#teen idle they say

[rithshell]

TW !! UNDERAGE DRINKING.

One of those nights.

[prinzessinpalast]

feeling super, super, super suicidal

[themonkey2025]

crazy how actually every seemingly innocuous decision i have ever made can be traced back to some weird neurosis i have about myself and the way i exist in the world

[gece-misin-nesin]

Most of the songs in Electra Heart are incredibly Jason Todd coded(except certain lines being abt romantic/sexual relationships, change those slightly and voila). No I won't elaborate because you know I'm right.

[conanssummerchild]

I WISH I WASNT SUCH A NARCISSIST I WIHS I DINT REALLY KISS THE MIRRROE WHEN IM ON MY OWN. OH GOD. IM. GONNA. DIE. ALONE.

[itsays]

.

[meow-xine]

hiii, this has been stuck on my head for days so i just had to write it.

word count: 1.7k words

pairing: prohero!iida x afab!reader

cw: sorry this is a lot of just smut.. no real plot

not proofread, sorrryyyy :’)

ProHero!Iida who was never one for intimacy. He was always too busy with work and running his firm, never having time to look into relationships aside from the practicality that they could bring; double incomes, continuing bloodlines. They weren’t his thing.

ProHero!Iida who’s attention was captured by you, the newest hire at the firm. Something about the way you carried yourself was so captivating to the young hero.

ProHero!Iida who found himself sneaking unnoticed glances at you when he could. Making excuses to talk to you when in the office. He figured he would wait for you to take initiative, show some interest. After all, relationships weren’t his thing.

ProHero!Iida who noticed his glances getting returned, met with a smile from your pink glossed lips. Starting more idle conversations, too distracted by the sweet notes of your perfume to speak of anything notable.

ProHero!Iida who slowly works up the courage to ask you to drinks one night, having much more of a fun and special night than he could have ever expected. The mood between the two of you at work had uplifted, being much more light for the two of you.

Drinks now becoming a common meeting place for the both of you after work or on the weekends. Iida, after many pep talks in the mirror, had now begun to muster up the courage to ask you to something more formal, more personal.

“[Name]! Good thing I caught you.” Iida spoke, catching you as you were headed toward the door. “Hm?”

“Apologies, but would you..like to go to dinner with me tonight?” He trembled just a bit.

He cut the silence that followed, thinking he may have gone too far.

“Well, I understand you had a long day actually- I’m sorry for asking so soon, it must be-”

“I would love to!” You interrupted. “That sounds very fun Iida, what time works?”

He smiled, a newfound passion filling him.

ProHero!Iida who couldn’t deny the feelings he had for you anymore, especially after your dinner. Acting like an excited teen boy, letting his desires and thoughts of you consume him deep into the night, later than he would ever think of staying up. Pants and whines filled the hero’s dark room as he palmed his length through his boxers. He felt so..dirty touching himself to his dear colleague. At the same time, he couldn’t help himself. You were the first person he had felt this way about. A heavy sigh left his parted lips as he finished into a nearby towel, still thinking about you.

ProHero!Iida who, now more than ever, wanted to be around you. You had gone on multiple dates with the broad hero, your feelings growing stronger day by day, as were his. One night though, when the two of you were getting ready to leave the restaurant Iida you had just eaten at, he invited you over.

“[Name].. There is something I have been meaning to ask you. If you are comfortable with it, would you accompany me back to my house?” He avoided eye contact and rubbed his arm nervously, expecting rejection.

You were flushed, not knowing what to expect. With how you felt about him, there was no way you could say no. So, you smiled and accepted.

ProHero!Iida who led you into his home, making sure to offer any comfort he could. Drink? Blanket? Was the light too bright? Too dark? You sat down on a couch in the main room, him following next to you.

“[Name], truth be told, I don’t know exactly how to say this.” he started, “I..when I wake up in the morning I think of you. I think of you until I walk into the firm and see you smiling, and the second you’re out of sight I cannot help but let my thoughts continue. You are so dear to me, and I’m not sure I have ever felt like this for anyone. You consume my very being, and I brought you here to tell you that I, I have feelings for you. Feelings that are too strong to hide anymore.”

You couldn’t hide your smile, feeling the same exact way as him. Not to mention how sweet and personal his confession was.

“Tenya,” You paused, searching for the right words to say, “you have no idea what those words mean to me. I would be lying if I said I had no feelings for you, and it makes me so happy to hear that you feel the same.”

ProHero!Iida who couldn’t believe the words that escaped your mouth. His breath hitched, and he found himself scooting closer to you on the couch. The two of you were now painfully close, the room filled with the slow breathing coming from you. Then he asked.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Yes.”

And all at once he cupped your face and met your lips with his. It started off slow, an innocent deep peck. The kiss deepened and his hands moved from your face, snaking around your waist, pulling you closer.

He pulled away. “[Name].. please,” he spoke, keeping eye contact. “I need you. Let me have you, please.” his voice was now filled with desperation. He made his way to your lips again, then your cheeks, feathering slow kisses along your jawline and down your neck.

“Tenya..” you breathed.

“Do you want me to stop?” He pulled back.

“No, keep going..please.” You whined. You knew how pathetic it sounded, but you couldn’t help the growing heat in your lower belly. You needed to feel relief.

ProHero!Iida who leads the two of you to the bedroom, laying you down. Who takes his time removing each layer of clothing, leaving small kisses in between. The sight of you under him, red and covered by nothing more than a sheer bra and matching panties.

He noticed your attempt to rub your thighs together, trying to relieve the growing pressure.

He smiled, “Let me help you.” He searched for permission in your eyes, only proceeding when you nodded yes.

He wasted no time, dipping his hand into your panties, fingers teasing at your slit. “You’re so wet [Name]..” He rubbed your slick around, finally taking one of his fingers and dipping it inside of you, curling it ever so slightly.

“F-fuck Tenya..” you cursed, embarrassed that all it took to get you hot and bothered was a single finger. He brought his other hand under your bra, prodding at the hardening bud. The combination of pleasure surging through your nerves was almost too much to handle. You already felt yourself nearing your finish. You couldn’t help but whimper under him.

He smiled, knowing he had to be doing something right, and slid another digit in. Watching your face contort as you came undone from just two of his fingers inside you. You grinded your hips down on his hand, needing that final push before you could finish. Your orgasm soon came crashing down on you.

“Oh I’m-!”

“Goooood, that’s good. Ride it out.”

He watched your body intently, noticing how your back curved as your orgasm surged through you.

Your moans were replaced with heavy breathing as he pulled his fingers out and stood up, beginning to undress. You couldn’t take your eyes off of him when he got down to just his boxers, tenting as his erection pressed almost painfully against the fabric.

And he was…big.

You too stood up and made your way over to him, first planting a kiss on his lips. Him leaning down, wrapping his muscular arms around your bare waist. Your hand travelled down, touching his erection through his boxers.

ProHero!Iida who watched your face as you pulled down his boxers, watching his throbbing cock spring up and slap his abdomen. He hissed as air hit his dick.

ProHero!Iida who wasted no time helping you remove your bra and panties, the two of you now completely bare.

You laid down, he followed, now laying next to you. “[Name].. if you don’t mind, could you follow my lead for a moment?” He asked shyly, “Of course. I trust you.”

He rolled you over on your side, his cock now pressing behind you, resting on your back.

“I’m going to enter myself now.. if you need me to stop please don’t hesitate to let me know.”

His arms locked you in place as he wrapped them around your waist tightly. Ever so slowly he put his tip in your warm entrance, moaning at the new sensation.

ProHero!Iida who was now buried deep inside you, relishing in the shape of your walls and and how perfectly they housed him. He dreamt of you, of this very experience, but you far exceeded any expectations.

ProHero!Iida who thrusted inside of you, quickening his pace gradually. Replacing the lewd wet slapping sounds with small words of praise, the position you were in making it easy for him to whisper and nibble on your ear.

ProHero!Iida who wished he could listen to nothing more but your moans and whines, see nothing more than your smaller frame unraveling with his touches.

“You’re doing so good, take it just like that..”

ProHero!Iida who makes sure you finish on his cock before he even thinks about cumming. The sweetest sounds fill his room, his ears, he wants right now to please you more than anything.

As you cum, he continues a steady pace, riding you through it. “Mhm, that’s it.” he grunts, pulling his cock out and pumping it a few times before finishing on your ass.

ProHero!Iida who rushes to draw you a bath and clean you up, preparing you a set of sleeping clothes. He bathes you, apologizing if he went overboard and still showering you with praise.

“You did so good, such a good girl for me.”

ProHero!Iida who lays down next to you, watching you until he’s sure you’re asleep. He feels he can now rest knowing you’re okay. He kisses your forehead once before nuzzling into you and falling asleep too

[theonottsbxtch]

TEEN IDLE | MV1

an: god this idea came to me while listening to teen idle by marina and lowkey kinda liked where i ended it, so i hope you enjoy it just as much and i won't write a pt 2 to this- unfortunalety for me my beloved friend hasn't proof read this one so apologies

wc: 2.8k

MAX VERSTAPPEN WAS RAISED FOR THIS. Before he could walk, he was sat in a go-kart; before he could read, he knew the weight of a steering wheel in his hands. His father made sure of that. Other kids had footballs, bicycles, summer holidays. He had telemetry sheets and tyre wear reports.

He was bred to be a champion, and so he became one.

By twenty-eight, Max had won everything there was to win. Multiple titles, records shattered, his name etched into the sport’s history books. And yet, looking back, it all felt like one long, unbroken blur—an endless series of podiums, press conferences, mechanics’ murmurs, and the relentless pressure of being the golden boy.

He could barely remember what it was like to be young, not properly. There were flashes, though. The sharp, acrid scent of petrol in the garage. The weight of his father’s expectations pressing down on him like a vice. The way his stomach had twisted before every junior race, knowing that second place was never good enough.

And then there were the times he could barely remember. That he should remember.

He had been seventeen, teetering on the edge of adulthood but feeling nothing like a man. She had been older—how much older, he wasn’t sure anymore, but old enough for it to feel like something forbidden. He’d told himself it was what he wanted, that he needed to do it. To feel something, to prove something.

Afterwards, he had stared at the ceiling, waiting for some grand revelation, some fundamental shift inside him. It never came.

