his hands, his hair in slight disarray. She knew what was going to happen next. He was going to stand up and just walk away from the lab, and Sucrose was not going to see him until tomorrow again. 

Tomorrow, the cycle would repeat. 

Albedo couldn’t function. It was pathetic. He really thought that he must be such a sight right now, eyes heavy with exhaustion, hair down and clothes a little unruly. He ran away from the lab again. He abandoned his “important” experiment and went back home, retreating in his room, falling on his knees and slumping on the bed in front of him.

He buried his face into his arms and tried to piece his heart back together.

“Albedo, will you ever get tired of me?”

There was a soft hint of a frown on your face. Silly you, Albedo thought. Always worried about being apart from him. He only smiles and cups your chin in his hand, leans in close to press his forehead against yours to whisper, “Never,” 

His fists clutch at the bedsheets, the fabric scrunching up under his hands. Every.damn.time. he tried to take a break, he would be reminded of you. Every thing reminded him of you. Breathing reminded him of you. It was as if you were right beside him and yet you weren’t. 

It was him. He was supposed to be the one asking “Y/N, will you ever get tired of me?” He was supposed to be the one worried. But he hadn’t been because he had taken you for granted. He thought that you’d always just be there, waiting for him patiently as you always had but now that he was alone, he realized just how lonely this silence could be.

“You must have been lonely...waiting here for me in this silence...”

His voice was muffled by the sheets, and he didn’t know who he was talking to. He did that a lot these days. Saying things that he wished you could still hear. 

The next day, just as Sucrose predicted. It was the same. Halfway through his experiment Albedo stopped, and stared at nothing in particular. She wondered if, whenever he did that, he remembered the things he said to you that day. 

But, just as Sucrose thinks today would end up the same...

it didn’t.

“Big brother Albedo!” Klee stormed into the lab, the door slamming open really loud. “Oh...I’m sorry, I didn’t check the sign... I...” Klee stepped out to look at the door sign and found “KEEP OUT” still there. “Oh no...! I did a mistake! Sorry big brother,” the little girl fumbled with her fingers and swung from side to side to show her apology. 

A hint of a smile appears on Albedo’s face and Sucrose was thunderstruck. There had been no expression on the Kreideprinz’s face for the longest time that the smile had felt so foreign. “It’s alright, Klee. Do you need help with something?” and his voice wasn’t hoarse. If there was anything that could cheer him up, it would be Klee.

He was done prioritizing his research over the people that really mattered. 

“Look what I got! I’ve never seen such a pretty flower in Mondstadt before,” Klee showed off the blue flower to Albedo, eyes shining and wide. Albedo touched the petals as Klee held it up for him. “Ah, yes, Glaze Lilies. You can only find them in Liyue, Klee,” Albedo explains. Klee bounces excitedly.

“Ohhhh! That’s amazing! Y/N must have travelled there recently!” 

The silence in the lab was deafening. Albedo’s hand drops from the flower as he looks at Klee, confused. Sucrose had stopped what she was doing, wide-eyed, staring at the young bomber. “...What do you mean, Klee?” Albedo whispered out. 

Hearing your name said by someone else made it all the more real that you weren’t here with him anymore. 

“Oh! See, Klee was in Windrise and... I was looking at the fishes...” Klee gasped a little, “Please don’t tell Master Jean!” she whispered pointedly but continued. “I saw Y/N there, and Y/N gave me a really big hug and gave me this Guh lays Lily,” the young girl got the name wrong, but Albedo hadn’t been listening anymore. He stood up and crouched down to eye level with Klee, hands on her shoulders.  “W-When, Klee?” he clears his throat and tries again, “When did this happen?” Sucrose had also been listening and watching in bated breath.  Klee gave one of her biggest, most innocent smiles, not knowing how crucial this information had been to Albedo. “Just now! I just came back from Windrise!” 

Albedo didn’t feel the slightest sorry that he bolted out of the lab without explaining to Klee. She would understand and Surcrose was there. He sprinted towards the gates of Mondstadt like his life depended on it. In some senses, it really did.

I can make it.

He was panting hard. His footsteps thundering in his ears. His breath coming in quick ins and outs. His heart is about to fly off its cage.

I can make it. It’s just outside of Mondstadt. 

Wind rushes past him, the pigeons on the bridge outside of Mondstadt, disturbed, flying away in a frenzy. Timmie shouting after him. 

Please be there. Please.

It takes him longer than he wanted. He wanted to be faster, wanted to be there already but he was still running. Still chasing after that hope. The adrenaline he feels pumps in his veins and yet he is so out of breath that he needs to stop. His hands resting on his knees as he closes his eyes and tries to get his breathing even. 

I have to keep going.

His legs were killing him. They were strained by the sudden rush of exercise and yet he still drags both towards Windrise. He could see the large tree at the horizon, but he was too far away to see if you were there. He continues to pant, steadying his breath, preparing for another burst of energy to run towards where he so desperately hoped you were.  What if you weren’t there anymore?

What if he was too late?

What if he never saw you again?

“What if it doesn’t work...?” Albedo asks, pondering over the research and discussing it with you over dinner. He loved to talk about his experiments with you because you gave valuable insights on it, and really listened to him. You smile and give him the confidence that he needs, “Then you can try again, Bedo. You always find a way!”

He’s still panting by the time he reaches the steps leading up to the large tree. His eyes dart around. He circles around in place, wondering if you were around the area. He continues forward, stepping up to the big roots and yet again looked around, trying to spot your familiar tuft of hair/colour. 

At the corner of his eye he spots something, behind the big tree. A Crystalfly. It was flying away and his eyes automatically follow it. There was a hand trying to reach out for it, but it barely grazed the Crystalfly’s wings. You stepped out from behind the tree, a little annoyed that you couldn’t catch the Crystalfly. 

Albedo feels like he’s frozen in time. He stands there and watches the wind caress your hair. Watches as you tuck your hair back behind your ear. Watches as you turn around and start walking away. He snaps back to reality and moves forward, roots and sticks cracking under his feet as he struggles through the root laden path just to get near you. 

You, hearing the disturbance from behind, turn around and was met face to face with the lover you left a few days ago. Something shatters inside you. You weren’t ready for this. You were far from ready to see him again. Why was he out here in the middle of the day? You stood still just as he did in front of you. 

You notice how his hair is sticking to his face with sweat. The fast rise and fall of his chest. The pained look in his eyes. The closed up fists on his side. “Y/N--” his voice cracks and tears start to pool in your eyes. 

You aren’t strong enough for this and you start to turn away.

Albedo rushes forward to trap you in a hug. His arms so desperately wrapped around you as his head rests on your shoulder. “Don’t,” he pleads. “Please don’t go. Come back with me, please,” there’s a different type of hopelessness in his voice. A moment later tears are streaming down your face. 

“I-I can’t Albedo. I--” can’t put myself through that again. I can’t and don’t want to be alone at home all the time. 

His body shakes and you realize it’s a sob that wracks his body. Your shoulder is slightly wet. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. Please.” You’ve never seen him cry. Not like this. Not as he clings to you and admits defeat. “I...I couldn’t take care of you--It’s my fault. I know, but--”

“I like Windrise. It’s very relaxing.” You say as the two of you walk around the tree, collecting materials. “Is it?” Albedo responds, stopping momentarily to look up at the tree. “You don’t think so?” you curiously ask your lover. He ponders for a moment before smiling, “I think coming home to you is a lot more relaxing,” at the early stages of your relationship hearing something like that from him would cause you to blush.

You pry his arms away and look up at him. His head is dipped low and you can’t see his face clearly, concealed by his hair. You brush his hair away and lift his head up, and you see how streaks of tears run down his cheeks. You see the sleepless nights in his eyes. The hurt that creases on his forehead. You see what your absence has done to him, and all in one moment, you think that perhaps you were too harsh on him. That you should’ve talked it out instead of leaving so abruptly but you-- “I was hurt...” your lips tremble as you try to explain. 

“I try, really hard, to make things easier for you. To care about you. I have never asked for anything grand.” You’re surprised at how level your voice is, despite feeling like you might break down just as he does. 

“I’m aware,” Albedo wipes at his face, frustrated at himself. His tears have stopped. You were talking. That must be a good sign. “I don’t--Don’t deserve you,” but he steels himself and places his hands on your cheeks. God how long had it been since he touched you like this? and wipes away the tears that were silently falling from your eyes. “But I’ll take care of you. I’ll prove your worth. I... won’t make the same mistake again,” 

And when Albedo said or promised something he was one of the few people that you believed in the most. He was trustworthy all the way, and was true to most of what he said. “You have my word... and if I do make the same error again then... Then you can leave. But right now I--” he moves to rest his forehead against yours, taking in the warmth and love that he had missed. “I’m asking for another chance,” he gulps. “Please,”

You stay quiet for a moment. Assessing the situation. But your eyes close at the closeness the two of you are in right now. There was no doubt that you still loved him. A few days would not change anything. A few days would not ruin the years that you spent together. But you were scared and guarded. You weren’t sure what would happen and if it was worth it. You were scared of being with him and being lonely. “...We... should talk and think a little bit more about this...” you conclude and give your answer, stepping away from him.

Albedo’s face grimaces in distraught, but turns into confusion when you take his hand and tugs on it slightly. “...At home, we can talk about this at home...Is that okay? Let’s go back first,” you would figure it out with him from there.

His head drops and he tries hard not to let tears escape again. He really didn’t deserve you. He didn’t deserve this kindness but he sure as hell would take it. He would take it and make it right again. He picks his head up and squeezes your hand, voice slightly soft and trembling, and smiles.

“Thank you. That’s perfect,” 

and with his hand tight on yours, because he wasn’t letting you go again, the two of you make your way back.

Should I make a part 3 with fluff and write about the aftermath and how Albedo made it up to you? Let me know :D Message me :D Love me <3

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[wandasmistress]

Unthinkable

Synopsis- After doing the unthinkable can Y/n mend what’s left of her relationship with Nat, or was she too late?

Pairings- Natasha Romanoff x Cheater!Reader

Warnings- Cheating, Swearing, and lots of angst! 

Word Count- 3.9k

Part Two

➵➶➴➵➶➴➵

It was the heat of the moment for you, trying best to ignore the thoughts inside your head that it wasn't Nat lying beneath you, that it wasn't her moans and near screams echoing through the course walls, it didn't feel right but you tried everything to feel something again after a long time of feeling absolutely nothing. 

You didn't expect her to get back from her mission so soon, it all happened too fast.

Just as you were making the blonde woman, May come to her second orgasm of the night in the last hour you heard the door burst out of its hinges, swinging your neck around while your hand was planted on the bed resting with Mays entwined hand. Too shocked to speak, your eyes immediately darted to Nat’s stoic face. You knew that she was trying her hardest to make her face expressionless but failed when a subtle whimper escaped from her mouth causing her hand to fly up quickly to block the rest.

Hearing Nat is what broke you out of your trance, quickly scurrying off of the blonde woman who was looking anywhere but at you, trying to find a way to escape this situation also. Springing into action you swiftly snatched your shirt and sweatpants from the ground, rushing to put them on as you could see Nat’s retreating form from outside of the bedroom door.

Finally getting the last piece of loose clothing over your body you ran out the door, feet slapping wildly on the ground. Your heart was racing as if it was the apocalypse.

Catching up to Natasha’s sulking form you shakily reached out to her, out of breath from what seemed like running a mile. Just before you could reach her she jerked back, causing your heart to tug in pain as if you weren't the one who caused this.

Her head whipped to you, and that was just when you thought you could die. Seeing her tear-stained face, mucus threatening to burst out of her nose dams. You couldn't handle looking at her and seeing the pain you caused, looking away at the television running. A brief smile gracing your face, it was you and Nat’s favorite show, Brooklyn Nine-Nine. 

“H-how could you do this t-to me?” Natasha’s voice broke the silence as she stared deep into your eyes rendering you speechless.

“I. Said. How could you fucking do this to me.” She spat as she shoved you hard in the chest, almost making you fall back over from her strength.

“I'm sorry.” You manage to mutter out with furrowed brows waiting on her response.

Right on cue, her face contorted to a grimace from your response, causing the tension in the air to yet again spike.

“That's real fuckin rich of you to say.” She retorted as your eyes began to glimmer from the betrayal lacing her voice and clouding her face.

You took a step towards her, in hopes of trying to diffuse the situation but she took several steps back, entering your shared kitchen, her foot hitting the back of the corner as she would always do rushing out the door on days when she was always running late to something.

Hanging your head down in shame realizing that a mediocre fuck was getting in between you and the love of your life. Your face contorting into pain as you realized you royally fucked up everything,

“There's no way in hell that you're crying right now, you really are something aren't you?” She berated you as you looked down at the floor with a defeated look spreading across your face slowly, there was no way you could possibly fix this. But were you the only one in the wrong, it's okay if she starts spending less and less time with you, excusing it for missions that occupy more of her time?

Suddenly all the guilt left you as if a cloud had finally moved out the way of the sun, except in this situation you were no saint.

“It's not entirely my fault, it takes both partners to fail a relationship” You snapped back at her raising your pointer finger in her face.

“So now you wanna deflect the blame and put it on me, I'm not the one who decided TO FUCKING CHEAT Y/N!” She yelled, raising her voice as she broke the distance in between you both.

In the midst of the tension-filled argument, there was a large crash as both your heads whipped over to see what caused the disturbance to find May with her clothes barely put on properly and high heels in hand sticking her hand out for the door handle but pausing mid-air when it fell off its hinges disrupting your argument.