He didn’t feel like more of a man.

And now, sitting in his driver room in another city, another race weekend, another meaningless milestone approaching, he wonders if anything ever really has.

He saw himself in the mirror across the room, still in his race suit, half unzipped, the fireproofs underneath clinging to his skin. His hair was damp, sticking to his forehead. He looked older than he remembered. Maybe it was the lighting. Maybe it was the exhaustion.

Maybe it was just the truth.

His phone vibrated on the bedside table. Another message he wouldn’t answer. He knew what it would say. Some journalist fishing for a quote. Someone from the team reminding him about media duties. A half-hearted invitation to drinks he had no interest in.

He ignored it.

Instead, he let himself sink back into the mattress, staring at the ceiling, replaying it all again. The wasted years. The wasted youth. The pretty lies, the ugly truth.

He had once thought that if he just won enough, if he proved himself enough, it would all start to mean something. That the hollow feeling would go away. But it never had.

He remembered being ten years old, crying in the back of his father’s car after a race he should have won. The slap, sharp and stinging. If you want to be the best, you can’t be weak.

He remembered being fifteen, standing on the top step of the podium, trophy in his hands, cameras flashing. His father’s arm around his shoulder, grip just a little too tight. See? This is what you were made for.

He remembered being seventeen, sheets tangled around his legs, a woman whose name he barely knew tracing her fingers down his chest. Was that what you wanted?

He hadn’t known what to say then. He still didn’t.

His driver room was silent except for the faint hum of the air conditioning, the city lights seeping through the gap in the curtains. He had spent years surrounded by noise—engines screaming, crowds chanting, his father’s voice drilling into his skull—and yet, in the quiet, he still heard it all.

He exhaled, long and slow, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. It was easier not to think. Easier to let the days blur together, one podium, one interview, one flight after another.

But some nights—like this one—he couldn’t help but wonder if he had ever really been alive at all.

He stayed there for a while, sprawled across the bed, staring at the ceiling as if it might give him some sort of answer. It never did. The room felt too still, too clinical, the kind of place designed for fleeting stays and nothing more. He had lived in hotels and motorhomes for most of his life, but none of them had ever felt like home.

Eventually, he forced himself to move. Peeling off his fireproofs, he let them drop to the floor, stepping over them as he made his way to the tiny en-suite. The mirror above the sink reflected someone he barely recognised. Shadows clung beneath his eyes, and a faint red mark on his forehead from his balaclava made him look even more exhausted than he felt.

He turned the tap on, splashing cold water onto his face, then braced his hands against the sink, head hanging low. He needed to get out.

Throwing on a plain t-shirt and an old hoodie, he grabbed a cap from the side table and pulled it low over his eyes. It was enough to make him anonymous—just another man slipping into the night, nothing special.

The paddock had mostly emptied by now, a few lingering mechanics finishing up for the evening, murmured conversations carrying through the cool air. He walked with purpose, shoulders hunched, hands stuffed into his pockets. No one stopped him. No one even looked twice.

By the time he reached the edge of town, he found what he was looking for. A pub, run-down but still open, the glow of neon signs flickering in the window. It wasn’t the kind of place anyone from the paddock would go, which was exactly why he chose it.

Inside, the air was thick with the smell of stale beer and cheap cologne, a low hum of conversation and the occasional scrape of a chair against the floor. A few old blokes sat hunched over their pints, barely sparing him a glance as he made his way to the bar.

“Can I help?” the bartender asked, barely looking up as he wiped down the counter.

“Whisky,” he said, voice hoarse from a day of interviews and radio calls. “Neat.”

The glass clinked against the wood a few moments later. He took it without a word, moving to a quiet corner, away from the dim overhead lights.

He took a sip. It burned on the way down, but at least it made him feel something.

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, nursing the drink, letting the noise of the bar blur around him. Long enough for the ice to melt, for the world outside to fade into nothing.

For the first time in a while, he felt like nobody. And somehow, that was a relief.

The whisky went down too easily. He swirled the last of it in his glass, watching the way the light caught the amber liquid, then tipped it back, letting it burn its way down. He wasn’t drunk, not yet, but the edges of everything felt softer. Less sharp. Less real.

He was about to signal the bartender for another when she appeared. She slid into the seat opposite him without hesitation, eyes flicking towards the entrance before settling on him.

He barely had time to register her presence before a man followed, taller, broader, the kind of bloke who walked like he owned the room. The girl didn’t look at him, just leaned forward, resting her arms on the table as she spoke.

“See, I told you my boyfriend was waiting for me.”

Max didn’t move. Didn’t react. But he caught the way her fingers curled slightly, gripping the edge of the table just a little too tight. The man hovered for a second too long, gaze shifting between them, then exhaled sharply through his nose.

“Right,” he muttered, before turning and stalking back towards the bar.

She waited until he was gone before she relaxed, shoulders dropping ever so slightly. Then she looked at Max properly, a small smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.

“Thanks for that,” she said, not sounding particularly sorry.

He didn’t respond, just pushed his empty glass aside, already regretting getting involved in whatever this was. But she didn’t seem bothered by his silence. She tilted her head, eyeing the glass, then raised a brow at him.

“What are you drinking?”

“Doesn’t matter,” he muttered, shifting slightly in his seat. He wasn’t in the mood for small talk, least of all with a stranger who had just used him as an excuse to shake off some bloke she clearly had no interest in.

But she ignored him, her eyes flicking to the last few amber drops in his glass before he could move it out of sight.

“Whisky,” she said, like she had figured him out. Then, before he could protest, she got up and strode towards the bar.

He sighed, dragging a hand down his face. He should leave. Finish the last drops, disappear into the night, let her deal with whatever mess she was in on her own.

But when she returned, setting a fresh glass down in front of him with a quiet clink, he didn’t move.

“Cheers, boyfriend,” she teased, raising her own glass.

He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head slightly, but picked up the drink anyway.

For now, he stayed.

She took a sip of her drink, watching him over the rim of her glass. He could feel her curiosity, the way she was studying him, trying to fit him into a story in her head.

“So,” she said eventually, setting her glass down, “do I get to know my fake boyfriend’s name?”

He hesitated. It was a simple enough question, but it felt like a trap. He wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was the whisky. Maybe it was the way she had just waltzed into his night without permission, without expectation. But before he could stop himself, he said, “Emilian.”

It was his middle name. He didn’t know why he hadn’t said Max, that was far more common that Emilian.

She raised an eyebrow. “Emilian, huh?”

He nodded once, taking a slow sip of his drink to avoid looking at her properly.

She didn’t question it. Instead, she leaned back in her chair, tilting her head slightly. “Alright, Emilian. What are you out drinking for?”

He considered lying again. Saying something easy, something normal. But the truth slipped out before he could think of anything else.

“I’m tired,” he said simply. “Needed a break from work.”

Her expression shifted slightly—not quite pity, but understanding. “Bad day?”

“Long day,” he corrected. “Long… few years, actually.”

That made her huff a quiet laugh. “Yeah, I know that feeling.” She took another sip, then rested her chin on her hand. “What do you do?”

He should have said something vague. Something non-committal. But the whisky was settling in now, loosening the grip on his thoughts, and the lie came out before he even knew why he was telling it.

“I’m a mechanic.”

It felt strange, saying it. Unfamiliar, but safe.

She hummed, tilting her head. “Huh. Thought you might be something like that.”

He frowned slightly. “Why?”

She shrugged. “Dunno. Just got the vibe.” Then she smirked. “Or maybe I saw the oil stains under your nails.”

His pulse jumped for a second before he realised she was joking. His hands were clean—too clean, probably, for someone who supposedly worked in garages all day—but she didn’t seem to notice.

“Must be a stressful job, if it’s got you drinking alone,” she added, watching him over her glass again.

He exhaled, glancing down at the whisky in his hand. “Yeah,” he said, and for the first time that night, it wasn’t a lie.

He rolled his glass between his fingers, watching the whisky catch the dim light. Then, without really thinking, he asked, “What about you? Why are you out this late?”

She exhaled through her nose, tipping her head back slightly. “Was walking home from a wake,” she said, matter-of-fact. “Then that bloke started following me, so I figured I’d use you.”

There was no shame in it, no hesitation. Just a casual admittance, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. She took another sip of her drink, then smirked slightly. “There’s always some sad sod drinking alone somewhere.”

He let out a small laugh at that—barely more than a huff of breath, but it surprised him nonetheless.

“Lucky me, then,” he muttered, shaking his head.

She raised her glass slightly in mock toast.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The bar buzzed around them, low conversations, clinking glasses, the occasional burst of laughter from a table near the back.

Then he asked, “Who died?”

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t shift uncomfortably or drop her gaze.

“My dad.”

He blinked. “Shit.”

She shrugged, swirling the last of her drink.

“Sorry,” he said automatically, but even as the words left his mouth, he was already wondering—how would he feel if his dad died?

Would it be relief? Would it be grief? Would it be anything at all?

She must have seen something in his face because she let out a dry laugh. “Don’t apologise,” she said, tipping her glass towards him before downing the rest of it in one go. “He was a right old cunt.”

That made him snort before he could stop himself. He coughed, shaking his head as he took a sip of his own drink. “Christ.”

She grinned. “I mean, it’s true. Everyone was there, saying all this bollocks about what a great man he was, and I was just sat there thinking, what a load of shite.”

Max watched her, the way she spoke so bluntly, so freely. He tried to imagine standing at his own father’s funeral, people saying things about what a hard man he’d been, how much he’d sacrificed for his son, how proud he would have been.

He wasn’t sure he’d believe a word of it.

She leaned forward slightly, eyeing him. “Bet you weren’t expecting that answer.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “No. Can’t say I was.”

She smirked. “Well, you don’t look like the type to have a good relationship with your dad either, so…”

His grip tightened on his glass for half a second before he forced himself to relax. He didn’t reply.

She didn’t press.

Instead, she raised her empty glass, tilting it towards him. “Another?”

He should have said no. Should have left while he still had the sense to.

But he didn’t.

“Yeah,” he said, finishing the last of his whisky. “Go on, then.”

And just like that, he let himself sink a little further into the night.