Natasha was already walking towards the woman with blistering eyes, you knew what was gonna happen and you didn't want things to spiral even more from what they have become. Jumping in between Nat and May, placing your hand on Nat’s chest to push her back. She slapped your hand before you could even touch her. She whipped her head towards you, telling you to back down and back up before she would put you in your place.

Quietly muttering for May to leave now, hesitantly holding Nat's glare as if she was gonna lunge at the cowering woman a few feet away from you both. You didn't have to tell her twice before she was already out the door. The air suddenly turned cold around you both.

“I’m s- it didn't mean anything, I swear. I shouldn't have done what I did bu-” You hurried out looking into Natasha's eyes meaningfully in hopes of her taking your half-ass apology before she cut you off.

“Nothing you say will take back what you did y/n, and you know that. I might have neglected to spend time with you but I would have never done that to you, ever, and you know that.” She responded in a softer tone, you could see the fight leaving her. How you longed to wrap her in your embrace telling her everything would be alright while her face was tucked into your neck. 

“I did the unthinkable Nat, and I know that. I’m sorry and I know that doesn't mean shit to you right now but I am, I really am just let me make it up to you!” You said putting your hand on her lower back as you inched even closer knowing this intimate touch could have her jumping back from you or jumping into your arms faster than the speed of light.

But this time it was different, not like any other times you have touched her. She didn't tense up or relax at all. Causing worry to spring in our mind you tried to find her eyes but she was focused on something else, the television which was still silently going.

You shifted your head to look at the television, your breath catching in your throat as you saw a commercial with a married couple happily kissing at the altar. Feeling a pit growing in your stomach, you looked back at Nat to see the tears yet roll again down her porcelain pale face. Hating yourself for how much hurt you brought upon her.

Subconsciously you brought your hand up to her face wiping away the slowly dripping tears streaming down her face, hoping she would stop crying but it seemed endless as she stared off into space. The next words that came out of her mouth made your heart stop for a few seconds.

“That could've been us, happy and...married,” She squeezed out of her constricting throat, fighting against a sob. “But you don't love me so it would have never happened, right?” She continued with a hushed voice as she looked away from your sorry eyes.

Your heart shattered ten times more as she leaned into your touch for what felt like the last time. You were almost close enough where you could smell her lip balm, spearmint something that would always calm you down, but had no chance of helping in this situation. 

She backed away from you slowly, almost hesitant like she was fighting an inner battle to either stay or leave. You felt the cool air yet again settle in between you both now that she wasn’t near. But it looks like she made up her mind already with one, quickly turning around and swiftly heading out the door she came in from, moments before everything changed for her. 

Too stunned to speak, your eyes locked on her retreating figure as the oak door clicked shut a few seconds after her departure. Knowing that there was absolutely nothing you could have 

done or do now to fix your situation falling to your knees in the middle of the empty hallway.

Never feeling so hopeless and isolated like you are now, nothing was worse than losing the only person you loved. 

»

It had been days since she left you, and for all those days you have stayed on your apartment floor at the Stark tower, never leaving once. You would try and ask Jarvis where Nat was or what she was doing but the A.I. system would never give you a definite answer, making your stomach do hurls each time you tortured yourself with asking it again as if it was suddenly gonna change. 

You stayed cooped up in your room for most of the time, flicking on the television every now and then in hopes of getting any form of entertainment to help your predicament but nothing worked.

Laying like a starfish staring at your ceiling while your mouth was agape, stuck in your mind going over every possible explanation of where Natasha could be, you would think the team heard of what happened and come to crucify you for your senseless action, but nothing yet again. 

The only person who came to try and enter your apartment was Steve, he went on about how he was missing you at training and wanted to talk. He would occasionally sit down at your door telling you about his day, how he saw a very cute type of dog at central park but he couldn't quite identify the breed so he went up to the owner and they almost fainted marveling at the fact that an avenger came up to her in the park out of nowhere. Which made you give out a low chuckle, he stopped talking because he heard it and you knew he heard it because you were sitting right at the door listening intently to his story. You got up quickly and went to isolate yourself even further in your room curling in on your blanket cluttered bed thinking how you shouldn't get to feel the slightest bit of happiness or laugh when you caused the person you love the worst kind of pain.

»

While you were upstairs sulking for the second week in a row, bathing in the sorrow of your own problems you were clueless to what was about to happen, currently starting at the lower levels of Stark tower.

Clint walked past the elevator doors with a beyond pissed-off face, steam practically coming out of his ears with how enraged he was. But standing there next to him matching his empowering stride was a cowering Natasha, she looked frail and looked as if you said one wrong thing she would break. 

Steve just being in close proximity to the elevator doors could see the scene playing out his eyebrows quirking up instantly at seeing the state that Natasha was in, and reading Clint's facial expression he could tell something was definitely up. Springing into action he jogged to where Nat and Clint were now entering the threshold of the common room. He unwrapped his arm from her shoulder and crossed his arms together tightly.

A question on the tip of his tongue Steve decided it would be best not to ask anything now at the moment and let clint explain it when he felt like it.

“Steve.” Clint said eerily calm, “Would you take Nat to the med wing, she needs to get checked.” He asked staring Steve directly in the eyes.

Shifting on his feet uncomfortably because of the brought-on attention and staring Steve shook his head eagerly but before he could think to stop himself he asked, “Clint what happened to Natasha?”

But to Steve’s surprise, Clint wasn't all affected by the question and instead shifted his gaze to a frozen Natasha who had seemed to blend in with the air, still and quiet. His eyes softened slightly as a single tear slid down her face, she was quick to wipe it off her face trying to not break her facade but nearly punching herself with the force. 

“She’ll tell you when she’s ready.” He answered as his gaze shifted back to Steve.

As soon as Steve took Natasha who just seemed to drift in any direction he went Tony popped up from the corner of the hallway, seeing Natasha and jogging over quickly. Too slow to catch up now that she and Steve were entering the elevator. He couldn't help but notice her demeanor and how her head hung low and her arm was wrapped around her front insecurely. 

He coughed quietly to grab Clint's attention who was also stuck staring at the sight of a broken Natasha and a worried confused Steve as the doors shut slowly. 

Just before Tony was about to start rambling on how he thought this whole place was starting to feel like a sad house from everyone's absence Clint cut him off before he could even start.

“Where the hell is y/n.” He breathed out almost too calmly. Tony’s mouth hung low as he watched Clint stare directly back at him with an unidentified type of rage in his eyes, almost daring Tony to start his pointless rambling. Tony nodded his head slightly leading the way towards the other set of elevators, praying for you internally.

»

As soon as the elevator door creaked open Clint dashed out of the elevator at an alarming speed knocking Tony out of his thoughts to get the elevators revamped for the next big project. He watched in bewilderment as Clint came right up to your apartment door, seeing the left-out food Steve and Sam had left out for you in hopes of getting you to come out of your apartment. He absentmindedly kicked the rotting food over muttering a few curse words under his breath as he jiggled the doorknob hoping that you left it unlocked by any chance. 

When he realized it was locked his second plan came into view, he started banging on the door so loudly causing Tony to fast walk over to him with wide eyes waving his hands in the air for Clint to stop his destructive antics. 

On the other side of the door, you were awoken by what seemed to be a banging noise. At first, too consumed in your sleep to care you closed your eyes until you heard Clint's name being yelled out by a male's voice which you concluded was Tony because of his shout. Nearly jumping out of your bed where you have spent the better of the week in you scurried out of your room, frantically dashing from corner to corner rambling under your breath how this was the end that they were coming to take you out for what you have done to Nat. 

The loud rambling beyond the door was starting to become more and more consistent as you could hear Clint argue with Tony to tell Jarvis to unlock the door automatically and that it was urgent. Then you heard Tony counter that whatever was so “urgent” was about to make Clint catch a homicide and that he was clearly enraged by whatever you seemed to do.

You groaned hearing the bickering continue and the volume of their voices rising more as Clint demanded to be let in. Your blood ran cold when he started speaking directly to you now ignoring Tony like he knew you were listening and by the door from his tone.

“Open the door y/n. Don't make me break it down because you damn well know I will, and I won't ask again.” He told you calmly enunciating ‘won't’.

Sitting up from your crumbled position on the floor you stalked slowly towards the door, pulling at the sleeves of your oversized sweater. Praying that he wouldn't try killing you, but then again you didn't really care because you’d never be complete without Natasha again.

As you got closer to the door you could hear Clint going back to start arguing with Tony again, taking in one last final deep breath as if you felt anxiety spread through your body, aching your bones. Your feeble hand touched the cold metal of the handle, pulling it back to unlock it and twisting it, and taking a step back to make room for the door to open.

Not knowing that your movements were that quick you catch Clint and Tony still in their heated argument, releasing a loud breath which catches Clint's attention quickly. But before you can even blink you feel yourself being lifted up swiftly off the ground and plunged into the wall of your apartment letting out a loud groan in discomfort.

Opening your eyes to see the big grin on Clint's face, the satisfaction he got from seeing you hurt. Taking in a deep breath of air since you just got it knocked out of you, blinking your eyes a few times to ease the dizziness you felt taking you by a storm. But before you even had a few more seconds to recollect yourself you could hear Clint begin to speak.

“Really y/n?” He sneered now grabbing you by the collar of your sweater.

“I don't know how it happened ok, i-it just did and I’m sorry, I didn't mean it. I-I never meant to hurt her, I promise Clint. Y-you have to believe me.” You stuttered out avoiding his harsh glare as his hands wrapped around the collar of your sweater harder you could hear the fabric start to stretch from the pressure as his knuckles pressed into your sternum making you wince slightly at the pain.

A second later he scoffed followed by a grim chuckle, “And what? Your word is supposed to mean something to me? Is it supposed to mean something TO HER?” He yelled picking you up vaguely.

You responded quickly to him, “Yes, because I love her..”

This made him freeze up instantly as he looked you directly in the eye with such disgust you hung your head low again stifling a cry.

“Funny how you did her wrong but you seize to act like the victim, and you are nothing but that,” He told you in a demeaning manner, “you know what you are y/n?” He whispered in your ear.

“A worthless piece of shit cheater who never deserved her, ever, do you know the pain you caused her? She came driving all the way to my house. My house! On the verge of tears!” He screamed in your ear causing you to flinch and shut your eyes.

“She didn't stop crying for a week straight, and that was after she refused to sleep and eat! Damn near traumatizing my children seeing their auntie Nat like that. And she still didn't talk or explain what happened, still protecting your loser ass even after you wronged her so bad.” He told you, his grip on your collar tightening even more if that was possible, causing you to look up at the ceiling for air as silent tears rolled down your face.

“When she finally told me, she blamed herself. Saying how she was always on missions and never there for you, but that gives you no right. No right!” He yelled the last sentence.

You were trying not to break down crying as you felt embarrassed enough by your actions. You knew that you would have a lot of explaining to do to the team, but you couldn't feel anything after he said the next words to you.

“I don't even know how she could have thought to love something like you. You are nothing compared to her and you never will be, I think she was faking it when she said she loved you, no one could ever love you, ever.” He said finally as he shoved you up against the cracking wall.

He waited a few seconds to see if he could get a rise out of you, failing to realize how you had started to struggle with your breathing. The tears, your contracting throat, his words, your heart was all too much to handle at the moment and you could feel yourself mentally breaking and you couldn't help but wonder if this was how she felt.

A few moments later you could feel being released by him, your vision too blurry to see him walking away from you towards your apartment door, a loud slam following after him. Shaking uncontrollably you slid down the cold wall acting as your only form of stability right now. The pain is all too much to handle.

Never using your teleportation powers in the past few weeks in hopes of Nat coming right back to you, Nat crawling under the sheets, feeling her warm body press against you. You knew you would never get that again but you had hoped, so you never left, but that's gone now.

You didn't bother taking any one of your personal items with you, better to leave it all behind because you are sure as hell didn't want to carry it with you. Wiping your blurred vision to see your apartment one last time before you vanished, and just like that, you were gone. You were a disease, a plague and you didn't want to hurt anyone anymore.

A moment later Nat came bursting through your apartment door, seconds after you teleported. Still distraught from the past two weeks she searched everywhere for you because she heard Clint yelling at you in the apartment from when she arrived on the floor with Steve after leaving the med bay against his request. 

She tried her best to break through Tony's hold but he just wouldn't let go, she tried, she fought so hard to but she couldn't. Once Clint exited your apartment with an emotionless face she knew he had gone too far, too far to go back and fix what was severed. 

She managed to break out of Tony's grasp when he looked back at Clint with raised eyebrows and wide eyes. Steve stood in shock from what he just heard. But she didn't hear it, she didn't hear anything because she was too busy struggling against a stronghold, too busy mentally cursing herself for believing she stopped loving you. 

When she couldn't find you anywhere in the apartment she knew what you had done. She knew that you had truly left her, that you would never be coming back. 

She fell to her knees on the floor of your living room, tears gliding down her face like a waterfall. Her body shook uncontrollably as pained screams left her dry throat, tearing it apart. Her heart beyond the point of breaking, fragments of it fading away with you.

She hated you for what you had done, hated you for cheating, hated you for letting her go, hated you for not trying hard enough, and hated you for making her fall in love with you. But most importantly she hated herself for being one second too late.

»

[lastdr3am3r445]

🍰Dessert Before Dinner🍰

'Ello 'ello! Your favorite Strawberry Smut Peddler is coming at you live from Ventura, CA with a story written specially for the illustrious @katsukisdynamite (she's currently working on her blog, but do check out her work, she is truly spectacular... 🤩)

TodoBakuDeku X Fem!Reader

CW/Mentions: Poly Smut, Daddy Kink, Slight Hard Dom Themes, Oral (giving & receiving), Fingering, Edging & Denial, Temperature Play, Overstim, Pet Names, Degradation, Praise, Creampie (I guess, but its not mentioned specifically)

Word Count: 4,219

Summary: You get home just in time for dinner, but the boys think you look good enough to eat, and decide to indulge in a little dessert before dinner.