The air was crisp as they walked, the quiet hum of the city settling around them. The streets weren’t quite empty—there were still a few late-night stragglers, people spilling out of pubs, voices carrying in the cool night—but it was calmer now, the chaos of earlier fading into something softer.

She shoved her hands into the pockets of her jacket, tilting her head back slightly as she walked. “Where you staying, then?”

“One of the hotels by the track,” he said, not thinking much of it.

She let out a low whistle. “Bet that’s a nightmare with the F1 on. Must be packed. Loud as hell.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah. Something like that.”

She hadn’t connected the dots. Maybe it was the drinks, or maybe she just didn’t follow motorsport enough to care. Either way, he didn’t correct her.

They kept walking, neither of them in much of a rush to get anywhere. Her bus stop wasn’t far, but she didn’t break pace, didn’t cut the night short. Neither did he.

It was nice, in a way, walking with someone without expectation. Without small talk that felt forced or questions that felt intrusive. Just two strangers, filling the quiet.

Eventually, the bus stop came into view. She slowed, glancing up at the electronic sign before rocking back on her heels slightly.

“Well,” she said, turning to him, “this is me.”

He nodded. “Right.”

She looked at him for a moment, like she was considering something, then just smiled. “Thanks for the drink, Emilian.”

He let out a small breath of laughter. “Yeah. No worries.”

The bus pulled up, doors hissing open, but she didn’t move straight away. Instead, she tilted her head slightly, eyes scanning his face like she was trying to work something out. Then, without another word, she stepped onto the bus.

He didn’t ask for her number. She didn’t offer.

The doors shut, and he stood there for a moment, watching the bus pull away.

Then he turned and started walking back towards his hotel.

The night was still. The world felt quieter.

And for the first time in a long while, so did he.

the end.

taglist: @alexisquinnlee-bc @carlossainzapologist @oikarma @obxstiles @verstappenf1lecccc @hzstry8 @dying-inside-but-its-classy @anamiad00msday @linnygirl09 @mastermindbaby @iamred-iamyellow @isaadore

[cherisi]

Clubbing NPCs: Two Worlds Mod Pack | 80+ Animated Deco Sims

Bring the energy of a real night out to The Sims 4 with the Clubbing NPCs Mod! This set of animated deco Sims ensures your clubs and parties actually give what they need to give. No more empty dance floors or awkward gatherings—now, your Sims can party alongside a crowd of dancers, DJs spinning tracks, bouncers keeping the sneaky teens in check, and dealers working the scene. Say goodbye to partying with just Nancy Landgraab and some random townie—your Sims’ nights out will finally feel like nights out!

Items List

Features

Dancers Silhouette Dancers Mr. & Mrs. Bouncer Dealers Seen And Not Heard DJ Club Dancers (Requires Pole Dance Mod by Mercuryfoam) Idle Clubbers

For more information about the set, how it works, and what’s included please refer to the official download page: Patreon

Download

Early Access: March 21. March 28. April 4 Public April 11th Mod Showcase

[b14augrana]

Ad Astra Per Aspera

Nothing gold can stay

Alexia Putellas x teen!reader

pt. 3 masterlist

Warnings: this story contains depictions of alcoholism, adultery, and familial issues. read at your own discretion. this chapter in specific discusses themes of abuse and alcoholism.

A/N: the long awaited part 2 to ‘ad astra per aspera’! this took a lot of thinking and scrapped passages to really get this on point, i hope you enjoy 🫶🏼

"You’re early today!”

You smiled halfheartedly at Magdalene and Dani’s teacher, nodding at her. “Yeah, uh, I’ve gotta get to work a bit earlier today so…”

“Not a problem, I’ll see you later,” the woman responded. You gave Magdalene and Dani one last hug before returning to your car, having hope that you’d finally be early to training for once and go the day without being berated by Alexia.

You didn’t want to relive the other night’s training, not in your mind, and definitely not in person. With you, Alexia was a completely different person to the patron saint of Barça that everyone painted her as. You wanted to change that and show her you weren’t as irresponsible and careless as she thought you out to be, but you couldn’t.

It was a relief to see the training pitch parking lot barely populated as it came into sight. There was maybe two cars, which meant you were on time. How incredible.

Before every training, a hopeful feeling swelled inside of you — one of happiness, because you saw football as a means of enjoyment and something to look forward to when all else came crashing down in your life. It was short lived of course, but like a phoenix, it always came back one way or another. Were you wrong for believing in your sport to help you?

"(Y/N), you're early.. for once."

You knew that voice all too well. There was a surprised tone that Alexia's voice held as she spoke, and you knew she expected you to show up late once again if not miss practice completely.

"Yeah, surprise," you replied dully, sitting down on the bench to put your boots on.

"Why are you early?" she asked, and it was a bit of a stupid question.

'Well, after you yelled at me in front of everybody the other day, I decided that if I have to drop all three of my siblings off to school, I might as well do it as early as possible so I don't have to worry about getting screamed at and humiliated at half past nine in the morning!'

"Dropped my siblings off earlier today," you mumbled instead, eyes fixated on the ground as you spoke. You were sure that eventually, your fear would be the one to corrupt your family completely, but you couldn't tell Alexia; it was equivalent to opening yourself up to her, being vulnerable even after trying so hard to maintain a tough front.

She glanced at you, her eyebrow just barely raised but her mouth idle. You cinched your laces tightly and sprung to your feet, very aware of her gaze fixed on you as you grabbed a ball from the bag and dribbled it over to the nearest wall, preparing for the training session ahead.

More of the team started to file through the pitch gates. You could hear their bags dropping to the ground as you passed against the wall, and as Mapi passed behind you she squeezed your shoulder. “I’m glad to see you, (Y/N),” she said, a smile on her face.

For once, as training started, you didn’t feel dreadful. You were excited and motivated by the good start to the morning, which showed in the newfound pep in your step and enthusiasm around the pitch.

After a long while, the sun began to set, which indicated the end of training. You sat down at the bench, unlacing your boots and trading them for sandals. Unexpectedly, Alexia sat down beside you, saying, “Good job today. You did well.”

“Graciés,” you responded, standing up while slinging your bag over your shoulder, “See you tomorrow.”

She watched you leave through the gates, her eyes unwavering on your figure disappearing around the corner.

You lived next to a lovely elderly lady named Margalida. She was a sweet woman, always saying bon día and bona tarda to you and your siblings whenever she saw you. Sometimes, after you returned from training and picked up your siblings, she invited you four into her home to share pastries with her. You always accepted, of course, because it was much better than subjecting yourself to the olfactory assault that was your home, and she was also a widow that you figured needed some company from time to time.

When you weren't home, you couldn't monitor your mother's behaviour; praying that it would stay somewhat normal would have to suffice. You didn’t know whether Margalida knew about the true nature of your household or if she thought you were all naturally raucous.

You pulled into the driveway, parking the car as the doors opened and your siblings got out of the car. “(Y/N),” Magdalene said slowly, imploring you to look at her curiously. “Who are those people?” she pointed ahead, and that’s when you noticed Margalida at your doorstep, alongside two police officers and another woman. She looked like a regular office worker, but you weren’t an idiot; she was obviously a social worker, which could only mean one thing. A bad thing.

"You three stay in the car for a bit, okay? I'm gonna go talk to these people," you said to your siblings, motioning to the car as you turned around again and walked towards the people.

You felt nothing but dread in your gut as you approached them. One of the cops, who was talking to a distressed looking Margalida, looked at you and began to speak. "Miss (Y/L/N)?"

You nodded slowly, "Before we talk, can I just send my siblings inside?"

"That won't be possible," the officer said, making you raise an eyebrow, "...Because we're here regarding a call about a person inside, which we now know isn't you."

"I heard yelling from inside," Margalida added. "It was loud, and– and it sounded like there was crashing, from things being thrown around."

She took a deep breath, looking at you sympathetically. "I thought one of you was being hurt, so I called the police."

"I know your situation with the..." she paused, gesturing to the rubbish bin. You spun around, your eyes widening at the sight of it. Cans and bottles galore filled the bin to the brim, threatening to spill out. You could count at least ten, and that was only at the surface of the deep bin. You could recall the rubbish being collected just a few days ago, and now it was basically full.

She looked at you, her eyes pitiful. You hated it, so much; pity made you feel like a kid, and it angered you that the only time you got to relive any sort of childishness was when someone noticed you were suffering, not because you actually had the liberty to behave like one again. Where was the pity when you actually were a kid, having to wake up and stay afloat to support three other kids?

"Who else lives here, other than you and your — I'm assuming — siblings?" the other cop asked.

"My mother. My dad left a few years ago," you mumbled, looking at the ground.

"Is she home right now?" he asked, and you nodded. "Yeah. She's probably asleep, so if you did knock on the door, that's why nobody opened it."

"Asleep or blacked out?" his partner suddenly added. You looked at him, clenching your jaw as you shrugged. "How am I supposed to know? I've been at work all day."

"What do you do for work?"

"I'm a footballer."

"For FC Barcelona?"

"Buy a ticket and maybe you'll find out."

You ended up sitting across from the two officers and the social worker in a dingy, dark room scarcely furnished with only a table, three chairs and a dirty window to accessorise it. This time, the woman did most of the talking while the cops just surveyed the conversation. Magdalene, Dani and Lorenzo were sitting in the waiting room of the station — you didn't want to drag them along, but you didn't have much of a choice.

"Can you tell us a little bit about your family history that might correspond with the things reported to us today?" she asked, leaning across the table.

"My dad left when I was, I think.. 13. Cheated on my mum and left us all for another woman. My mum, uh, got out of control. She didn't take it well," you replied, not looking up once as your gaze was fixed on the chestnut-stained, chipped table.

"I see. Well, from the contents of the rubbish bin, I presume her coping had something to do with alcohol," the woman said. As if her apathy hadn't been obvious from the start, it was dripping off her every word and showing her true intents; not to help you, but to get this over and done with and throw your siblings into foster care, then consider her job done and get paid for it.

You nodded at her claim nonetheless, picking at the paint of the table. "Yeah."

"Have you or your siblings ever been subject to abuse, from either of your parents?" she continued

"No no, absolutely not, they never hit–"

"I'm not just talking about physical abuse, (Y/N)," she interrupted. It was the first time of the entire questioning you had looked up as you met her gaze, your eyes saying more than your mouth ever could.

"It was just a few arguments,” you responded coldly.

“When we asked Margalida, your neighbour, about if there’s been any incidents like this, she said there has been. Yelling, screaming, and lots of it,” the woman told you. “How many arguments are you considering a few, (Y/N)?”

The table shook from the impact of your hand slamming it sharply as you shot to your feet. "If you consider a couple arguments to be verbal abuse, go ahead. My mum is hurt and angry, very angry about her husband leaving her, so yeah, she drinks and we argue about it!"

"Listen, please sit down. I understand that you and your siblings are troubled children but–"

"I hate being a– I hate that term, 'troubled kid', you know? We aren't troubled! If we were troubled, wouldn't we be dead? Wouldn't we be troubled by an inability to continue living in these conditions, these... ruins?"

Silence. You sat down once again, your head in your hands.

"Do you have another location you can stay at?" she asked you. You shook your head, the feeling of dread burying itself deeper in your gut.

"Unfortunately, we will have to place your siblings in foster care. The living conditions are unsafe and unstable for kids their age to be living in," the social worker finished.

You wanted to burst into tears. You wanted to sob and sob and sob, harder than you ever have, but the tears wouldn't summon.

"There is another option," she spoke slowly, making you immediately look up from the darkness your palms shrouded you in.

"...we contact your father and see if he wants to look after them."

It sounded just as bad as placing them into foster care. Now, you wanted to scream in her face and call her utterly stupid for assuming that a man who abandoned his kids would want to take care of them years later to keep them out of the foster system. Why on God's green earth would he want to reap the consequences of his infidelity?

"Are you hard of hearing?" you scoffed. "Yeah, so, I said earlier that he left us years ago for another woman, you know, to make another family. He didn't want us."

"He's the only other option at the moment. Unless your mother can be moved to a rehabilitation center in sufficient enough time, and you become their legal guardians, they will end up with foster families. Possibly not even the same one."

The news weighed on you like bricks. It was all so much, you couldn't think straight and contemplate possible outcomes and solutions. You put your elbows on your table and held your head in your hands once again, taking a deep breath.

"Can I at least find someone myself who's willing to foster? Someone I know?" you asked, your tone being nothing short of desperate.

She took a moment to respond, and it was probably the most nerve-wracking few seconds of your life, until the ultimatum was spoken.

"I suppose, yes. That is basically the whole principle of fostering, so I see no issue. Until then, they will be placed in a temporary home before we start looking for a permanent family. A pair of officers have gone to detain your mother and we'll review the information from this questioning to determine whether she should be charged or put straight into a rehabilitation program."

"Thank you," you almost cried, your body relaxing from the little bit of relief and reassurance you had just received. There was still a possibility that you could get your siblings back.

The problem standing in your way now was, you didn't know anyone willing to foster. You had no idea who you'd turn to, and it actually made you realise that you were pretty alone in this whole ordeal, and life in general. You really did have nobody but yourself, and clearly there came a time where that wouldn't be enough.

"Magda, Dani, Enzo, come on. We're going now," you said as the door of the interrogation room swung open. You beckoned at the kids, who stood up and ran to you, following you out of the door.

You didn't want to go home yet, just in case the officers were still there and you'd arrive to the horrible scene of your drunkard mother getting dragged of her own house by the authorities, so you drove to the training pitch. You were in search of one person in particular, and hoping to avoid another one.

Parking the car in the same spot you had parked in the same morning, you quickly got out of the car and ushered the kids onto the pitch to play for a little bit while you went into the gym.

As soon as you walked through the automatic glass doors, the person you were searching for was stretching on a yoga mat, her resistance bands discarded above her head.

She sat up, looking at you with a mixture of surprise, confusion and concern, probably achieved from your sorrowful expression.

"Vicky, I need your help. Now."

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Sum of All 2

Warnings: non/dubcon, mentions of crime, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!Steve Rogers

Part of the mob drabbles au

Summary: you are given an unexpected assignment.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You sit in silence next to the large, brooding man. You’ve heard of Steve Rogers before. Who hasn’t around these parts. You’re not a local, you moved here for the work. The job description didn’t exactly mention the state of the neighbourhood. 

You see the men in their tailored-suits, puffing on cigars, laughing, even cat-calling you as you pass. That’s just the city, you assumed. That was until you really started to notice the men. When you saw the tinted windows tailing the erratically driven beater cars or the shadows creeping around in the early hours outside your building. 

You keep to yourself. You’re just a visitor to this world. You have no plans to stay in it. 

He doesn’t say a word as he drives. You stare out the window. It’s like that awkward first date you went on as a teen with your stepfather’s co-op volunteer. Except worse. You have no idea what exactly this is. You try not to think about it or you might hyperventilate. 

He slows at a sign and you keep your gaze out the window. The city streets are clear and sunny despite the gloom in the car. You think back on the brief conversation between him and Brenner. He seemed irked by more than your upstart boss. ‘Engagement’... something happened there but you learn from the mistakes of others. Don’t ask. 

As Rogers taps the gas, a man in a hoodie dodges out in front of the car. The brakes lock and the man in the driver seat mutters. The jaywalker looks over and laughs, stopping to make a show as he taunts the driver. He sucks in and horks a wad of phlegm onto the windshield. 

Oh shit. 

You stare in shock. What the heck? You’ve met your fair share of wildcards in this city but you simply keep your head down and keep going. Not Rogers. 

He shifts into park. He’s still silent. He calmly undoes his seat belt and checks the traffic behind him. He gets out as the walk-by spitter continues across the street. The man doesn’t make it as he’s caught from behind and thrown onto the tarmac. 

Without hesitation, Rogers kicks the man’s side, then his stomach as the force of the first rolls him over. He continues his assault with a stony look on his face. His eyes are determined and his chin is set, but no furrow and scowl breaks his veneer. 

You watch as a swirling sensation stirs in your stomach and quickly invades your head. You don’t like violence and this is such an overreaction, you can hardly believe it’s real. It very much is. 

You can’t help the squeak that escapes you as Rogers bends over the man and grabs his skull between his hands. He smashes his face down into the street and you close your eyes. Oh god. This can’t be real. 

Your open your eyes to the ripple of reality. Others watch in a similar awe from the pavement. Drivers idle nearby. A police officer walks by and simply ignore the scene as Rogers stomps the man one last time. 

Fear courses through you. What did Brenner get you into? Why did you just go along with this? Your passivity was always bound to get you in trouble. 

You feel your body slacken as he stands straight and smooths his jacket. You slump in the seat and your eyes roll back as a wave of black specks invades your vision. Your chest feels ready to burst, your head too as you sink into oblivion. 

When you come to, the car is moving again. You lurch forward as the motion flips your stomach. You grunt and try to shake of the disorientation. You put your hand on the dash and gulp in air. 

“You fainted,” Rogers says dully. 

You blink and turn to look at him. You slowly sit back, “yeah, I did. Sorry.” 

He doesn’t offer any other comment. You don’t know what to say or do. You’re embarrassed at how you just passed out but you didn’t really have a choice. You’ve never seen anything like that. And now this man, who can light up like a match, 

“What kinda person...” you begin and flinch at your own voice, “just spits on someone’s car like that?” 

You swallow dryly at your redirection. Sometimes, your thoughts bubble through too quickly but you caught yourself. You think. 

He glances over at you then back to the road. 

“Yeah, like,” you ramble, your nerves bouncing off each other, “if I had a nice car, or a car at all, I’d be mad too. That’s not... cool.” 

You cross your arms as if you’re holding yourself together. You lean back and stare at the road. You’re too afraid to look at Rogers. He can probably hear your fear in your voice. 

“Right, that guy deserved it.” He says. “Got no idea what I���m dealing with. Don’t need that.” 

You nod and meter out a breath, “totally.” 

He grunts. You think he bought it. At least, he knows you’re too scared to tell him your real thoughts if he doesn’t. 

He drives on wordlessly. He’s tense, you’re tense. Everything is tense. 

You glance over at his knuckles as he grips the wheel tight. They’re bruised and there’s a bit of blood on the middle one. Your mind is racing. You see his fists flashing. This man is a maniac. 

“That must hurt,” you say. 

“Huh?” He utters. 

“Your hands.” You don’t know why you’re talking but if you sit there in silence any longer, you’re going to lose your mind.  

He shrugs, “don’t feel it right away.” 

“Right, right, of course, makes sense,” you accept, “I wouldn’t know. I never... whatever. Sorry, I’m going to be quiet.” 

You look out the window and focus on the buildings instead. Just don’t look at him. If you don’t, he can’t hurt you. Like the boogeyman. 

“I’m fine,” he says after a moment. “You don’t need to worry about me.” 

You nod and keep your eyes aimed out at the sidewalk. You’re not really worried about him. You’re worried about you. Well, you’ll just be sure to stay on his good side. 

[seventhcallisto]

PROLOGUE

—Deep Down.

Toc/cw; scenting. omega in heat. talk of s3x. featuring alpha g-idle. Language. Mature Content! Talk of gender, sex, and the weird system that a/b/o roles have, including the terrible hierarchy system. It's my series so I make my own rules, period!

Never, absolutely never, does a person get their second sex when they're born. It's no surprise they get it towards puberty, yet the majority of times, heats or ruts do not start happening until they're in their late teens- early twenties. Betas never went through that issue. They hardly ever were considered more than peace makers. For a while, they were the least chosen. While not as valuable as an alpha or as wonderful at comforting like an omega. There was still some dull middle ground. They weren't that special.

That was only for a bit, anyway. Eventually, omegas took that spot, lower on the hierarchy, whilst betas gained the middle place. You didn't agree with the system, though. It doesn't matter your second sex. It matters how you hold yourself, how you go about through life with a second sex.

And you stood by that for decades.

You took hold of a company and shaped yourself to fit their mold. Although a foreigner in this strange city, following a dream you didn't know you could grasp, you still went for it. You molded yourself to fit whatever they wanted. A calm, level-headed, peace-maker, beta. With a heart of fire and determination that'll set a field ablaze. You worked your ass off. Getting up as early as possible. Practicing. Making something of yourself. Training yourself. Learning the language.