*** 18+ Content - MDNI , All Characters are adults***

Without Further Ado... Smut under the Cut!

Needly raindrops pricked your skin as you scurried through the drizzle to get to your apartment. It had been so sunny when you left, too. You were thinking what a waste it was wearing your new sundress when you smelled an oh so familiar aroma; chicken stock, kelp, bonito flakes…

“Mmmm… dashi.”

Shouto must have conned Katuski into making cold soba again. You could practically hear the argument in your head:

“No! No way!”

“Why not?”

“We’ve already had soba twice this week, you fucking fiend! No!”

“Pleeeaaase, ‘Tsuki-chi~”

And a soft blush would creep up Katsuki’s face, all the way up to his ears, then his pout would drop into a scowl, and…

“Tch. Fine! But this is the last time!”

And he’d mutter under his breath the entire time he got out his ingredients “something-something-icy-hot-bastard-something-it’s-all-he-fucking-eats.” Shouto had a knack for pushing all the right buttons to stroke Kacchan’s daddy kink just right.

You laughed silently to yourself as your key ground into the lock, a harmony of “welcome home!” greeted you as you toed off your shoes at the door.

“Dinner’ll be ready soon! Make sure you’re washed up!” Katsuki scolded preemptively, without even bothering to looking up from the scallions beneath his knife.

“Yes, ‘Tsuki-chi..” You teased, he paused his chopping to glare fiery daggers at you, only to resume with a shake of his head and additional muttering under his breath.

Shouto was the first to greet you in person, rising from his seat at the island to meet you at the door. He took your face in both hands, and kissed your forehead, the tip of your nose and finally your lips before saying, “Welcome home, Angel. How was your day?”

You waved away the pink dusting your cheeks, “Long..” you sighed.

“Then you should come sit, make yourself comfortable.” He smiled, offering his elbow to escort you to the couch. He never understood it, but his behavior always made him seem so… regal. He never failed to make you feel like a princess.

You flopped down into the waiting cushions with a sigh, only for Izuku to reach over and paw at your thigh,

“Noo, c’mere..” He whined. You obliged with a playful sigh, throwing your leg over his hips and pulling yourself up to face him. His broad palms rested on your thighs, and he looked up at you with cheeky grin,

“Hi~” He said.

“Hi..” Your hands found their way around to the nape of his neck, fingers toying with the curls there, elbows cradled in his broad shoulders..

He ran his hands over your legs until his crooked fingers crawled beneath the hem of your skirt, and then meandered down and around to cup the sides of your thighs. The motion sent little tingles up your spine, and his proximity to your more intimate areas set them aflutter.

“This new?” he asked, face scrunched up and curious about your dress.

“Yeah, kinda..”

“I like it..” He craned his neck up to give you one of his cappuccino kisses, deep and sweet, but still humming with potential energy; those crooked fingers finding their way under the elastic of your panties to give your ass a firm squeeze.

He broke the kiss when he felt a warm flush radiate from your face, and brought his nose to trace the contours of your jaw until his breath fanned the hollow behind your ear, “I’d very much like to see it off of you..” You felt him grin against your neck, before his teeth sunk into it, pulling a gasp from you before you were able to stop it.

“I’m glad to hear I was not the only one who thought so..” A cool voice spoke up behind you, startling you only slightly.

What had you leaping from your skin was slender, icy fingers, creeping along your jaw above where Izuku had been nibbling. Shouto’s thumbs rested on either of your temples, the tips of his fingers beneath your chin; he tilted your head back to meet him. Izuku reflexively bucked against the friction your leaning provided.

“You look truly radiant, Angel..” Shouto spoke, before leaning down, and pressing a kiss to your lips, slow and tender, like water filling a stream as a glacier melts. When the kiss ended, your lashes fluttered, trying to uncross your eyes.

“Oh.. I’m sorry…” Your heart leapt to your throat.

“I didn’t realize we were starting with dessert…” Katsuki’s voice, already gruff on a normal day, had dropped into a much more commanding baritone. His hand fisted on his hip.

“Katsuki, I-”

“What’s my name?” Shouto’s hands found your shoulders while Katuski began his steady advance into the living room.

Your eyes darted away, hoping to hide the embarrassment coloring your face;

“D-Daddy..”

Izuku twitched beneath you, his hardening length straining uncomfortably against his shorts watching your cute face pink up and your voice grow flustered.

Katuski came to a stop in front of you, nothing but Izuku and the couch he sat on between the two of you. He caught your lip beneath his thumb, a curled finger tucked under your chin guided you to face him.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you, Princess.”

“Sorry, Daddy…”

“Are we feeling greedy today, baby girl?”

“N-no! I was just-”

His fingers unfurled, clutching the side of your neck, his thumb dropping to complete the hold at your throat, not yet applying pressure, but threatening to.

“Oh, so we’re lying now?” He purred malignantly.

You hadn’t noticed you had leaned forward until you felt Izuku’s warm tongue lick a path between your breasts, catching your breath in your throat.

“No..” The sound came out more like a squeak than actual speech.

“No?..” Katsuki craned his head back, looking down his nose through lidded eyes as he tapped his finger twice against your throat, a warning.

“No, Daddy.”

“Oh good, because you know what happens to liars in this house?” His grasp tightened slightly, making your mouth water.

Izuku perked up from your cleavage, “C’mon Kacchan, ask her again..” His teeth nipped at the flesh of your breast while Shouto’s fingers skated down your shoulders, catching the straps of your dress, and sliding them down your arms to bare your chest, “Yes, I think she’ll be much more forthcoming..” He agreed before you felt him replace your discarded straps with cool kitten licks against your shoulders.

He loosened his grip, “Alright…” You felt his thumb come up to trace your bottom lip again, “Your boys are vouching for you, Princess, so I’ll ask again…” You squirmed beneath his touch, shifting your hips against Izuku’s, making him toss his head back, sucking air through his teeth while Shouto’s hands and the straps of your dress held you gently in place.

“Are we feeling… greedy?” His face was inches from yours, a cheshire grin playing on his lips.

Your words were lost on your tongue, so you nodded against his palm and closed your eyes, only for them to fly open when you felt your mouth invaded by a thick, calloused thumb, which quickly found your tongue, and pressed it down.

“I think we can oblige that, don’t you boys?” He chided over your yelps and whines. Shouto’s teeth found the crook of your neck, and his fingers your nipples, Izuku gave a lust laden giggle while he chewed his bottom lip and watched the two of them work you as drool puddled in your mouth.

Katsuki echoed with a dark chuckle of his own, releasing your tongue from beneath his thumb, allowing you to suck it wantonly. He pulled it from your lips with a wet pop, and gripped the sides of your face,

“Strip, and get on all fours.” He growled.

Shouto backed up slightly to give you space to scramble out of Izuku’s lap to do as you were told. He pouted at the loss, and beckoned Shouto to take your place. Before he could, however, Katsuki tangled newly freed fingers in green curls, and yanked them back roughly, eliciting a moan from Izuku.

“Don’t think I forgot you started this, Deku.” Only Izuku’s panting breaths could be heard in response, accompanied by his wide, lopsided grin.

“Brat..” Katsuki snarled through gritted teeth., “Get on your back. Head between her knees.” He flicked a finger in your direction before stomping around the couch to greet your form, ready and waiting to be used.

You looked up at Katsuki towering over you, palming his cock through his sweats.

“Are you gonna make me feel good, baby?”

You nod, yet another wave of blood rushing to your cheeks, “Yes, Daddy..”

You startled a little, but spread your knees farther apart when Izuku settled beneath you, now shirtless, his scars and muscled torso on full display.

“Do you want Deku to make you feel good?” You looked down into deep green pools, shimmering with want. Izuku’s hands found your thighs again, and he nipped and licked at the flesh there.

“Uuh-huh!” You gasped, briefly disregarding protocol for the man between your knees monopolizing your senses.

“Do you want Deku to make you cum?”

“Y-yes..” Where was this going?

Katsuki pondered for a moment.

“Okay, Deku can make you cum. In fact..” He crouched before you, meeting your eyes, “I expect it.”

“Mmhm.” He continued, “I want you to cum, as much as you want, all over Deku’s face.” You looked down at Izuku’s face, his eyes were now blown wide, thin emerald rings encircling his pupils, which seemed to focus hazily on your face. Katuski stood.

“You can cum.” He repeated, “He cannot.” As though to emphasize his point, Shouto yanked down Izuku’s shorts, and settled himself between his knees.

“What?!” Izuku snapped, glaring upside down at Katuski.

“Shouto will see that he doesn’t, won’t you, baby?”

“Yes, Tsuki~” You hear from behind you. Beneath you Izuku shudders, eyes fluttering closed as Shouto starts the process of edging him out of his mind.

When you looked up, Katsuki’s cock was lolling out over the waistband of his sweats, veins running the length of it like super highways delivering blood. His hand found your hair and tucked it behind your ear,

“And you are going to see that I do. Won’t you, Princess?”

One palm caressed your hair, gathering it all in a ponytail at the back of your head; the other jerked his cock, crystalline beads of precum forming on the head of it. You nodded, letting your tongue hang out of your mouth, a viscous strand of drool rolling off the tip and onto your chest.

Having witnessed that spectacle, a hungry look darkened Katsuki’s features. He patted his cock against your waiting tongue, the salty precum almost bitter against your tastebuds. He rutted once.. Twice… three times against the flat of your tongue, before using his handle on your hair to sink you all the way down, your nose coming flush against his pelvis.

You gagged on his head, the force of his thrust knocked you back on your heels, only for your cunt to meet Izuku’s waiting tongue. You moaned around his cock as Izuku started lapping at you like he’d been starved for days.

Katsuki pulled himself from your mouth, saliva cascading down your chin as you spluttered and coughed. Before your tongue could find your words, Izuku’s lips found your clit.

“Z-Zuzu!” You gasped, your eyes squeezed shut, and your hands coming down to entangle themselves in his hair. Katsuki’s grip tightened on yours as he yanked your head back up to meet his face.

“Really? Am I gonna have to fuck that name out of your mouth?” His voice rumbled before he impaled your face on him again, and proceeded to fuck the back of your throat again and again.

You knew you’d be hoarse, even so, Izuku licked delicious moans from the pit of your stomach, one hand kneading your thighs, the other probably lost somewhere in Shouto’s hair.

Izuku laved over your sex, working in a methodical circuit between your folds, purling his tongue over your clit, and sinking into your dripping trench before returning to the beginning, repeating this ritual more quickly with each revolution, until he was almost hysterical, at which point his tongue would stammer against your skin, which was likely the point he would have cum if Shouto wasn’t responsible for curtailing such an event.

It was at that point, however, that your thighs trembled and clenched around his face. You ground into his lips and nose while you sucked feverishly at Katsuki’s cock. Izuku continued to work your cunt through your orgasm, swallowing every ounce of it that you gave him.

The feeling morphed into a pleasurable flavor of pain as you approached overstimulation. You bucked away to escape his tongue, only for him to plant both hands on your hips and pulled you hard against him, his vision tunneling on lapping up every drop of you.

You didn’t know you had started crying until the tracks on your cheeks had started to cool. You looked up at Katsuki through glistening lashes, his punishment on your throat also grew more frenzied.

“Gonna… Fill your… Pretty… Mouth… Fuck!” He came with a shout as he dumped hot ribbons of cum down your throat before pulling out of you unceremoniously.

You collapsed forward coughing, gagging, sobbing into your folded elbows as another orgasm ripped through you, from Izuku’s tongue, Katsuki’s rough treatment, the knowledge of Shouto torturing the former at the command of the latter...

“He almost came, that time, Tsuki..” Shouto mewled behind you.

“Oh yeah?” Katsuki hollered, eyes still trained on you as you worked his twitching cock back to life. Once he was satisfied, he walked out of your limited peripheral, still caved in to your release.

“Why don’t you save our girl, and I’ll give this cumslut what he really wants..”

As though on cue, lean, pale legs entered your view and knelt in front of you. You felt cold, refreshing hands smooth over your back and rump, and a mild voice floated into your ear,

“Can you sit up for me, darling?”

You nodded dazedly, but failed to move.

“Hey!” Katsuki barked. Next thing you knew, Izuku vanished from between your legs, granting you a reprieve from his entrenchment in your pussy, allowing your muscles to loosen, and your body to relax.

Shouto turned you over, and pulled your limp body into his lap, arms folded behind his neck, his arms wound around your waist in full view of your other two partners, Katsuki knelt between Izuku’s knees.

“Selfish brat!” His hand was at the nape of Izuku’s neck, pulling him firmly off the floor to look him in the eye. Izuku failed to focus on him, though, his disoriented gaze cast to the ether.

“Tch. Filthy slut.” Katsuki cursed, “You that cum-drunk? Just from a little face-sitting?” He pulled Izuku closer, and licked a trail across his lips, sampling the slick that coated them before releasing him back into a crumpled heap on the floor.

Izuku giggled unintelligibly, eyes drifting to the ceiling. Katsuki smirked, dick twitching at seeing his boyfriend, all mighty number one in such a state.