Someone who could make even the quietest of omegas open up, and the loudest of alphas silent. You were a patient and composed person.

And when you came out on top, the very top, unreachable and untouchable, you knew you maxed out your potential. It was only then that you let it slip from your hands and into the grasp of another. You let them see what you could do, and now it was their turn.

They took it with stride. Quickly, you found yourself linked to a group you'd be a part of for life. You were surprised, to say the least.

"It smells like testosterone in here," you grimaced.

Eventually, you did get used to the stench of 8 alphas. Soon enough, you could actually smell their undertones. A mix of everything drowns every corner of the apartment you live in with them.

You were fairly the least popular in the group by a good amount. Sometimes, you chalked it up to people being oblivious. It never hurt you, why would it? You're a rare gem. Sometimes, it needs a light shined on it to really sparkle.

It's years later of cleaning up after messy alphas and teaching yourself tricks to get used to their behaviors, that you suddenly notice a difference in yourself.

"Hey, you smell different," seonghwa scruches his nose, a pleasantly surprised look on his face. You slip your shoes off in the doorway, closing it behind you. "New perfume," you reply, half hazerdly, sliding your keys into the key bowl. "I thought you liked your own scent?" He comes over and helps you with the handbag in your arm.

You hand it over to the taller guy, slipping your mask down your face. "I'm starting to stink, so i changed my perfume scent. Maybe your guys' stench is making me allergic, or I'm getting sick." You sigh tiredly when he hangs your jacket up in the closet. "No, not sick. I know what you smell like when you're sick," seonghwas eyebrows scrunch.

"You smell.. sweeter.. have you been hanging out with any omegas lately?" He questions, folding his arms over his chest. His white sweater is rolled up his arms, and his black pants hang loosely. Surely, if seonghwa is to lounge around, he's gonna do it with style. You laugh, avoiding his eyes when he catches you looking him up and down. "Ha, yeah, actually. I'm helping Kimmie prep for her heat. She plans to have a couple of mini devils running around this summer. Can you believe it?" You scoff, mentioning your long time once-trainee close friend who you grew attached too.

"Kimmie with kids, I would have never thought," you mumble under your breath, years ago you would of scoffed at the idea of young- impressionable kimmie, mature enough to consider having kids with her beta husband whom you also knew to be a trainee from before. Are you really getting that old? Seonghwa stares for a couple of seconds. His piercing eyes guide you up and down. You're staring back now. Seonghwa doesn't flinch. "Right, let's hope kim is ready for that," he laughs, and just like that, the tension breaks.

You both shuffle into the living room. Calling it a night.

Not even two days later, you're on the couch scrolling mindlessly on your phone whilst you wait for the guys to get dressed. The practice video for one of your group songs is soon. You've only been able to practice by yourself up until that point.

Yeosang takes a seat next to you, pushing you into his side. The alpha gently taps your leg to gain your attention. "What's up?" You put your phone down, giving him your full attention. "My scent is wearing off on you," he almost pouts. You smile, turning towards him and opening your arms. "Okay, c'mere." You beckon his face into your neck. Afterward, you let him take the lead.

It takes two seconds for you to realize he's not scenting you anymore. He didn't even start. "Yeosang?" You call out, threading your fingers on the back of his neck hairs. He hums, and it sounds so far away. His scent grows heavier. "You okay?" You attempt to pull back. he chases your neck. You can hear him breathing heavily, struggling to catch his breath after every strong inhale. His soft hand snakes around your neck, gently leaning your head the opposite way so he can get more room.

You follow, cause you trust your pack member. You can feel his mouth part, his lips drawing closer to your pulse. Your eyebrows furrowed. What are you doing? Obviously, something is up. You pull away from yeosangs grasp. Backing up just a bit. You put a hand to his chest to distance yourself. It's a few seconds before yeosang seems to come back, his foggy eyes focusing. "Sorry, I.. you smell really different lately," he admits, twisting his fingers in his lap.

"How so?" You question him. "Like.. sweeter. I can smell it linger, deep down under our scents I can smell.. an omega," he admits, his eyebrows twitch down. You haven't been to Kimmies house since seonghwa asked, yet you've completely washed and cleaned yourself of her scent entirely. You don't know what to say.

"Well," you fold your legs into your lap. "I think I might be coming down with something, I changed my perfume. It could be that, too?" You can't tell if you're reassuring yourself or yeosang. He hums. His eyes search your front, glancing up at you and then down to your neck where your scent glands are. "Could you wear one of my shirts for practice? I didn't get to properly scent you, and it'd make me feel better. " his tone is more of a demand yet hes still a little shy with it. Behind his eyes, you can see the strange look he casts aside.

You smile wearily. "Sure."

Yeosang had picked a black shirt he wore very often. It took him a hot minute, but by the time you watched him go through everything in his closet, the guys were done and slipping on their shoes. Once he was satisfied with his choice, he handed it to you. A shirt that would be tight fit for yeosang hanged off you. The deepest scents you can pick out are cocoa butter and honeyed citrus, like lemonade. There's the distant scent of strong tea. The cocoa butter blends well into his scent, perfectly layered. Perfectly yeosang.

You took a deep enhale, liking the freshness of his smell. Not noticing the satisfactory smile on yeosangs face, you slipped off into his bathroom and exchanged your shirt for his. Leaving yours behind. Once you came out, you were surprised to still see him there. His scent is everywhere in this room, heavier than normal.

His eyes look your form up and down. You give a tiny spin, smiling awkwardly. Finally, his eyes meet yours, clouded with an unknown emotion. It's a few seconds of silence. You never break off eye contact.

"We're gonna be late!" Hongjoong shouts out from the front door. His voice echoes in the hallway, leading to yeosangs' room. Yeosang smiles, looking away. He makes haste to the door and leaves you. You let the breath out you were holding. What was that?

Practice takes a hard minute to start, the coolness of the room makes it easier to warm up. You're not sweating when you begin repeating steps, adjusting what you deem unfinished or sloppy. Not long does the heat kick into the room. You find yourself removing your hoodie.

"Let's get started" the manager hits the button on the camera, beginning the recording. Your eyes follow your own movement. All of ateez has said you're the ace of the group, in everything you do it seems well-executed. You doubt that sometimes.

Every move and every breath is conditioned from years of practice everyday 'til you couldn't feel your legs. Sometimes you'd go as far as to even run, dance, and jump in terrible stilletos. Which worked out in the end since the majority of the time you'd have to wear heels or platforms to match the height of the guys during every event and performance.

Sweat pools on your collar, your neck, and your forehead as you work across the room. You can smell every one of the guys as they pass around you, a flurry of scents clog your senses. You try to focus on the choreography.

You tried until your shoulder slams into someone, throwing you off balance and onto the hard wood floor. Your elbow bounces off the wood. You slide to a stop quickly. "Fuck!" you curse at the sting in your leg, hip, and ankle. The room grows extremely quiet, the music stops as quickly. Mingi bends down to your level, shock still evident on his face. "Sorry! shit, my bad, are you okay?" He reaches for your head.

"Ow" you whine, like actually whine, instead of brushing it off like you normally would. Touching your elbow. You both simultaneously notice the blood dripping off your elbow. "Why aren't you watching where you're going!?" Yunho walks up to mingi. Mingi stands up from next to you. "I didn't do it on purpose!" Mingi defends, his jaw clenches. The two stare daggers, a tense standoff so sudden you don’t know truly if you falling is the cause of it or if something else is at play. Hongjoong steps forward to stop them. A heated discussion begins.

Wooyoung and San stand back, Jaws clenched, at any moment they look ready to pounce. Yeosang stands with Seonghwa and Jongho, who look just as concerned about the growing argument, yet their faces murge into something completely different at the smell in the air.

It's something no one can put their finger on.

Your ever growing weirdly sweet scent is surprising to even you, your gut twists in an unsettled way. You don't look at their faces, trying to understand the smell and your sudden shift. What the hell is going on with you?

"Boys, out in the hallway now, please" Jongsik. The manager you've had for years steps forward. As the oldest in the room take charge, the guys looked challenged. "What about her!?" Yunho shouts out, fustrated. In the distance another aurgument begins. Mingi squats back down to your level, gently pulling your attention back to him with his hands on either side of your face. "it's not that bad, yeah? It's alright?" He wants to reassure you. "Mingi" you practically whine, pulling at his wrist. The smell of harsh and swirling emotions makes your nose scrunch, it's intense and somewhat intoxicating.

You're dizzy.

Jongsik stands firm. "Out!" He repeats himself pointing to the practice room door. He reaches for mingi's shoulder. He who pushes the older man off, standing abruptly.

Hongjoong, the pack leader, is the one that rounds up the boys and pushes them out, even mingi. Before he shuts the door. He looks at you. He's so tempted to just run back in, coddle you and wrap your elbow in bandages. Yet he closes the door anyways.

There's no defiance or whining from you. because jongsik is a beta, and already mated. He's taken on a fatherly role to you when he pulls you to your feet. "I don't feel good.." You slur. Placing a hand on your head.

"Hey, it's gonna be alright. We're gonna get you to the hospital, alright?"

You lay on an examination bed, squirming by yourself. Anxiously you wait twirling your hand around the bandage on your elbow.

"This is something we've never seen before." With your heightened hearing, you can feel they're talking about you.

"She showed signs of being a beta for years. How could something like this happen so suddenly? It's impossible." Whispers echo in your mind.

What the hell is going on?

"Hello," a doctor, also a lady, steps in. her face is covered with a mask. "I'm Dr Liana." You try to focus, but the ache in your stomach is distracting. "It seems to have been there for a while, most likely due to continuous, omega activities, from what my colleagues and I have assumed."

"Have you been noticing anything different from your usual routine?"

You recount what you can, anything you find weird yourself. And there's so many clues, like when you stole each hoodie and wore it from everyone for a week straight just because 'you wanted too'. Or how touchy you've been recently especially with hongjoong, your pack leader. The scent change, the continuous need to please your members and let them have their way lately.

How you, oh God, how you've started collecting everyone's clothing in your closet, you called it a clothing pile. It's a nest. You've been nesting.

You've been not so subtlety feeding this hunger within you.

Realization has dawned on you for the first time in a month. And after a few more tests, you've spent a total of two days in the hospital.