One of Shouto’s hands ghosted over your ribcage, softly palming your breast, the glacial touch perking your nipples and raising goosebumps over your chest and arms. His other slid down, avoiding your over-worked clit, instead teasing warm fingers at your slit. The difference in temperature quickly had you dripping again; your head fell back to rest against his shoulder, his lips at the shell of your ear while you both watched, transfixed on the power play between the two men.

“M’gonna fuckin’ obliterate you, Deku..” Katsuki spat through gritted teeth, rubbing the head of his cock up and down Izuku’s entrance, before sheathing himself in a firm, deep stroke. Both men cried out, Katsuki breaking into a sweat at the stimulation on his still sensitive cock.

“Dammn, Sho~ No wonder he almost came, so fucking gooned out...” Katsuki laughed, flush already rising to his cheeks as he gave a few tentative thrusts into Izuku, who panted uselessly beneath him.

“What can I say?” Shouto’s breath tickled your ear, “I’m good with my hands..” As though to emphasize his point, Shouto slid two slender fingers into your dribbling cunt, and curled them against your g-spot, coaxing a broken groan from your rubbed-raw throat.

“You moan so sweetly for me, baby…” His whisper raised the hair on the back of your neck, and you gasped, your hips moving on their own as they rocked against Shouto’s fingers, your pussy aching around them while you watched Katsuki pin Izuku’s hips to the floor, his cock fucking in and out of him.

“Missing something, love?” He smiled against your ear, his cock flexing against your back.

“Uh.. uh-huh…” You moaned.

He chuckled, and you were surprised when he moved his hand from your cunt to hook behind your knee, his other arm wrapped around your waist as he lifted you effortlessly over his cock, teasing you open.

“What do we say?”

“P-please, Sho..”

“Well, since you asked so nicely…” He dropped you down onto his throbbing cock, punching another hoarse moan from your lungs, but remained still.

“Sho..” You whined.

“Promise me something first, Angel..”

“Okay, what? Tell me.” You snapped, grinding your hips desperately to try to get any kind of relief.

His voice was in your ear; “Tell me when you’re about to cum.”

You nodding hastily, not realizing what you’d be agreeing to.

“Good choice…” He held your leg wide with one hand, fretting with your nipple with the other, and started thrusting into you from behind, your pussy choked down on his cock as he toyed with your body, his touch leaping through your nervous system like lightning.

Then the air was filled with the delicious sounds of you and Izuku being fucked. You struggled between closing your eyes to cope with the sensation of Shouto’s hands; each threatened to brand you or freeze you; and fixating on the increasing ferocity of Izuku and Katsuki’s entanglement.

You blinked, and Katsuki had one leg over his shoulder. You blinked again and he had both. Again, and Izuku’s hands were clasped around Katsuki’s neck, toes curling, fat, rolling tears cascading over freckled cheeks as he moaned wordlessly into the space between them, occasionally swallowed up by Katsuki’s lips.

Your cunt grew tight, your breathing ragged as you had fallen into a rhythm, fucking yourself on Shouto’s cock, succumbing to the heat almost scalding your thigh, the chill perforating the skin of your breast, you felt another orgasm rapidly approaching.

You chewed your lip, “Sho- Shouto..”

“Hah~ Yes Angel?”

“Mm- M’gonna- Ah~”

In an instant, Shouto slowed, dropping his arctic touch from your breast to your clit. He did not continue his ministrations, merely held his icy palm over your mound, halting your orgasm in its tracks.

“Shouto!~” You whimpered, one hand coming down to push futilely at his forearm.

“I’m sorry, Angel.. But I think that pleasure has been reserved.” He directed your attention back to Izuku and Katsuki.

“Kacchan!~ Kacchan!~” Katsuki’s familiar nickname fell from Izuku’s lips like a chant, Katsuki’s eyes flashed before throwing one final thrust, and cumming with a grunt, and a sadistic laugh as he stopped moving as well.

Izuku’s head fell back with a sob. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say..

“He hasn’t cum once since we started…” Shouto purred.

And you salivated.

Katsuki unsheathed himself, and stood, stumbling just a little, but strutting over effortlessly once he found his balance.

“I think he’s had enough, don’t you, Sho?”

“Yes, I think they’ve both learned a valuable lesson..” His teeth grazed your ear, showering a fresh wave of goosebumps over you.

“Then I say let them fix each other’s problems.” He waved his hand dismissively.

“And what about me, Tsuki?” Shouto pouted, tightening his arm over your waist, dick flexing inside you making you squirm, still sore from your ruined release; “I haven’t done anything wrong…”

“That so? I seem to remember things differently.”

“Wha-”

Katsuki’s fingers found your chin, and gently brought your face up to meet his, “I think Deku could use little help, Princess.. Think you could fix him for me?”

You nodded hesitantly, Shouto dropping your leg so you could crawl out of his lap and over to Izuku.

“No no..” Katsuki droned, “Stay where you are. I have plans for you, Icy Hot brat..”

You crawled on hands and knees to Izuku’s side, combing your nail through his hair, over his face, catching the few glittering tears that remained over his freckled cheeks with your thumb, before continuing down the column of his neck, flattening your palm against his chest before your tongue spilled from your lips and plunged into his mouth.

Your kiss seemed to bring him back to life, as he inhaled deeply, desperately through his nose, his hands curling themselves in your hair. He chewed your lips, sucked your tongue, maintained as much contact between your mouth and his until you had to pull away, a glistering strand of saliva connecting the two of you.

He was on you in an instant, reversing your positions so you hit the ground flat on your back, his lips on lips, your cheek, your chin, his velvet tongue painting long trails up the column of your neck and down your chest.

You craned your neck to see behind you. Though your perspective had them suspended from the ceiling, you saw Shouto, legs spread, eyes screwed shut as he fucked a rather bored looking Katsuki’s fist. You refocused on the verdette before you, endeavouring to devour you whole, planting your hands on either side of his face to pull him into another impassioned kiss.

Izuku boxed you in, densely muscled biceps on either side, scars laid out over his body like a road map over his heaving chest. He shoved his knee between your legs, and you ground your desperate cunt against his thigh thoughtlessly.

“Such a pretty girl.. So fucking pretty… and she’s all mine…” He babbled over you. He might have tried to tease you more, hold you down, make you beg, but by this point it would have been in vain, the way he was rutting his drooling, inflamed cock against your hip.

He was thick, and stretched you in all the right ways. You felt a wanton twinge in the pit of your stomach.

“Need you so fucking bad, Zuzu…Please..”

He roared into the crook of your neck, closed his teeth around it, surely leaving perforated bruises as a memento. He adjusted his aim, and crashed into you with abandon, chewing the inside of his cheek as your cunt took him so readily.

Your hands circled his neck, finding that familiar crook in his shoulders, your nails cutting stripes into his back, adding your own color to his canvas of scars.

“So good… so fucking good… Sweet Jesus, Izuku!~”

The praise fell on his ears and dropped straight to his cock. He pushed himself off the floor, and fucked you with slow, deep thrusts, watching your tits bound and jiggle with each collision. Your eyes rolled back, catching a short glimpse of a sweat sheened Shouto, tongue tasting his bottom lip, hips thrusting fruitlessly into air as Katsuki held his hand far away from his partner, that same sinister grin perking the corners of his mouth.

Your eyes fluttered closed to the sound of Shouto begging, “Tsuki, please!” before you wound your legs around Izuku’s hips.

“Gonna make me cum like that..” You whimpered into his ear.

He sat up, hands plastering themselves to your hips with brutal force as he pulled you onto him as hard as he pounded into you. The coil in your gut wound tight, the energy in your body reaching a fever pitch.

“God, fuck me like that!~” Your lips found their last mantra, which you cried out until you unravelled into white hot oblivion.

When you opened your eyes, you felt Izuku’s labored breathing against your neck after he caved in on top of you. You carded your fingers through his hair, and fussed idly with the curls as you tried to catch your own breath.

“Here, nerds..” You looked up to see Katsuki extending a water bottle to you while he finished chugging his own with his other hand.

You took it gratefully, nearly choking as you gulped it down while lying prostrate across the floor. Izuku protested your movement, clutching you closer to him while he nuzzled your neck sleepily.

“When you’re ready.. Well…” He glanced over at the man curled against you, “When he’s ready… Food’s done.”

“Oh shit!” You cursed, keeping your tone hushed so as not to startle Izuku, “Katsuki, I’m so sorry…”

He shrugged, “It’s cold soba.. What’s it gonna do, get colder?”

You chuckled, and asked “Where’s Sho?” before straining to look towards the couch to see a particularly contented Todoroki, wrapped in a fuzzy blanket, cold soba in his lap.

You relaxed your neck, and let your own contentment wash over you as you buried your nose into veridian curls, and lost yourself in the scent of citrus and soap.

How’d you ever get so lucky?

[dabisqueen]

Suck It Up

Shigaraki x Reader

⇢ rating: 18+

⇢ word count: roughly 1.5K

⇢ plot: coming back from a mission, you forgot to report to your boss. He didn't take it all that well.

⇢ warnings: 18+, smut, noncon, nipple play, nipple orgasm, vaginal sex, vaginal orgasm, creampie, threatening of quirk use, aged up characters

⇢ NO MINORS ALLOWED!!!

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

I came back to the League's Headquarters sweaty and dirty in dire need of a shower. I stripped off my clothes and stepped underneath the shower. I felt specially aroused, being that time of the month, my ovaries close to exploding, my breasts sensitive and tender. I loved the way the warm water caressed my skin, enjoying the tingling feeling between my legs. I slipped a hand down my thighs, sliding over my sensitive nub as I rested my back against the cold tiles, a welcoming cooling for my overheated body. Rubbing my clit and teasing my nipples it didn't take long for me to cum.

Feeling elated, I dried myself off, slipping into an oversized white button up shirt. It hung just above my knee and I almost disappeared in it. But it was the most comfortable thing I owned and I loved wearing it. The cottony fabric felt good against my soft skin, rubbing against my nipples, perking them up. I went about tidying my room when suddenly the door opened and Shigaraki barged in.

“Hey brat, never reported to me on-," he stopped mid sentence, seeing me standing in the middle of the room, half dressed. My wet hair hung in disheveled strands around my face, water dripping off them, making my shirt transparent and cling to my skin.

His messy pale tufts covered most of his face and I could only make out his glowing red eyes staring at me.

"Boss, m'sorry, forgot." I mumbled, my cheeks flushing, my breasts still erect from the heightened arousal.

His gaze raked my half covered body, fixing on my hard nubs, his eyes a rapturous look in them. His tongue darted out and snaked over his cracked lips.

He snarled, "I don't like disobedience, especially not slacking off,“ and took a step towards me.

I fumbled for words as he approached me further. My cheeks were ablaze by now, my body reacting on it's own as I felt a familiar heat starting to kindle inside my core.

He noticed my reaction and his lips curled up into a smirk, stepping right in front of me, only inches away. I gasped, never being so close, so personal to him. My breath hitched as he leaned in, smelling him, damp dust and linen.

"I can think of a way to make it up to me," his voice just a rasp.

Blood was rushing into my core now, as I stumbled back until the back of my legs hit the bed.

"Lay down," his hoarse voice demanding at me.

"Boss-“ I pleaded but he tutted quietly at me "You know what I do to someone pissing me off,“ and he wiggled his fingers in demonstration. I winced and turned around, crawling to the middle of the bed, laying down on my back, hair framing my face nestled into the pillow, hands balled into fists.

He stepped next to the bed, climbed over me and sat down on my legs, straddling me, knees to each side of my hips.

He smirked and rasped “Open," gesturing at my shirt. I struggled beneath him, but, realizing I was impaled by him, I hesitantly started to undo my shirt, button after button. As I reached the bottom he took each hem with two fingers and pulled them to the side, exposing myself to him. My breath hitched as the cold air hit my naked skin, making my erect nipples bud up even harder.

"Boss-" I winced but he cut me off with a hand gesture.

He started stroking my belly, and then up around and in between my breasts. He circled them with large strokes of his calloused hand, giving my breasts a little squeeze, before dipping his face down to hover over them. His breath was hot against my skin, stimulating my already rattled nerves. His fingertips caught my nipple, rolling it lightly between two fingers and as that nub puckered and stiffened even more, he moved on to the other.

I couldn't help but mewl below him, an unfamiliar feeling arising in my breasts, not being used to such attention. His tongue darted out, the flat of it sliding over my skin, drawing little soft whimpers from me. He drew my hardened nipple into his warm mouth, latching around it, licking it, tracing little circles around it, flicking it with the tip of his tongue.

Jolts of pleasure ran through my body, building up an unknown heat each time. I arched my back, moaning as he kept sucking relentlessly,

"You're really sensitive," he rasped, cracked dry lips contorted into a slim smirk, brushing them over my erect nubs. I could only answer with an incomprehensible gargle. When he bit down on my nub, just enough to hurt but not to lacerate my sensitive skin, my mouth fell open, a heated moan shooting up my throat and my eyes rolled back with pleasure. He kept groping my breast, twisting its nub, letting off throaty grunts as he kept biting into the other, setting off fireworks throughout my body. It was enough stimulation for the coil inside me to wind tighter, my overstimulated nipples continuing to shoot off sparks down to my core.

A low raspy hum vibrated through his body, my breasts and my body as he kept mouthing, licking me. I managed to let out "Oh my god," and he pulled back, letting out a throaty giggle, seeing me fully delirious below him. He bent down again and continued.

I was pushed to my limit, hesitant to let go, a fire spreading throughout my whole body as the pleasure built slowly and gradually. And then, without a warning, it exploded out of nowhere. Waves of orgasmic pleasure rippled through my body and I let out a high pitched screech. My back arched, and my hips bucked below him while he let out short raspy groans, still sucking on my tits, drawing continuous moans from me.

I was slowly coming down from my high, tears pegging my eyes, a sight that had him snicker with a glint in his eyes "That sensitive, huh?" followed by a throaty chuckle.

I lay below him, unable to move, my whole body still tingling with pleasure. He scooted off, just far enough to pull my legs apart and positioned himself between them. Still trying to catch my breath I heard the rustle of fabric and looked up with opium blown eyes.

He kneeled between my legs, sweats pulled down. Stroking his freed distinct cock, he positioned himself at my wet entrance and slowly slid in.

I threw my head back, biting my lips, trying to hold back tears. I let out little huffs of breath as I tried to accommodate his size, while he pressed forward, inch by inch, until he was fully buried deep inside me, his pale tufts kissing my sensitive button.

I gasped, the feeling of being impaled on him too intense. My body was set on fire, every nerve in overdrive, I felt so full I could hardly breathe. He looked down at the belly bulge and muttered so tight, eyes glowing with unquenchable desire.

He slowly pulled back and my mind exploded right away, the ridge of his head rubbing along my sensitive walls, sending sparks flying through my body.

"Oh god, this- ahhh," it was too much for me. Once almost out, he pushed back in with a strong thrust, having me keen out loud. I clawed into the sheets, gasping, moaning as he started to thrust into me, still staring at my flat belly being stretched and filled with each rut, sucking in shallow excited breaths.

"This is fucking hot," he rasped, slightly breathless, a little drop of sweat running down his cheek.

Dissociated and overwhelmed by the pleasure rolling through me, every nerve was on fire as each of his ruts had me hurling towards an unknown edge. He increased the speed, pounding into me now, grabbing my hips, pinkies raised as he also started to get lost in the sensation. Sounds of our sexes combined, heated noises of pleasure filled the air while we both neared our highs with each jerk of his hips.

My vision went blurry, my mouth open, continuous moans falling from it and I felt a powerful climax nearing. With a particularly strong rut all my restraints snapped like a twig, waves of pleasure rolling over me and I came. Trembling and moaning, I clawed at the sheets, yelling whatever words first came to my mind in a jumbled mess, my insides twitching and contracting around him.

After a few more rut, fervently burrowing his face in my neck, he spilled his milky seed deep into my cunt, dribbling out around his length, leaving a mess on the patch of white curls at the base of his dick.

He convulsed on top of me, sweaty skin sticking to each other as we both rested, trying to catch our breath. Eventually, he pulled out and closed his pants back up. My mind still fogged, I hardly noticed him getting up and moving towards the door, opening it.

Just as I heard the click of it closing behind him I was coming to enough to remember something important. My eyes shot open, hands darted down to my cum soaked folds between my thighs.

"Shit."

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

Masterlist

@sage-malf0y @scruffymctee @undefined--person @diamond-3 @vixxen-chan @tirzamisu @supermegapauselouca

[party-gilmore]

This is still just a half formed thought but @pebblesrus got me thinking bout The Pool Scene and Eliot viewing his body/safety as something to physically exchange for that of others, combined with the commentary about how Eliot was counting the seconds Hardison was without air, like

There's still the thrum of angry tension stretching out from Hardison between them through the night, during Flores's call, on the way in and through the airport... Eliot isn't avoiding Hardison's angry gaze, but he's not seeking it out either. It burns under his skin, a hot coil of discomfort and the sinking sensation of having ruined something unless he manages to make things even.

At some point midflight, Hardison gets up to pace near the bar (because it might have been last minute, but he's NOT gonna make the team fly coach - even though he's still upset with Eliot and may have thought about it for a minute). Eliot follows a few seconds later and catches Hardison on the way back, quickly shoving him into the small lavatory and locking the door behind them.

"Man! What the hell! If you don't get your hands off me, I-"

"One minute, nineteen seconds." Hardison stops flailing against Eliot's grip around his wrists and just... stares, incredulous.

"...what?"

"You were without air for one minute, nineteen seconds."

"...you were counting." It feels a little like a question, although it isn't. Not really. Eliot's grim expression softens often imperceptibly. Hardison would've missed it if they weren't crammed so tightly in the small bathroom. Eliot answers the non-question anyway, voice uncharacteristically gentle.

"Course I was."

Hardison tumbles that around in his head for a bit. Of course Eliot was counting. Probably to know when it was too dangerous anymore to stay in character. Hardison knows how important it was to gain Moreau's trust at the time. In his head, he knows that. Knew it, even then. He was just... so afraid, at almost drowning, and angry at the secrets Eliot was keeping... but he was counting. He would've gone in for him, if he needed. Blown the whole damn thing.

Yeah the situation just sucked all the way around, sure, and yeah Alec's still a little pissed - why wouldn't he be! He's got the right! - but Eliot was counting. That means even though he'd had to put Hardison's life at risk, he was willing to risk even more - his own safety, the entire con - to pull him back out if needed. That was something, right? That was still-

-Hardison's too busy turning the pieces around in his own head to notice Eliot shifting his grip from Hardison's wrists to his hands. Tugging them closer. Pulling them up.

Alec snaps back to the present when his fingertips graze the warm, flushed skin of Eliot's neck.

"What-"

"One minute, nineteen seconds." Eliot suddenly presses Hardison's hands tight around his throat, guiding his thumbs to the appropriate hollows beneath his jaw.

"You... you can't be fucking serious!"

He tries to pull away, but Eliot's grip holds fast.

"Damnit Hardison," his growl comes rough, grating, as he puts pressure on his own windpipe through Hardison's palm. "You were right! Okay? I risked your life. For one minute and nineteen seconds. So that's what you get. Just... just do it, man! Get it over with, then we're even!"

"Even-... man, do you not realize how fucked up this is? I'm not... I'm not doing this!"

With a growl, Eliot tears his hands away from Hardison's, and Alec snatches his newly freed palms back to his chest. Eliot clearly wants to pace, but can't in the cramped room, so he settles with carding his fingers through his hair.

"Then what the fuck else do you want from me, man!" His voice already sounds ragged, even with how short of a time Hardison (or rather, Eliot by way of Hardison) was pressing around his throat.

"I just wanted you to be honest with us! With me!" Hardison slumps back against the far wall, anxiously rubbing his jaw as he tries to find the words. "Alright, look, I get it, what you had to do at the pool. I do. That doesn't mean my being upset about it is just gonna... go away!"

"I know that!"

Hardison flinches as Eliot slams his fist against the side wall. He knows the strike wasn't meant to be pointedly 'at' him, that in such a small space there's not a whole lot of room to safely lash out in when feeling cornered, but it was still too close to him for comfort. Eliot clocks the flinch, and for a moment the frustration on his face morphs into a clear expression of the guilt he's been masking since the pool.

"I... I'm sorry. I didn't... fuck, I'm sorry," he pulls away, shrinking in on himself like he does on the grift, trying to consciously make himself seem smaller. "I just... I just don't want to have ruined us, man. Whatever is we've got... you and me, this team... I just wanna fix what I broke. I want us to be good."

"We are good, man," Hardison cautiously steps forward. He thinks to put a hand on Eliot's shoulder, but that's too close to his throat at the moment, so he goes for the outside of his arm instead. "You don't gotta... let me hurt you to make things even. That's... I don't know where the hell you learned that, but I don't like it. I'm not gonna do it. You just... you just gotta let me feel my feelings for a bit, okay? We'll get Moreau, and that'll feel fucking great, and have a little party, and everything will be fine. "

Eliot looks up at him and the ragged, raw desperation in his gaze about knocks Hardison back against the wall.

"...that's it?" Eliot's almost laughing, with a dry sarcastic bite behind his tone that makes him sound unhinged... well, more unhinged than usual. Although, he did just ask Hardison to choke him, so Alec figures we're not exactly working with the usual state of mind here.

"It's that easy, huh? You just... say we're good, and we're good?"

"Uh, yeah." Hardison shakes his head, tightening and loosening his grip on Eliot's arm in what he hopes is a soothing pattern. "That's how normal feelings work when somebody you care about pisses you off. You talk your shit out, it hurts for a bit while it heals up, then you're good. I don't know who fucking taught you you had to pay for-"

Oh. Oh but then it hits him. The dots finish connecting and he's looking down at Eliot, who's been strung tight and volatile as a clumsily stripped live wire ever since they closed in on Moreau, and in that moment Alec knows who taught him that.

He steps in close, carefully taking the back of Eliot's neck in a gentle grip, and ducks slightly to even out their gazes. Eliot’s whole body is tensed so hard he's almost shaking with it, but his eyes start to lose their sharp edge with Hardison's easy hold.

"I need you to hear me, Eliot. If I say we're good? Then we're good. No strings attached, no games, no doing any 'favors' for me first to prove any kind of loyalty or whatever. You know I don't play that shit. Yeah? You hearing me, man?"

Eliot's body starts to lose a bit of it's tension. A hesitant nod starts, but stops early. Hardison's seen Parker do that before, when she's too nervous to fully commit to a new idea even if she wants to, so he softens his tone and backs up a bit like he does with her.

"You hear me, babe?"

"I hear you," the reply is soft, almost embarrassed, and Eliot's eyes dart away. Hardison let's him go, indulging the gruff 'pretending to shake off the touch' Eliot does a second too late to be any kind of believable, and respectfully ignores the clearing of his throat and wiping at his eyes.

"We, uh..." Eliot turns to the door, fidgeting with the handle for a moment. "So, we'll talk. In San Lorenzo. When it's done?"

"When it's done."

Affirmation granted, Eliot darts out of the room. Hardison takes a few more minutes. Washes his face. Processes all the data thrown at him in the past few minutes as much as he can before filing it away for later. For 'when it's done.'

BONUS:

I feel like later, when they have their actual talk and Moreau is dealt with and both parties are a little more calm about it, Eliot is still like okay, I hear you, I understand that you don't need this to feel like we're square... but I do. Please.

And this time, knowing a little more of the whole story, Hardison is more comfortable accepting that like you know what, okay. If this is what you need, now that we've talked it out in a much less charged scenario and I can trust that you're in (more of) your right mind about this, okay. So long as you know I don't need this, that this is for you, and that if you need to stop early you swear you'll tell me.

Eliot probably rolls his eyes a bit at that like c'mon not even a full two minutes of getting choked out? He's had to go [absurd amount of time] without air in [equally absurd situation] in [obscure country], he'll be fine.

So Hardison sets a timer, and gently presses Eliot up against a wall, hands wrapping round his throat, Eliot's hands around his wrists - the deal is that he holds on for as long as he's good, if he let's go then so does Hardison - and he starts pressing in.

The whole scene is far softer and more intimate than either of them expected. They keep crazy intense but somehow still gentle eye contact almost the entire way through - the only exception being when Eliot's eyelids start to flutter a bit near the end, his grip loosening but not letting go - and when the time's up Eliot almost doesn't want Hardison to let go. He didn't even know that was a Thing for him. It had never been like that before, and like he said it's hardly his first time being choked... but something about trusting Hardison with that level of control... it makes him realize he maybe likes it a little too much. Putting his actual life in Hardison's hands in such a very physical, tangible way.

It kind of scares him, to be honest, how easily he'd be willing to let him do it again. And thinking about Hardison always leads to thinking about Parker, and thinking about Parker always leads to thinking about Parker's hands, and he realizes that he'd even trust "I hang off buildings by my fingertips" hand strength Parker to do it too... maybe even gets excited at the idea of it...

...and realizes he's well and truly screwed.

[wh6res]

three's a crowd | nomin

synopsis. picking favorites is impossible when you like neither of them.

warning. read at your own risk. abuse, bullying, poly relationship, yandere themes, manipulation, nonconsensual touching, noncon, degradation, smut threesome oop

disclaimer. i do not condone whatever tf i wrote in this nor does it reflect my beliefs or values or morals and such. it is all pure fiction and i also dont think jaemin or jeno would act like this in real life.

note. this was meant to be a new year's gift lmao i obviously got a lil carried away 👀 anyway a late happy new year to you all! we survived 2020, let's start living in 2021, yeah? lmao if covid lets us grr mwah!

the relationship you had with the two of them was a weird one, bordering on taboo, but it wasn't as if you willfully chose to be who they wanted you to be and it took jaemin's unwanted pining and jeno's intimidating demeanor for you to fall right into their arms.

it was a joint effort on their part, you couldn't've possibly stood a chance.

"this many?" the cashier asked. "are you sure?"

stepping back and studying the whole situation, you figured you only had your addiction to caffeine and procrastination to blame. it was a chain reaction you didn't even know will lead up to your inevitable doom.

if you hadn't been slacking off during your first semester of junior year college, you wouldn't be forced to overwork yourself trying to catch up to the looming deadlines, but to be able to 'work yourself to the bone' you need your boost of energy… and that was when you met one of them.

"uhm," you scratch the back of your head sheepishly as you eye the six glass bottles of iced coffee. sure, it looks bad and you kinda appreciate the look of concern the cashier throws your way but it was none of his business.

"yes. now could you, like, you know… hurry up? i'm in a little bit of a time crunch right now."

screw it. although you hardly snap like that with other people on a daily basis, it'll be a whole different conversation if you were under a significant amount of stress and today, unfortunately, is one of those days.

now can he just fucking stop asking questions and give you your six bottles of death drink to keep your fucking brain going so you can pass an eight-page essay tomorrow? thank you very much!

the guy snickered, the beeping sound of a barcode being read sounding a thousand times more annoying than it usually sounds as he keeps his hand busy by punching your items out.

you fail to notice how he studies you through the gaps of his lashes, finding you interesting rather than threatening as you stood before him with your messy hair and oversized hoodie.