Once you're out, you're immediately escorted to a heat sanctuary. A common locked and secure place for omegas going into heat.

"What I'm hearing is you're about to go into heat. It'll be a difficult process for you considering you're a beta turned omega, and it's fairly late for you to be getting your first heat, but I'm sure there's plenty of options for you."

There were plenty of other options, yet you opted for the least embarrassing and least dreadful one. It was too late to take heat suppressants. Now, you're stuck in a somewhat luxurious hotel room with glorified room service and plenty of meds to sedate you for a week or less. They're actually so you can't feel the actual pain that comes with a heat without having a knot to sedate the feeling. If you really hoped you could sleep it off, you'd be dead wrong.

The specific question of; "do you have anyone in mind that could take care of you during your heat?" Really lingered. You thought about it. Maybe more than once, but you turned it down. No way. Nooo wayyyy. You wouldn't dare go past the first pack of alphas your mind landed on. Wouldn't even touch that book or open it in your minds eye.

Everything is very sensitive for the first day. You sweat a ton. You feel like you've lost weight, although you eat when you're not... 'foggy'. You feel the sweat pool at every corner of your temporary bed.

Anything you can get your hands on you pull, hard, and rip and tear. A pile of blankets and pillows are strewn on the floor in one giant large pile. Every once in a while you'll come back to your senses and childishly get upset at what you're doing.

No you've got nothing against omegas. You just didn't ask to be one, so therefore you're mad about being one.

Once satisfied, you spraw out and get to working on yourself with whatever you can, clothes and all. Toys. Plugs. Lube. You would have never guessed you'd end up this way. You name it, and they have it. They say there's nothing more satisfying than a knot, yet you don't enjoy the idea of what comes after. Pups? Ew. Is there even anything to counteract that? How do people just sleep with a stranger during a heat and not feel scared about what will happen in the moment? There's nothing wrong with it. It's just not your particular cup of tea.

As a beta, or.. when you were one, it wasn't very hard to find someone to hook up with. Betas have the abilities to hook up with anyone, alphas, omegas, and other betas. Although pregnancies and knotting aren't as easy for betas(you're not a big fan of wrapping it) it'll work eventually if tried enough. There's this middle ground for betas who can have it all. Relationships get difficult when you aren't as drawn to each other as an alpha and omega are, but with patience, it'll work.

There's this gross scent lingering under your skin, you can still smell the scent of your old skin, the beta you once were is suddenly being washed away by a sweet, tropical smell, an omega in full bloom. It's your second day. Yet you couldn't get more miserable. Two or three more days of this? Seriously.

You've never been a girly girl, begging for your way or kissing up to get it. You were commonly told you were a tomboy growing up. Maybe that played its role on your first designated sex. Your company pushed that role, too. Tough girl act. Rapper, Dancer. Never the face of the group. But you weren't complaining. You were the top of top trainees. Nothing could beat you down.

Yet, dressing up in baggy clothes and never looking sexually appealing was your role in the group. Tomboy rapper. Compared to the beginning of fourth gen, you were considered a girl crush but nothing else. least lines, least screen time, least roles. I mean. You trained for this, right?

Now you're stuck with a new second gender you didn't ask for. Pushing you farther behind the scenes. Just your luck.

As soon as your first heat ends. You realize you weren't as bad. Apparently, the first heat ever is the easiest. You're supposed to get worse. Seriously. Worse? God. You can't take this. You go to the only people you know won't make a big deal out of your new.. thing.

Soyeon places a hot cup of tea right in front of you. And you can smell the scent suppressant coming from the steam. "this is supposed to help?" You sniff at it warily, grimacing at the factory like smell.

"You came to us, at our dorm, smelling like the biggest ball of 'fuck me please', take it or leave it." She clicks her tongue at you, propped up on her bed. Minnie takes a seat opposite of you, as does shuhua. "You cant even smell me, you're on scent suppressants" you groan, swirling the tea. "How do yall cope." You sigh and chug the content of the large tea cup. Soyeon laughs, minnie grimaces, and despite having a shocked look, shuhua pumps her fist in encouragement.

You've come to the group of alpha women cause, well, they're your best friends. And they're the most encouraging about any and all supplements and suppressants. They've single handedly encouraged everyone you know to take suppressants. From the front door, you hear it open and close, stepping down the hallway comes yuqi and miyeon, who do a double take.

Yuqi takes a giant whiff, and her eyes bulge. "What happened to you!?" She coughs at the stench of omega. Something she doesn't find common in their room when you're around. Miyeon scoots to the side when Soojin pushes through with a cake of some sort and a tiny charcuterie board. She places it down in front of you. You can tell the alpha in her is desperately trying to please you.

"Somehow, our poor, once beta, girl friend has changed sex." Soyeon speaks through a bite of twizzlers. You don't comment at her choice of words. Yuqi and Miyeon scoot into the room, staring at their doting member.

"There you go." Soojin pats your head and takes a seat on the bean bag in front of you. "Thanks," you sigh, digging in. The cake, which soojin explains, is a long-lasting scent changer. Magic is baked into every bite.

As for the charcuterie board. It's just something to get you some protein with the lack of good supplements in your system. In her eyes, you've lost at least half of your body weight. You haven't. Yet she's still encouraging you to take care of yourself from such a rushed heat.

"Poor girl," miyeon sighs, "I've never heard of that happening to anyone before. How's that even possible?" She takes to removing her hoodie and placing it down properly. Yuqi shuffles off her bag. Plopping onto the bed next to you. "How'd the guys react?" She steals a piece of meat from your board.

"I haven't told them" you sigh, the room goes silent.

"That's fucked up" yuqi laughs. Miyeon slaps her ankle. "So we're the first to know?" Shuhua confirms, you nod. "Wow, I'm sure they'll be happy about that," soyeon laughs lightly. You tear your eyes off shuhua. "What do you mean by that?" You clearly speak, eyebrows pulled down. Minnie places a hand on your ankle to get your attention. "Well, we're your girl pack. We'll always be your girl pack." she looks nervous.

"But the last time I hung out with you, your boys stared at me like I was an intruder in their territory." she pats your ankle. Your eyebrows pull taunt. You want to defend them. "What? No way.." You truly think about it. "Whatever you say, your boys aren't as good as we are at keeping up with our contribution to not being alpha whores" soyeon sighs pushing to sit up. "Especially mingi, he's the whoriest of them all, he goes into rut every week it seems. He needs a heavy dose of rut suppressants." she takes another chunk off her twizzler.

"You shouldn't feel obligated to tell them first. Butt.. you shouldn't be surprised when they get upset about you telling us first." The girls all nod. You fall back onto soyeons pillows. A puff of sandal wood and cinnamon surrounds you. Slowly dying down as the tea takes its hold on your heightened senses. "Maybe I should have thought this through," you rub at your eyes.

"You're always welcomed here." soojin clears your mind, patting her hand against your hip in a friendly gesture. "This won't change anything. You're still my- our best friend," soojin speaks on behalf of the girls. Everyone hums to confirm.

"Thanks," you say genuinely. "It's a bit late for you to get a drive all the way home, What'd the company say to the guys?" Miyeon perks up from the edge of the bed. "Something about me needing medical evaluation. I'm pretty sure they think I'm still in the hospital." Yuqi scoots up next to you. "Did you check your phone?"

You didn't even think about it, pulling it from your pocket. You try to power it on. "No, everything was rushed. I didn't have a chance to check anything before I had to give it up so I wouldn't expose the place I was at." The screen doesn't light up. It's completely dead.

"It's dead," you pass it to soojin, who already had her hand out to take it. She plugs it into soyeons charger. "Well, I guess you're stuck here." Shuhua and yuqi topple on top of you, squishing you into the mattress.

"Sleepover!"

The next morning, you wake up sore. Not because of anything the girls did but because of such a long trial of whatever you did to yourself in the haze of heat. You groan when you shift your hip, burying yourself closer to the center of the makeshift bed you made in the living room.

The night was full of movies and being doted on by every one of the girls. Things aren't supposed to change because of your new sex, and that's remained true. They just baby you a little bit more than usual. "Shuhua, 'mega! Come eat! Now!" Minnie yells from the kitchen. The nickname startles you, something you've never heard before is somewhat pleasent to your ears. There's stomping towards the living room. Your head slams back down onto the pillow, pretending to sleep.

"I know you're awake." yuqis smile can be heard through her words. You can't help the prying of your lip. "Nu-uh," you grin, eyes still closed. "Get up!" She jumps on you, pulling you into a suffocating hug that she wiggles around in. You laugh and pull her equally as close. After the struggle of a couple of seconds, your exhaustion returns. Your arms fall limply around her waist.

"You doing alright?" She asks, picking herself up and off of you so you can breathe. "Yeah, I just tired myself out this week." you laugh, embarrassed. "Don't worry," shuhua perks her head up from the couch next to you. "You should have heard when yuqi had her first rut," shuhua laughs menacingly, yuqi springs up. "Shut up!" She yells. "She wouldn't stop! All night and day! We had to quarantine the whole top floor!" Shuhuas words stop on occasion when yuqi is wrestling to cover her mouth. You laugh at them.

"Hey," soojin stands over, ignoring her members. "Hi," you smile back. "Hungry?" She lends you her hand, pulling you up off the floor. "Starved," you take it, embracing her rose filled scent.

A platter of delicious food is placed right in front of you. Breakfast in their apartment is somewhat new to you. You've never really been able to stay long when you visit. Maybe you're starting to realize the guys have a stronger hold on you than you thought. Speaking of the guys. As soon as you finish your plate, Soojin places your phone down in front of you. The screen is still black, signaling she hasn't turned it on.

"You're gonna want to answer your boy toys before they stalk you down themselves," soyeon gestures. She's not wrong.

You power your phone on and let it reboot for a second. Yuqi is still eating with shuhua, talking to miyeon and minnie about something you don't pay attention to. Your phone makes a continuous notification sound when all of your messages pop up.

104 missed messages. 32 missed calls.

You're in deep shit.

Taglist: @0325tiny @bratty-tingz @lelaleleb

(Thank you for reading ♡)

[adnauseum11]

Entry Control Point (John Price x Reader)

You spend the night at John's for the first time since you started dating. You have a revelation.