"haven't seen you around university grounds 'till today," he tries striking another conversation with you. "you new? i'm jaemin."

this was your first mistake, you shouldn't have been so… downright rude when you met him. if you were granted the miracle of meeting him a 2nd time, you would've acted more nice, throwing yourself at his feet even to blend in with the rest of his fangirls you didn't even know about at the time. you would've done anything to make sure he never gives you a second glance, to never pique his interest.

jaemin is the pep squad captain. flying over colored blue mats and doing tumblings in the air with no ounce of fear. he was the best in his team, that much was evident when your friend dragged you into watching a pep rally practice. his landings were clean, balanced, and executed to the best he can at all times.

no wonder he was popular, his talent is outstanding and his looks are a bonus. his killer combo of a smile and wink after pulling off a tough flip is enough to send them squealing in their seats.

he spotted you that day and since then, he snuck the quickest glances at the bench during practices. recognizing you as the coffee girl he met during his convenience store shift. jaemin tries not to let his disappointment show too much when he doesn't see you, but of course, a pair of cold calculating eyes could see right through him.

"i saw that," his boyfriend said, hand darting forward to hold jaemin's gym bag for him. "you kept looking at the crowd. do you want to see her that much?"

"but she reminds me so much of you, jeno!" he retorts, pouting at the slight grumpy tone the other boy used. "i can't help it. she doesn't seem to give a fuck around me so she's quite interesting. maybe she can even be a great addition to our relationship!"

"well," jeno replies after a beat of silence, plastering a small smirk on his face before slinging an arm around jaemin's shoulder.

"convince me?"

you don't like jaemin's attention. not in the slightest. and it seems that was enough reason for the reign of terror his little fanclub has subjected you too.

it wasn't the petty elementary forms of bullying like pulling at your hair or calling you names. they pale in comparison to the other things they do to you—beating you up, messing with your homework, "accidentally" dumping their food trays on you.

and you weren't stupid.

you knew exactly who was behind it, knew how jaemin spectates the whole thing from afar so that he can swoop in at the end to play your knight in shining armor.

"oh, you poor thing. do you need help?"

the first time you accepted his "help" you ended up in a supply closet near the gym during your free period, cornered and weak as your cries for help drowns under the squeaking of shoes and the booming sounds of rubber balls hitting the floor.

if it weren't for jeno appearing out of thin air and prying the boy off of you, you would've been painted blue and red from the death grip he had on your wrist, neck, and waist.

you can still remember feeling the soreness of your scalp from when he pulled your hair too hard. remembered feeling his teeth gnawing at your lips as if he wanted to tear them off.

that time hadn't been the first time you saw jeno. you've shared a few classes with him and it strikes you how polar opposites they are with one another.

while jaemin likes to bask in his professor and classmates' recognition by confidently reciting his answers, jeno would rather keep to himself. liked sitting at the last row, near the window, so he'd be the first to go once the professor ends their lecture. while jaemin loved the attention of his fangirls, jeno preferred solitude. while jaemin is impulsive and wild, jeno liked to think things through.

it was within these reasons that you decided to do what you did. but your judgement of character has never been more wrong.

you approached jeno one day in the library, tried to make yourself appear as stoic and confident as possible. but your constant slouching and averting eyes was a dead giveaway.

you came to talk to him about what jaemin has been doing, hoping there's one person left in this entire school that isn't under the cheer captain's trance. the one reasonable person that has already saved you once and (hopefully) is willing enough to save you again. the only one that probably has a certain level of control over jaemin, if the supply closet incident is anything to go by.

but you've overestimated lee jeno.

"you should've just given jaemin what he wanted."

"but—but aren't you two lovers? isn't it bothering you?"

you try baiting him, only for an uncomfortable shiver to start crawling down your spine when he chuckled humorlessly, pushing his school materials to the side while pinning you with an unreadable stare.

how can a person make someone feel so small just by a gaze alone? it was nothing like you've felt with jaemin. this is way worse.

"the only thing that's bothering me is why you're not ours yet."

you feel cold fingers creeping their way under your shirt, going higher and higher until it brushes against your bra. and when your eyes meet, the look on his face was unmistakable—what are you going to do about it, huh?

you stood up in lightning speed, the chair you've been sitting on scraping loudly against the floor.

you've never ran out as fast as you did.

and jeno swears it'll be the last.

you tried everything in your power to ignore them for the next following weeks but it soon became useless when the two boys took it upon themselves to give you your space.

although judging by the pinpricks you feel on your back, and the constant weight of a stare you feel on your shoulders, you knew they weren't done with you yet. far from it. and for some reason, you just knew they wanted to lull you into a false sense of security first before striking again.

and while they continued to ogle at you from afar like a hawk circling its prey in a desert, you took it upon yourself to return the favor. not because you were the slightest bit interested in those creeps but maybe, just maybe, if you look hard enough you'll find a way out, a weakness.

but what you realized made your insides churn in great discomfort—although it may seem that jeno holds the reins in the relationship since his reserved nature fits the role, it's actually the other way around.

jaemin might appear too self-centered, too focused on himself to give a fuck about his surroundings but in actuality, he has quite a knack for reading people. even more so than jeno. and it was scary how he used it to his advantage, and paired up with his devoted fangirls? it was hell on earth.

you found it alarming how the two seem to magically appear wherever you are.

although you weren't in the least bit surprised. for some reason, you can't take your eyes away when jaemin's devotees flock around him (and jeno) in a circle.

it almost reminds you of a shoal of piranhas, waiting for their meal to drop into the water before ripping it to shreds with their teeth. only their "meal" isn't actual flesh but the carefully crafted words jaemin says that drive them into a sick frenzy.

one that has them doing everything in their power to satisfy him like the loyal dogs they are.

so this was how he got them to bully you?

"oh, that? don't worry! yangyang just ran into me during cheer rehearsal. no biggie. my cheek stung a little bit, though…" is what he said but really he's telling them "scruff him up a bit for me, why don't ya?"

"of course, i can't be the best all the time. haechan is just too good, maybe even better than me…" is what he said but really he's telling them "can you remind him where his place should be?"

all the while jeno did nothing to hold him back.

no matter how wrong jaemin is, how much of an asshole he is, jeno will stick by his side through and through. so as much as jaemin is a puppeteer that gets a kick for controlling people, jeno is as much at fault for looking the other way.

because in jeno's perspective, why the fuck would he do shit when he can just get off from the entertainment that comes with jaemin's sweet little mind games?

we lost :(

you had been busy sorting through paperwork for one of your professors in the faculty when your friend texted you the results of the intercollegiate cheer dance competition. a frown paints your face, heart feeling heavy at the bad news.

in all honesty, you still supported the pep squad—you just hated the captain and his boyfriend. they've been practicing non-stop for this and prior to the weeks of the competition, jeno looked a lot more tense and jaemin less smiley than usual. you swore you even saw the latter snap at one of his fangirls.

not to mention, they paid less attention to you, too, and it was the best three weeks of your life.

tension starts rising in your shoulders, fingers absentmindedly running through the edge of the papers you had been sorting until you became immersed with your thoughts.

jaemin must be in the worst mood yet.

and jeno too, probably. if anything, that guy gets triggered the most when something bad happens to jaemin or when he catches snippets of people talking shit about his oh so "perfect" boyfriend.

jeno is a lot scarier when jaemin is in one of his mood swings, you noticed. he steps up in the relationship to offer comfort to the other boy and for outsiders? it isn't a great experience to go through—being on the receiving end of jeno's ice cold stare is a position you don't want to find yourself in after that time in the library.

he is still as much a threat to your peaceful life like his lover.

you snap out of it when the blinding headlights of a vehicle seep through the closed blinds. you hear the gentle hum of an engine switching off as the headlights vanished as quick as they had appeared. that must be the cheer squad's bus.

as you look around the empty faculty room, something in your gut tells you to ditch file sorting duty for professor kim tonight and fucking get the hell out of campus grounds as quick as you can.

after haphazardly throwing the unsorted papers back into the cabinet, you groan aloud when the keys to the office drop out of your skirt’s pocket.

the indoor gym where the cheering squad practices is right across the hallway. you sure as hell don't want to bump into jaemin. or jeno, too, if he had decided to ride along the cheer squad's bus on the way home.

you kept looking for the keys underneath the cubicles, cursing aloud when you heard the telltale squeaks of shoes rubbing against linoleum. you almost hit your head against a table when you quickly got back up your feet, darting forward to shut the lights for the faculty room.

they can't know you're here. alone. and if it meant sitting in the dark for a few hours 'till they leave, meant going back home a little later than usual is what you have to do then so be it.

you try not to react so violently when the door you're leaning on jolts when someone from outside slams their back against it.

"it's not like we didn't do our best, right guys? i don't have regrets. it might sound fucking cheesy and although i'm sad myself, atleast we did what we can."

it's jaemin. his voice clear as day.

you try peaking, craning your neck up from your place on the floor. only to see the back of his head leaning against the glass section of the door. someone else joins in on the conversation, followed by coach park himself, and you slowly tune out whatever they're saying as you stealthily start scanning the faculty room.

you curse under your breath. is there no other exit other than this door? jesus christ! even classrooms in this university had two doors—

"what are you doing here?"

the switch flickers on, basking the once dark room with light. only when you hear an echo of your name being called, did you snap out of it and quickly picked yourself up from the floor.

"i said, what are you doing here?"

their coach asks, drilling the question as he looks at you skeptically with his arms crossed. you try not to look at the people behind him.

particularly, not at his cheer captain standing on his right.

particularly, not at jeno, who stands out like a sore thumb with his blue hair, a protective arm snaked around jaemin’s shoulders.

this isn't your lucky day, too, you guess.

"i was…" you cursed yourself for stuttering. "i was, uhm, i was file sorting for prof—professor kim, sir."

coach park looked like he didn't believe you as he narrowed his eyes in scrutiny. your nerves are going haywire and you can feel the sharp pins of their stare with how close they are.

you kept juggling your weight with the balls of your feet, hands fisting and unfisting behind your back. you want to leave. you have to leave.

"file sorting… in the dark?" he asked incredulously.

fuck this.

"uhm, you can ask professor kim himself tomorrow, coach. for now, uh, i'll be going now. i'm sorry you guys lost…"

originally, the exit is on the right side, at the end of the hallway. but no, you are not going to pass by those two while on your way out so you ducked behind a random student standing on the coach's left instead and practically ran away from the scene.

everyone had been too busy. too busy looking at your retreating form to even notice jaemin and jeno exchanging glances, too busy to notice the latter untangling himself from their captain to slip away unnoticed, his hurried steps filled with a burning purpose.

you didn't know why you ran, but you did. your shoes practically booming against the floor as you sped away through darkened hallways. you're sweating profusely, heart hammering in your chest. you can worry about professor kim tomorrow but right now you just had to—

"why are you in such a rush, pet?"

crashing into jeno felt like crashing into a wall. if it hadn't been for his arm quickly wrapping around your waist, then you would've landed on your butt before him.

with the small distance between the two of you, jeno could see as clear as day through your eyes.

jaemin was right.

it was addicting to stare into them.

especially when he can see every single one of your thoughts flying through your pretty little head. but hey, it wasn't their fault you were so easy to read.

jeno barely conceals the wicked smirk on his lips when your hands come up to his chest, trying to push him away but to no avail.

he can see your eyes shifting from shock, to confusion, until it finally settles on fear—to which it's slowly becoming a favorite emotion of his to see on your face.

"you know, jaemin is in a really shitty mood right now. and we were wondering, maybe you can cheer us up?"

no. this can't be happening.

"jeno, please." your dilated eyes and disheveled hair made his blood run south. "let me go. you don't want me. you don't need a third party in your relationship."

you yelp when he lets you go, literally shoving you against a wall—which you found out is actually a door, as it swings open as soon as your body crashes against it.

with jeno looming unforgivingly before you in his full height, the tears stung extra hard but you won't let them fall.

if he wanted to bask in the image of your weakness then it'll be something you'll deprive from him for as long as you can.

"i don't need a stupid bitch like you to tell me what i feel." he scoffs. "don't fucking kid yourself, you little whore—i don't want you. i'm not jaemin."

the echo of the classroom door shutting closed surged through you like a wake up call.

this is really happening.

you've always led a decent life, had done nothing too questionable and you've always thought maybe life will spare you if you lived quietly enough. but the feel of jeno's freezing hands crawling against your skin felt like life itself had spat at you in the eye and left you to rot in a ditch.

"i've always liked how you wore skirts," he comments. playing with the ruffled hem of the soft fabric as he purposely grazed his knuckles against your supple thighs. "gives me easy access, don't you agree?"

you scream when he flips your skirt up to reveal the innocent pink of your cotton panties. it was as if a switch had flipped inside of you and the will to fight started coursing through your veins.

"stop! jeno! i don't want this!"

his brows furrow, grunting as he struggles to push the waistline of your skirt up higher with how much you're thrashing underneath him. you buck your hips, tried curling in on yourself, anything to prolong what he wants to do to you.

with your legs trapped underneath his, you blindly reach forward, relying on your upper body instead to push and scratch whatever your palms and nails reached.

you continue screaming like a banshee until he shoved two fingers into your wet cavern.

"stop fighting me," he sounded strained, as if he's holding himself back. you feel him fisting the fabric of your skirt and you fear he's simply going to rip it apart.

you tried responding to him, only the sound had been muffled, gurgled by the flat of his fingers pushing down against your tongue mercilessly. when you reach forward to push him away, your hands land on the apple of his cheeks, nails digging through skin.

until it slips and—

you lie rigid when red scratch marks in the size of your fingernails slowly appear on jeno's skin, his head turned to the side as he paused. your actions slowly start sinking in to him as he shuts his eyes and bit his lip 'till it looked like it was about to bleed.

oh no.

"jeno—"

the slap he planted on your cheek left your ears ringing. all those hard earned muscles of his put to good use—if the tears hadn't fallen for the last few minutes, then it definitely started falling now.

the hit had been so strong, a few of your hair flew astray, the buzzing feeling of your skin tempting you to reach a hand up to soothe your abused cheek.

until jeno let out a low growl and your hand immediately drops limp against your body, afraid of whatever else he can do to you other than a slap.

"that's more like it," he whispers under his breath. you let out the tiniest of whimpers when his hand darts forward to fist your hair. "do you know what happens to bad girls? they fucking get busted up. do you understand me?"

his patience is nonexistent.

jeno slams your head against the floor when you don't answer because you thought his question had been rhetorical. it felt like your skull had been split in two as you wail in pain.

"are you fucking deaf—i asked you a fucking question!"

the hand that cups your jaw is painful as he squeezed your cheek with his blunt nails. your hand shoots up to wrap around his wrist, silently pleading for him to let up as you sobbed out loud. you started nodding as best as you can despite his firm grip on your face.

your reply was nothing short of pathetic. with lips forcefully pursed and the steady stream of your tears and snot rolling down your face, your response is gargled and hardly incoherent and jeno seemed to thoroughly enjoy your anguish if the condescending curl on his lips is anything to go by.

"look at you," he whispers, his face coming close to yours as he holds you down. there was something in the way jeno stared so intently that it made your skin crawl.

"i think you're prettiest when ruined like this."

with his nose touching yours, he felt too close, bordering on intimate as you felt his hand creep back up your thighs, trailing up with feather-like touches that made goosebumps appear on your skin.

you tried wiggling your legs underneath him but one sharp look from jeno is enough to make you stop.

the hand holding your face moves. coming down from gripping your face to encircling his hand around your neck.

"do you like it when i touch you? freaky bitch."

his hands trail further up, up, up until you felt him slotting a finger underneath your panties.

jeno didn't like how frozen you were underneath him as he pulls at the hem before letting go. the elastic snapping back against your skin.

the action evokes a strong feeling through the young male, promising to have you writhing and screaming and begging because by the end of all this, you'll be so needy and frustrated that you will have no choice but to give in to what your body wanted.

"jeno, didn't i tell you to play nice?"

someone stands by the door, the minimal light from the hallway creating a silhouette with his form but you knew who he was. that deep voice, with the same annoying flippant tone, is a dead giveaway.

you didn't know why you even hoped in the beginning. as if there'll be someone who can save you from these two.

you thought the flash of hurt in your eyes was quick to disappear but jeno noticed it quicker.

in a span of seconds, he pulled you up from your position from the ground and tugged you towards his lap. you haven't even gotten the time to settle on your new position when he already smashed his lips against yours.

it was messy. too much saliva. too much teeth. no tenderness to it at all.

the fabric of his jeans felt rough, not to mention the ice cold belt buckle made you severely uncomfortable as it seeps through the thin fabric of your skirt.

when you attempt to hover over his lap, jeno grunts as he snakes an arm around your waist, pulling you back down without your lips breaking away from each other. you didn't know why he let out a whine, but you understood the moment you fully sat down on his lap and you felt a tent on his jeans hitting your clothed entrance perfectly.

in a normal circumstance, you would've found everything hot and might've actually gotten off from it but not when it's him who’s doing this to you and you didn’t consent to any of this.

you start squirming again. palms lying flat against jeno's chest as you attempt to push him away and jaemin sees this as the opportune moment to slot himself behind you, caging you in between them.

“i want my turn,” he hisses and without an ounce of hesitation, jeno stops to do what he's told.

jaemin doesn't waste any second to grab your face, awkwardly craning your neck up to meet his lips in the same feverish kiss.

while jeno had been all teeth and aggression, practically forcing you to open your mouth and kiss him back, jaemin on the other hand is more soft, more romantic, you daresay. he seemed to like taking his sweet time by clutching your face, kissing you like he actually meant it.

he pulls away slightly, resting his forehead against yours as he murmurs something incoherent under his breath and then he's kissing you again.

you think you heard something along the lines of, "finally."

you've been too distracted by jaemin to notice jeno's nimble fingers quickly fumbling with the buttons of your blouse. it was only when you feel the sensation of his tongue laving against the swell of your breast did you turn away from jaemin, jerking backward in surprise.

"no—!"

your scream is cut off by a hand cupping your mouth. jaemin pulls your back towards his chest, molding your body against his as jeno licked and suckled all he wanted, thankful to have the other boy there to not worry about restraining you and keeping you quiet while he has his fun.

"ah, ah, ah," jaemin teases, going hard over the pleading and teary look you sent his way. it looked pathetic, he wasn't going to lie, but it doesn't mean he didn't love it. "just keep still and appreciate jeno's efforts to take care of you, alright baby?"

you don't like how he talked as if this was all a mutual thing, how he talked slowly like you were some toddler who didn't understand anything.

it's cruel how jaemin giggled and basked in your vulnerable state as he kept his eyes pinned on you while undoing the zipper of your skirt. your muffled cries of his name only serving to egg him on.

the way he stared was similar to jeno, too intently and intrusive, like he wants to burn your image of despair in the back of his head.

you whined involuntarily when jeno got bored of all the licking and thus decided to start biting and nipping at your chest instead. he was hypnotised by how responsive you were, how every little bite and nibble made you shudder.

it was a shame that jaemin had to cover your mouth. he didn't get to hear your pretty mewls but it wasn't as if he'd let the night end without hearing them loud and clear.

jaemin is fast in undressing you, feeling slightly betrayed by how quick your skirt and blouse fell under his hands.

you know what he wants, what he's going to do, and the tears fall harder when you can't dodge away from him. forced to endure and accept whatever they give you.

"you act like you don't like it but look how fucking wet you are," you bit your lip hard when jaemin starts circling the pads of his fingers against your clit, fascinated by how more juices streamed down your thighs.

"jeno, do you see this? fuck."

you can only blink in defeat, staring off to the side as you force down any noise bubbling up your throat, forcing yourself to think of anything else other than what's happening right now.

you try not to think about how they managed to tear all of your clothes off while they're left completely dressed. tried not to think about the fingers lazily drawing up and down your slit to collect your essence.

if they're doing this as a way to further humiliate you, it's working.

"slut," jeno mocked, a wicked curl on his lips when he wraps his fingers around your throat. the moment he dives down to claim your lips again is the same time jaemin pushes two fingers inside you.

"look at how wet you are because of me," jaemin whispers hot against your ear and you feel a sick churn in your stomach when you feel his smile against your skin.

he purposely drives his fingers in and out quicker, settjng a brutal pace, wanting you to hear the lewd squelching sounds. "hear that? do you hear that, darling? that's because of me—"

"don't go talking big now, jaem," jeno retorts, pulling away from your lips to start nibbling on the back of your ear. "i was here first. did you see how she fucking reacted when i sucked on her tits?"

you're quick to catch how jeno particularly loved degrading you. but how he talks about you as if you're literally not in front of him naked made you hit a new all-time low.

you felt… filthy.

his hands find purchase on your butt—only because jaemin has already claimed the front. for now.

you close your eyes tight when he painfully squeezes the flesh of your ass. you swear, his blunt nails will paint your skin black and blue.

"i'm the favorite!"

"i'm the favorite!"

as someone who's part of a varsity team, you already knew a competitive nature runs through jaemin's veins. but never had you thought jeno would share the same sentiment. once again they prove that they're cut from the same cloth.

all of a sudden it wasn't all about claiming you as theirs anymore rather it was all about who can make you moan the loudest, who can make you cum the most, who can make you feel the dirtiest you can be.

you're absolutely terrified for the hours to come.

thankfully, they have yet to ask for your verbal opinion or validation. they let your body do all the talking—every repressed shudder and sharp gasp is enough.

but it's game over once they pop the million dollar question.

"who do you like best?"

you don't want to find out the consequences if you actually answered their question because you didn't know what could be worse.

jaemin's manipulation or jeno's aggression?

but it was all normal. trial and error is inevitable in order to build and mold you into the ideal lover for the both of them.

because adding someone new to the mix has never been easy—after all, three's a crowd.

[adorerdraco]

It’s Only Quidditch ✧ Draco x Slytherin!Reader

Request: can i please request you and draco being in slytherin and dating for a while and you two are on the quidditch team with him so maybe you two are in a match together but you get hurt and he gets worried and has to win the game and visits you after and maybe even wrecks the person who hurt you hehe just fluff and angst

AU AROUND 6TH YEAR NO VOLDY

Warnings: angry!draco, vengeful!draco, VIOLENCE, kinda graphic details like blood and injuries, lil bit of angst

Words: 3.9K (love making these long for no reason)

A/N: ANGRY DRACO IS SO HOT IM SORRY WOW BUT I HOPE THIS IS GOOOOD PLEASE ENJOY MY MADE UP CHARACTER AND MY SUPER LONG QUIDDITCH GAME THAT CONFUSED ME AFTER A WHILE OF TRYING TO WRITE LMAO and i made gif :)

November had begun and with it came the new season of quidditch at Hogwarts along with very poor weather and over-bundling nerves. Tensions had always gotten high around this time of the year amongst the teams and all animosity between the house’s respective players was on the forefront as the competition was building. It was like clockwork every year; captain’s starting strenuous training schedules, begging Snape to help book the stadium even if it was already occupied, spying on other teams to figure out their strengths and weaknesses. Not to mention the arguments that would happen regularly in between the first couple of games when you and your teammates would be accused of cheating or using dangerous and illegal moves. Which did happen to be true most of the time.

It was safe to say that it was the most eventful time of the year, and as suffocating as it sometimes got - you looked forward to it every time the new term started. It was in quidditch that you found yourself feeling the freest in, zipping around the stadium in a flash of green with the wind blowing through your hair and crisp autumn air biting at your cheeks. But most notably, it was in quidditch that you met Draco Malfoy and had quickly evolved from teammates to friends, to him now being your boyfriend.

You made Slytherin’s team your second year as a Chaser, a shiny new broom being given to you on the first day of scheduled training when Lucius Malfoy had made a generous donation that came along with a new platinum blond seeker. With the two of you being the latest additions to the teams, your captain, Marcus Flint, had decided to leave the dirty work for the two of you to do in the downtime every one else was able to enjoy. Marcus never changed that as the years went on.

So you and Draco would be sent off to other teams’ practices nearly every other day or week, depending on how secure Flint was feeling, both of you huddling closely together for sometimes hours behind the thick wooden benches as you watched and studied tactics with conversations in between. You would joke around a lot and call him your partner in crime which he would always roll his eyes to and make a snide and playful comment about even if he secretly loved hearing it. And the two of you stayed partners in crime for a while, neither of you ever making any move towards the other besides lingering touches and longing looks, and very rarely, a shy compliment.

It wasn’t until last year when you were hiding behind the bleachers, bored out of your mind watching Ravenclaw have a flawless run through around the stadium when you were graced with the dumbest idea.

“They’re playing good today,” you drawled out, “too good that it’s boring.”

“You reckon they studied so hard and found the key to quidditch?” He snickered as he played around with a pebble on the ground with his wand.

“We should help them out,” you suggested as Draco turned to raise a puzzled eyebrow at you. “Prepare them for the unexpected, nothing too crazy.”

You took out your wand from your pocket and pointed it towards one of their Beaters that was sitting idly by on their broom, a faint “confundus” leaving your lips that caused the broom to jerk swiftly to the side and nearly topple over its rider.

“You’re a genius,” Draco laughed quietly, repositioning himself so that he was right beside you with his wand directed out into the field. He spotted one of the bludgers flying towards the same Beater and instead of colliding with the bat, he used a charm to direct it into the back of their broom and then doubled it back around to try and hit one of the passing by Chaser’s that moved at the very last minute. 

You were a giggling mess, gripping tightly onto Draco’s arm as you watched everyone begin to look around wildly for the wild bludger with panicked expressions. What either of you didn’t realize in the middle of your joyed hysterics and Draco’s smugness for causing the angelic sounds, was that the bludger was flying idly still in front of the bleacher’s as his wand was still trained on it without moving it around anymore, his focus completely gone and concentrated on you.

It wasn’t until you heard someone yell out a, “Is that Malfoy and Y/L/N back there again?!” That made you get up with a sudden jolt, grabbing onto your accomplice’s hand as you ran towards the set of stairs that descended out of the stands. All you heard was distant angry insults and threats quickly fading out of ear-shot while you ran, laughing uncontrollably alongside Draco with his hand still tightly gripped in yours. 

When you finally reached the entrance of the empty courtyard of the castle with flustered cheeks and wheezing chuckles, you looked down at your joined hands at the same time he did and after a few seconds of realization and lingering adrenaline, you quickly moved into each other with a yearning kiss that changed everything from that day forward.

Draco stood beside you while you sat on a bench outside the locker room, your head resting lazily on the side of his leg while his fingers carded soothingly through your hair. Marcus was pacing in front of you, using his broom as a walking and pointing stick whenever he wanted to add any calculated words to his very hostile pep-talks that left everyone feeling more irritated and stressed.

Today was the last game of the season and the most important, it was the game that ended the season with a shimmering Inter-House Quidditch Cup and it just so happened to be against Gryffindor, making the stakes much higher than they already were. The matches against Gryffindor were by far, the most dangerous as they weren't afraid to play roughly either if push came to shove. The determination to beat each other and to win was critical on both sides and the day always ended with some sort of injuries.