1.5k words

CW: nipples

This has been idling in Teen but the spice level is going to take a jump shortly, sorry if that's not your thing.

You are so used to John’s steady presence in your life that you can almost forget that things have changed between you. Except in moments like this, that forcibly remind you - he’s allowed to have his hands in certain places now. You find his touch creeping up on you, a natural extension of the familiarity you had before. It takes a minute for you to notice it, but when you do -

“What are you doing?” You elbow John in the ribs just this side of gently. His big hand has drifted off your back and is in your back pocket, cupping and squeezing your ass cheek. 

“Hmm?” He’s going for innocent but looks too pleased with himself to pull it off properly. His beanie hat is tugged low and his collar turned up against the cold. 

“Knock it off, you absolute muppet.” You struggle to create daylight between you, realizing belated he’s been slowly reeling you into his body as you walk back to his flat after dinner.

John grins, the expression taking years off his face and making your heart swell in your chest, suddenly feeling too tight. You won’t tell him that though, because he’s pinching the material of your back pocket in between his fingers and tugging you back against his big, solid body. You half-heartedly swat at him but give up, letting his warmth bleed in to your side. 

“Took an entire city block to notice, love.” He murmurs, bending slightly to deliver the words close to your ear. 

“It did not, stop being a nuisance.” You huff with ill-hidden amusement, pausing for a traffic light to change. 

“Can’t help it, you drive me to distraction.” John retorts immediately, returning his palm to your lower back in a protective gesture as you wait for the light together. You roll your eyes but lean into him anyways. You stay wrapped up in him for the rest of the walk back in contented silence, a full belly and brisk night bookending your night. 

It isn’t until you get through the front door of his that you realize the time. You freeze, half your jacket buttons undone as you try to decide what to do. John notices, because of course he does. 

“Bit late to head back to yours now, innit love?” He’s using a careful tone of voice as he stills, watching you struggle internally. You know if you ask, he’ll take you home right now, but he’s right. It’s getting late to ask him to run around the city. 

“Yeah, probably.” You say haltingly, your hands going back to the buttons slowly. John’s working hard to keep the triumphant smile off his face, but you know him too well.  

“John –“ You begin a warning but he’s got his hands up in supplication before you can finish the thought. 

“Everything will be above board, darling. No pressure from me. I’ll sleep on the couch, yah?” His accent deepens and you narrow your eyes at him, undoing the buttons with purpose now. 

“Stop being ridiculous, you’re not going to sleep on the couch. If this is some reverse psychology shit – “

“Never.” He shakes his head and takes your coat from you, hanging it up beside his own. His warm hands fall on your shoulders, massaging gently through your shirt as he steers you into the living room. ‘Unless it’s working?” His tone hopeful.

“John!” You admonish and he chuckles, his broad chest bumping against your back. 

“Just teasing love, just teasing.” He soothes, dropping a series of kisses into the juncture of your neck and shoulder, the mixture of heat from his lips and scratchiness of his whiskers making you shiver. “Since you’re not going home do you want to watch something before bed?” 

He backs off, giving you space to fold yourself into your preferred position on the end cushion, tucking your feet up against the armrest. He leans over to grab a well-worn blanket off the back of the couch, conspicuously the most feminine thing other than yourself in the room. It’s white and thick, still soft despite years of use. It has edges that end in loose threads of yarn and has simple geometric shapes woven into the pattern. You got it for him years ago, an early Christmas present before he shipped out on mission. It has never actually left his flat, so it retains its creamy white colouring. You’re fond of braiding the loose ends together while watching movies. 

He drops onto the cushion beside yours, one large arm going over the back of the couch, bracketing you into his body. You instinctively lean into his bulk, tucking yourself under his arm and taking control of the blanket. He kicks his legs up onto the coffee table after swiping the remote, sprawling his longer form as best he can without losing any space between you.

You are part way through an old Top Gear re-rerun when something finally clicks into place. Your cheek is pressed against the hard plane of muscle that is John’s pectoral, half watching the show and half focused on his steady heartbeat. His fingers are buried in your hair, running through the strands absently. Every gentle tug making goosebumps run up and down the back of your neck, melting you a little further into him. 

The blanket, driving you home regardless of the hour, the previous fist fights with bad boyfriends – it all crystallizes in a moment of clarity as Richard Hammond screams across a rickety footbridge in an ancient Bronco, making the man at your side chuckle lowly. John Price has been sweet on you for some time. He’s just…never acted on it. And you, without any overt overtures of interest had just assumed that was how John operated. Had never seen any indication of anything other than a man chivalrous to a fault. You speculate on his retirement and the timing of his interest, losing track of what’s happening on screen. You only realize its over when John sits up, shifting you against him. 

“You alright?” Concern is colouring his tone.

“Yeah, zoned out. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize darling, ready for bed then?”

You’re loathe to move, wanting to stay cocooned with him while you process your revelation. Going to bed will raise its own anxieties, none of which have anything to do with John and everything to do with your fear of losing an important relationship in your life should this go sideways. Never mind it’s been over two decades and he’s not turned away from you yet. 

“One more show?” You ask, turning wide eyes on him. He relaxes against you again and you burrow into his side, grateful for a chance to mentally play catch up. You resettle your ear over his heart, feeling it’s comforting thump while you turn over interactions in your mind. Looking for clues, the world’s most inattentive detective. You lose track of the show again and are startled anew when John sits up, swinging his legs off the table to stand. 

“C’mon sleepy head, let’s get you ready for bed.”

“I don’t have anything –“

“You can wear whatever of mine you like, but maybe think about bringing some stuff over, hmm?” He’s wrapped around you from behind, steering you down the hallway to the bathroom, reading your mind. He hands you his toothbrush, letting you use it first and disappears to gather a shirt for you to sleep in. You stare at the toothbrush in your hand dumbly for a moment before using it. John swaps you the utensil for a shirt when he returns and goes about his business. You catch his eyes following you in the mirror though. 

The shirt in your hand is soft and familiar to you, an old one won playing darts at a pub. A good memory, filled with laughter and beer-soaked floors. Before you can think too hard you begin undressing, tossing each item haphazardly over a leather club chair in the corner.

You can feel your nipples harden in the air of the room, and as you lift your arms over your head to pull John’s shirt on you hear the clatter of his toothbrush in the sink. A muttered curse follows and by the time your head pops out of the neck hole, he’s gripping the counter and blatantly staring at you in the mirror. All the muscles down his arm are corded, as if he’s gripping the slab of countertop with all his strength.

“Are you alright, John?”

You ask innocently, and watch him swallow hard in the mirror. He nods and turns off the bathroom light, padding slowly over to you. His big palm lands on your lower back, wordlessly steering you to bed. You can’t help the rush of nervous anticipation at his nearness, but John is as good as his word. He doesn’t pressure you and lets you sleep, the both of you settling into his big bed with contented sighs. No, it’s when you wake up, wrapped around his powerful body that you should have had the foresight to be concerned about.     

Next Chapter

[twoplayergaymers]

Promise- I. Midoriya

Izuku’s got your heart, but he’s still too afraid to give you his.

Notes- quirkless au, late teens/early twenties, mentions of of sex, mentions of drinking, angst, hurt no comfort

In a perfect world, you wouldn’t have met Izuku Midoriya at all.

That’s what you tell yourself, wrapped in the soft covers on your bed for the umpteenth night, crying your eyes out

You wish you never met him.

You wish he never looked at you the way he did, like you were something rare, something special. You wish he never kissed you like a promise he never intended to keep. You wish he never held you on those sleepless nights, whispering secrets he swore he never told anyone else.

You wish you never went to that stupid fucking party.

Almost a year ago now, your coworker, Ochako had invited you to a housewarming party for the new apartment she’d gotten with her girlfriend. A casual night, board games, chatter, charcuterie, and the most beautiful pair of green eyes you’d ever seen.

You felt captivated by him, he was beautiful, and so respectful in a way that had you swooning.

You wish you were casual about it. You should have looked away. You should have smiled politely and kept your distance. You should have let him come to you.

But you didn’t. You went to him. That was your first mistake.

You introduced yourself, and he said your name like he was tasting it, like he wanted to remember the way it felt on his tongue. And you let yourself believe—for just a moment—that maybe this was something more than just a fleeting connection at a friend’s party.

Izuku was magnetic, but not in the way you were used to. He wasn’t the loudest person in the room, didn’t demand attention with arrogance or charm. No, he drew you in with his quiet intensity, the way he listened like your words meant something, like you meant something.

And God, you fell so fast.

He asked for your number st the end of the night. You’d giggled about it with Toga and Ochako for hours after the party ended, replaying the moment over and over in your head. The way he had smiled—shy but certain—the way his fingers brushed against yours when he took your phone.

Maybe he’d text you. Maybe he wouldn’t.

But God, you really, really hoped that he would.

He texted you the next afternoon.

Hey, I had a great time talking to you last night. Hope you got home safe—though I wouldn’t mind an excuse to see you again soon.

It wasn’t too much, not overly confident or pushy. But it was enough to make your stomach flip, enough to have you rereading it a few times before finally typing out a response.

From there, it was easy. Conversations that stretched late into the night, playful teasing that made your cheeks warm, moments where he’d say something just suggestive enough to make your heart race—only to follow it up with something sweet that left you wondering if you were imagining it.

Texting turned into lunch, lunch turned into dinner, dinner turned into something more.

Late-night drives, parked somewhere far from the noise of the city, R&B humming through the speakers as you lay side by side beneath the stars.

You remember it vividly—wrapped in blankets, the cool night air nipping at your skin, but the warmth between you keeping the chill at bay. Lingering glances, soft touches, murmured compliments that made your breath hitch. The way his fingers traced idle patterns on your wrist, like he was memorizing the feel of you.

And then—the brush of his lips against yours.

It had been slow, tentative, like he was giving you a chance to pull away. But you didn’t. Of course, you didn’t. And when he finally kissed you—fully, deeply—it felt like the beginning of something.

You told him things you’d never told anyone else. You trusted him.

God, you loved him.

And you knew—you just knew—that he loved you, too. He had to… right?

So you told yourself to be patient.