“I don’t care how dirty we have to play today,” Flint fumed to the team, “I don’t care how many fouls we get, as long as we win.”

“Relax, Flint,” you sighed deeply. “We have the best players on our team and we’ve been working our arses off all season, we’ll be fine.”

“Still, I want to see blood out there,” he muttered back, walking towards the entrance of the field as Madam Hooch started calling your team out to start.

You stood up with a huff, Draco frowning when he noticed how tense you looked when your eyes worriedly met his.

“All right, love?”

“I'm just nervous,” you shrug, “I don’t want to mess up.”

The silver-haired boy moved to stand in front of you, placing two strong hands on either side of your arms to stand you in place so that he would be the only thing your wandering eyes were able to focus on.

“You are the best Chaser that Slytherin has ever had, no, that Hogwarts has ever had and I know for a fact you’re going to do amazing out there,” he cups your face with care, brushing a few stray hairs out of your face as he spoke. “You’ve got this.”

He pressed an encouraging kiss onto your forehead and then your lips, smiling at you supportively before taking your hand and hurriedly walking the two of you out into the field where the match was about to start.

Almost the whole school had shown up in an overcrowded sea of red and gold for Gryffindor. There were red sparks and small fireworks of lions that were charmed to roar when the animal would open its mouth. On one end of the stands, however, was the entire student body of Slytherin that was throwing green and silver ribbons and sparklers from their wands, yelling loudly in support as if their life depended on it. Over the rails, they had thrown down a large poster of a snake that moved around sleekly over large green words that read, “SLYTHERIN FOR THE WIN.”

Rain was lightly drizzling from the grayed dense clouds above, a sharp chill in the air from an approaching winter that always seemed to give the worst weather during the last couple of games of the year. You didn’t mind it since the cold had always felt nice against your sweaty skin during the game and it served like a small revitalizing shock that gave you a surge of energy to push forward with. 

Madam Hooch quickly went over the rules, set free the bludgers, and the snitch, forced the two captains, Wood and Flint, to shake hands and by the time she had counted down from three to one - brooms were soared into the sky with such speed it looked like a tornado had formed as she threw the quaffle up into the air.

A roar of cheers erupted from beside you as you got ahold of the quaffle, dashing past your House while you headed straight towards the Gryffindor’s goal post and managed to make the first shot in within the first five minutes of the game putting you at 10-0. You spotted Draco flying around above, smiling down brightly at you with triumph that only fueled your confidence as you darted forward to catch the ball again. You were, just as Draco had said, the best Chaser on the team and in all of the school. You were fast, agile, and smart when it came down to it and you were the reason why your team had easily wracked up 40 points with thirty minutes down in the match. Marcus was always trailing behind you with focus, shoving anyone who tried to get to you or pulling them back by their robes that landed Slytherin a couple of fouls throughout. 

You didn’t like to play dirty, but when Katie Bell had rammed into your side either accidentally or on purpose, it knocked the quaffle out of your hands and into one of their other Chaser’s, Rowan Rees, a muscular and tall seventh-year boy that had made the team that same year. With Katie still closely trying to cut you off, you veered sharply into her with your shoulder before breaking away from her and heading towards your goal post where they were trying to shoot. 

“ILLEGAL PUSHING FROM Y/L/N, FOUL AGAINST SLYTHERIN!” 

You rolled your eyes at the announcer, completely ignoring the boo’s that had filled the air as you whizzed past the other houses even though it was you who got hit first. Just as Rees had raised his arm to score, you flew over him, swooping your arm underneath your broom until you felt the quaffle back in your palm and ripped it from his grasp. The match was becoming more intense by the second, Gryffindor was promptly catching up in points because of the penalties they were awarded from the illegal moves your team was making and it left you feeling more pressured that it was nearly a tie now, Flint reminded you of that every chance he zoomed past you.

Unbeknownst to you, Draco was watching you cautiously from across the field most of the game when he noticed how close everyone was trying to get to you. You didn’t see the way you were almost tugged back multiple times or were missed by inches when someone was about to push you. Or how the Beaters were deliberately directing the bludgers in your direction. You also didn’t see how irked you had made Rees with your constant scoring and with the sporadic few times you had cut him off or almost bumped into him - but your boyfriend did, and he was much more focused on your safety now than the Golden Snitch he or Potter hasn’t spotted yet. Instead of searching for it, he was purposefully maneuvering himself around in front of the other Chasers to throw them off their focal point towards you so that you would have a clearer path to fly through.

He watched as you pulled your broom upwards to try and twist away from the area but Rees had reached out and pulled at your ankle, sending you out of your seat as the quaffle fell while you tried to rebalance yourself. That was all the encouragement the blond needed when he hurtled down into the mess, kicking at the back of Rees’ broom and sending him quickly spinning on a dive before he could try and move any further. 

“FOUL AGAINST REES AND MALFOY FOR KICKING AND TUGGING!”

“MALFOY!” Flint roared as he flew past, “Potter’s spotted the snitch! This isn’t your place, get out of here, NOW!”

And when he looked up, sure enough, Harry was going around desperately with an arm outstretched towards the small glint of gold that was moving too fast. 

“Go, I’m fine!” You shouted out to him when you flew back up with the ball back in your arms.

It was like slow motion when he forced himself to leave your surroundings, everything around him was moving fast and intensely with everyone screaming wildly that he couldn’t think straight. In a daze, he haphazardly sped towards Harry but noticed the panicked look on the seeker’s face when he had lost sight of it again which directed his attention right back to you. You were right in front of the Gryffindor goal post, arm stretched over your head and releasing the quaffle with a harsh throw.

“Y/L/N MAKES THE GOAL, TEAMS ARE AT A TIE-”

It wasn’t until the very last minute that everyone, including you, had realized the flash of red that came hurtling into your side at full speed, Rees colliding so loudly with you that it echoed around the stadium in a powerful clang and crack.

Draco watched in horror as you were thrown off your broom, your now unconscious body falling like a rag doll with a speed that sent his stress levels into overdrive. He had never pushed down on his broom so fast, immediately abandoning his spot to bolt towards you even as Marcus was screaming at him to not go. 

A few feet above the ground and before you met it, he managed to loop his arm around your waist and heave you onto the front of his broom with a slight struggle as it was now raining hard and clouding his vision. He saw Madam Pomfrey and Mcgonagall rushing into the field, hands holding tightly onto their hats as they worriedly rushed towards the area where your broom had fallen and where Draco was hovering over with you. 

“TEAMS ARE TAKING A 10 MINUTE TIME OUT!”

Marcus had flown down towards him, face twisted in fury and annoyance as he approached. 

“Is there a reason you’re not being a seeker, today?” He spits, “because I’ve been seeing you do everything but your job.”

“My bloody girlfriend just got knocked out!” Draco seethed at him. “I’m not going back into the game, I’m going with her to the hospital wing.”

“Like hell you are,” Flint scowled, “if you leave, you'll forfeit us the game. If you stay and let Potter catch that Snitch so it’ll be over quicker, I will personally make sure that this is your last year on the team. You’re going to win this for us.”

“Mr. Malfoy!” McGonagall called up to him, waving her arms hastily. “She needs to go to the infirmary, immediately!”

The two Slytherins were staring each other down aggressively as Draco contemplated the threat he was just given. There was nothing more he wanted to do than to throw a hex at Flint and leave with you, but he just swallowed thickly and nodded at him before descending towards the ground and letting you off carefully into the hands of Madam Pomfrey. A surge of fear ran through his body when he finally saw you clearly; a harsh red mark was making its way up to your neck, the corner of your bottom lip had split and doubled in size, there was a small scratch on your cheekbone. It made him feel queasy, but he tore his eyes away from you and hopped back onto his broom while glaring angrily at Marcus and the distant group of huddled Gryffindor’s. 

He was blinded in rage when the match resumed and even more enraged when Flint had cheered loudly when the announcer granted Slytherin a penalty for the injury Rees gave you, allowing them basically to get a free score in against Gryffindor. Draco let his eyes wander around for the snitch for the first time that day and he could hear his heart thundering in his eardrums in distress as the rain continued to make his search worse. All he wanted was to get out of the game to check up on you, and then he'd come back to the stadium to throw his fists into Rees’ face with maybe a few hits in on Marcus.

Just as he was losing hope, he saw a flash of gold whiz past him with a loud buzzing that shocked him into alertness. He didn’t care that catching the snitch would win the game, or the cup, or give him all the glory, no - this was his ticket out. He dived towards it with his arm outstretched, hand thrashing around in the wind as he tried to eagerly catch it. In seconds, Harry was right beside him, bumping him with his shoulder to try and throw him off the path but Draco only pushed back harder. There was a flurry of shouting as everyone watched, the announcer was yelling into the mic about the seekers going head-to-head, bludgers were flying past him. 

It was pure chaos and urgency, Draco could feel the fluttering of its wings beneath his palm and when Harry pushed into him one more time, he felt the coldness of the Snitch get trapped into his enclosed hand, the vibration of its wings sending a current of relief up his arm that spread throughout his whole body as he soared up into the sky while brandishing it to the schools’ painfully watchful eyes.

“MALFOY HAS CAUGHT THE SNITCH, WINNING SLYTHERIN THIS YEAR’S INTER-HOUSE QUIDDITCH CUP!”

Draco hurriedly made his way down to the field where the rest of his house was pooling into, celebrating proudly and calling out for him to praise, but when he landed on the ground and was met with half of the Gryffindor team including Rowan Rees - all his wrath came flooding back into him. 

Angelina, another Gryffindor Chaser, had nudged Rowan with her shoulder, pointing towards the Slytherin Prince that was stalking towards them.

“Malfoy,” Rees started bitterly, “sorry about the girlfriend, I was only trying to knock the quaffle out her hands.”

“After she had already thrown it?” He glowered, walking closer up to the boy that was beginning to straighten himself out and flex. “Looked a little personal seeing how she was dragging you through the dust the whole game.”

“Accidents happen, mate,” Rees shrugged, “it’s only quidditch, you won didn’t you? Maybe you should be thanking me for giving you that extra push to win the game.”

A clear line had been crossed and everyone who was listening knew it. But before Rowan could say anything to try and drag himself out of the hole he had just dug himself into, he was being tackled into the ground with Draco above him throwing punches wherever he could land them. There was loud hooting and laughing coming from the Slytherins that gathered around the fight, cheering loudly for their House superior.

Rees was thrashing around on the ground, trying frantically to throw off the extremely infuriated boy that was repeatedly pounding into his face with bloodied and bruised fists. Oliver Wood ran up to the sudden brawl, Fred and George following closely behind him as they all started trying to rip the fighting boy’s apart from each other. Oliver had gotten Draco off briefly, allowing Rees to try and get a hit in but it was dodged at the last second as the blond quickly leaped up to his feet. The fight immediately ended when a muddy shoe had collided with Rowan’s jaw and Draco stepped back satisfied with the damage he had done, roughly shrugging off the grip Oliver still had on his arm.

“It’s only quidditch, right?” He spat venomously from above the Gryffindor who was holding his now battered face in pain. “That’ll teach you from putting your hands on a woman too.”

“Mr. Malfoy!” Madam Hooch bellowed as she broke through the crowd in a frenzy. “50 points from Slytherin, go wait outside Professor Snape’s office for further punishment, go right now!”

Draco did go, and instantly, but he didn’t go down to the dungeons to hear about the lengthy detention that he knew he was going to get and the scolding for being reckless and stupid. His feet carried his sore body up the many stairs that led to the hospital wing, his pace picking up swiftly when he saw the large double doors of the infirmary ajar and he was able to hear a faint and familiar voice speaking indistinctly. 

He threw open the doors, walking straight in as if he owned the place and ignored Pomfrey’s requests for him to leave as he made a beeline towards your hunched figure that was facing away from him. 

“I need to see her,” he said to the nurse quickly when she stopped in front of him. “I’ll leave soon, please.”

At the sound of his voice, you hastily turned around in your spot to face him, a yelp escaping your lips for moving too quickly through your injuries. Pomfrey stepped out of the way with a sigh allowing Draco to jog over to you.

“I’m going to kill him,” he scowled when he reached you. You were wearing a sling, a deep purple and yellowed bruise quickly set itself over the side of your arm and the same cuts he saw from earlier were still scattered over your features. His fingers ghosted over your skin and he let out a deep shaky exhale of anxiousness before moving his thumb up to graze your cheek tenderly.

“What happened to you?” You asked quietly in shock when you noticed his mud-splattered clothes and tattered fists. 

“Long story,” he drawled. “Don’t worry about me, are you okay?”

“I’m okay,” you muttered with a slight shrug that made you whimper lightly. “Did we win?”

He nodded quietly, his eyes still scanning sadly over your face with a frown. “I swear, I’m going to kill him.”

“Only if I can help,” you sniggered faintly, trying to make light of the situation and succeeding in doing so when you saw he had cracked a small smile. With his hand still on your cheek, he bent down to press a firm kiss on the top of your hair and then warmly on the side of your mouth that wasn’t bleeding.

“I’ll just let you finish him off then,” he mulled amusingly when he pulled away.

“Finish him off?”

The doors of the hospital wing were thrown open again, a sea of red flowing inside as they carried in a pummeled Rowan with a busted lip, bloodied nose, black eye, and deeply bruised jaw. You looked briskly between Rees and Draco, both of them staring daggers at each other and it rapidly clicked in your mind why your boyfriend had looked like he just walked through a battlefield in your absence.

“Oh.”