Because he had told you things too. About his childhood, about nights spent listening to his mother’s quiet sniffles when she thought he was asleep. About how much she had sacrificed, how hard she had worked. He spoke of her with nothing but admiration, and it made you beam, knowing how deeply he loved her.

But you also knew what he didn’t say outright.

He had never seen love done right. Not between parents. Not between partners.

You couldn’t blame him for that.

Maybe he was scared.

Maybe if you waited long enough, if you were soft enough, patient enough—he would see what was right in front of him.

Maybe he would finally choose you.

He never made you question if he wanted you—not at first. He was attentive, thoughtful in a way that made your chest ache. He remembered things you mentioned in passing, sent you pictures of things that reminded him of you. When you were together, he looked at you like you were important.

And maybe that’s why you ignored the signs.

The way he deflected whenever your friends teased about you being his girlfriend. The way he never posted you, never introduced you as anything more than a friend.

The way he kissed you like you were his, but never actually said you were.

And now, almost a year later, you were still just something to him. Never nothing, but never quite enough.

You should have walked away months ago.

But you didn’t. And that was your second mistake.

Still, you let it slide. Again and again.

Because when it was just the two of you, it was easy to believe.Easy to believe that the way he looked at you meant something.

Easy to believe that the soft way he said your name, the way his fingers lingered on your skin, the way he pulled you close when he thought no one was looking—meant something.

The thousands of pictures of you on his phone. The little heart next to your contact. The way he touched you—gentle, reverent—like you were something precious. The way he whispered in your ear, soft and low, moaning your name like a prayer, pressing kisses to your skin between murmured praises. It had to mean something.

Didn’t it?

And then one night, it all came crashing down. A party, a few drinks, a conversation you weren’t supposed to overhear.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” he had laughed, voice light, casual, unbothered. “We’re just… y’know. It’s nothing serious.”

Nothing.

You had stood frozen in place, stomach twisting, head spinning. And that was the moment you finally understood.

He was never scared.. even if he was

He just never planned on choosing you.

All those nights, all those moments—had they only meant something to you?

You wanted to storm out, to scream, to demand an answer. Instead, you turned on your heel and slipped away before anyone could see the way your hands trembled.

You ignored his texts that night. Ignored the calls. Ignored the way your heart clenched every time his name lit up your phone.

But the worst part? You knew it wouldn’t last.

Because no matter how much it hurt, no matter how much you wanted to walk away—

You weren’t ready to let him go.

You kept telling yourself you would stop responding, that you wouldn’t let him back in. You deleted his texts, turned off your notifications, even scrolled past his name when it popped up. But every time, your finger hovered, your heart betraying you, like it always did.

And when you finally caved—when you answered his call a few days later, voice shaky, but determined to be calm—he acted like nothing had happened.

“Hey, you okay? I’ve been thinking about you. Sorry if I was distant the other night. Just been dealing with some stuff, you know?”

Dealing with some stuff?

You wanted to scream. You wanted to ask him how he could say that, how he could act like he hadn’t shattered something inside you with that one offhand comment. But you didn’t.

Instead, you let out a long, shaky breath and said, “Yeah, I’m fine.” And he believed you, of course he did.

You hated yourself for it, but you let him believe it.

Because when he looked at you with those wide, earnest eyes, when he pulled you close like you were everything he needed in that moment, it was impossible to remember why you should walk away.

You were so tired of trying to be strong.

It wasn’t fair. You had given him everything. Your trust, your heart, your time—and all he’d given you in return were moments of fleeting affection. But you couldn’t stop. You couldn’t stop loving him, even when you knew you shouldn’t.

And maybe that was your biggest mistake of all.

A few more weeks passed, and you fell back into the same rhythm, the same cycle. You’d push away, only to let him pull you back in with a soft text or an unexpected visit. Each time, the same promises without words—those lingering glances, those half-smiles, those gentle touches that said you matter to me but never I want you.

It was always on his terms, always when it suited him. He’d reach out when he was bored, when he was lonely, when he needed someone to listen, someone to be there without asking questions. But when it was time to take things further, when it was time for him to actually decide, he pulled away.

It was late one evening when it hit you the hardest. You were sitting on the couch in his apartment, both of you talking about nothing in particular—just the usual casual chatter you’d gotten used to. Then, out of nowhere, he paused, his fingers grazing the back of your hand. “You know,” he said, a soft chuckle escaping him, “I really don’t know what I’d do without you around. You’re like… my safe place.”

His words should have made you feel warm, should have been the affirmation you’d been desperately searching for. But instead, it felt like a dagger to your chest.

A safe place.

Your heart sank. You wanted to ask him why—why you couldn’t be more than just that, why he didn’t want you the way you wanted him. But you didn’t. You never did.

Instead, you swallowed your pain, gave him a tight smile, and muttered, “Yeah, me too.”

That night, you left his place earlier than usual, the familiar weight of disappointment pressing against your chest. You wanted to tell yourself that you were strong enough to let him go, that you deserved more, but each time you thought about it, you felt the pull of him—his warmth, his laugh, the way he made you feel like you were the only person in the room.

But the truth was undeniable: He wasn’t ready for what you wanted. And you weren’t going to keep sacrificing yourself for a version of him that didn’t exist.

So you stayed away. You tried to.

falling back into the rhythm was easier than you’d care to admit, the way he whispered your name, the way his touch still felt like home despite everything. You kept convincing yourself that this time would be different—that he would change, that he would see you, really see you, the way you’d always wanted him to.

But the cracks were still there, even if you ignored them.

The empty promises were still there, buried underneath the soft kisses and late-night conversations. He would kiss you with the same urgency, whispering things in your ear that made your heart race, but when it came time for something more—something real, something lasting—he pulled away. You could feel it in the way he hesitated, the way he’d get distant when things felt too serious.

It wasn’t fair. You knew it. You were supposed to be stronger than this. But each time he came around, you let him back in.

You were lying in his bed, tangled in sheets, and even the quiet stillness between you felt heavy—like it was all just too much to ignore anymore. His fingers traced patterns on your skin, but his touch felt distant, almost absent. You could feel it, like a cold draft in the air, the way something unspoken was hanging between you two.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly, though you could hear the edge of uncertainty in his voice. He was waiting for you to tell him everything was fine. You knew he was.

“No,” you said quietly. “I’m not okay.” “I think we should stop this. You keep doing this, Izuku. You keep pulling me in and then pushing me away, and I’m done pretending like it’s okay.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but you weren’t done. You weren’t going to let him hide behind his words this time.

“11 months. 11 months of this… this back-and-forth, this whatever we’re doing,” you continued, your voice growing stronger, fueled by the hurt and the anger you had buried for so long. “You tell me you want me, you kiss me like I’m the only one, you act like I’m the most important thing in the world—and then you disappear. You tell people it’s not serious, like I don’t matter. Like I’m just temporary.”

His mouth opened and closes then he starts, his voice barely above a whisper, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I never wanted to hurt you,” he repeated, as though trying to convince both of you.

“11 months, Izuku,” you spat, voice trembling with both anger and hurt. “11 months of back-and-forth, of you acting like you wanted me. I trusted you. I gave you everything, and you’ve just kept me at arm’s length like I’m some kind of… option. Like I’m just here when it’s convenient for you.”

Izuku’s face fell, guilt flickering in his eyes, but you were too far gone now. Too far from the illusion of him ever being the person you needed him to be.

“Y/n I swear I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, his voice tight with emotion, reaching out to you. His hand hovered near your arm, but you pulled away. “You have to know that. I care about you so much. I really do.”

“You care? You never gave me anything more than sweet words and empty promises. You kissed me like you loved me, like you needed me, but then when it came time for something real, you’d pull away. Every time.”

He grabbed your wrist, his grip soft but firm, desperate. “Please, don’t do this. I don’t want to lose you. I just… I don’t know how to be the person you need me to be. I don’t—”

“What the hell does that even mean? You don’t know how? I’ve been here, trying to be patient, trying to show you that I care. I’ve been fighting for us and for something real, while you’ve been pretending you don’t want it.” Your voice cracked, but you held back the tears. “I gave you everything, and you couldn’t even give me one thing in return.”

He flinched at your words, but you didn’t stop. The dam had broken, and you had no intention of holding back anymore.

Tears threatened to spill, but you held them back, refusing to break down in front of him. “I can’t do this anymore,” you whispered, voice raw. “I can’t keep being your safety net, the person you turn to when you feel like it. I deserve more than this. I deserve someone who doesn’t just talk about wanting me, but shows me.”

“Maybe I’ve been stupid. Maybe I’ve been trying to make something out of nothing because I thought you might change. But I’m done. I’m done letting you play with my feelings.”

You stood up, grabbing your clothes, your hands shaking as you tried to keep it together. “I’m done with this. I’m done with you.”

Izuku sat up, clearly struggling to find the words to fix it, but you couldn’t stay. Not anymore. You gave him one last look, shaking your head. “Goodbye, Izuku.”

And this time, you walked out, not looking back.

You wouldn’t make the same mistake again.

A/n- I just wanted to write for Izuku differently.. I like to think that boy knows nothing about love and its foolish tendencies! he does not have positive examples of romantic love! No I’m not projecting a personal experience! Shut up!

Tags— @poemeater @beebunsx @beabamboo @superlegend216 @mimzyu

[lvmimis]

cw: not exactly phone sex. that's it.

Once it’s a few minutes past 3am, and the two of you are beginning to succumb to the natural calming lull of a midnight phone conversation that must soon reach its end, you can hear your own voice start to slur as you begin to pronounce the words Shin dreads the most.

“Hey…”

You can’t see him, but you can imagine him perking up to the sound of your voice, conjuring it somewhere deep in your mind’s eye. There’s something primitive about this, you think for a moment, not being able to see each other whether in person or even through a phone screen in this year 2025. Your eyes squint involuntarily in the dim light, and rather than on a face through which you can read expressions of agreement or distaste or affection, you fixate instead on the bare ceiling above you that you can barely make out in the darkness. Somewhere you figure Shin is doing the same, or perhaps he is laying on his side, or maybe even on his belly, his phone perched on the headboard of his bed as he stares at it or rested into the space between his cheek and his chin.

Then your mind starts to wander -  you wonder if he wears pajamas to bed, or if he’s bold enough to sleep start naked (a thought that causes your face to warm), or somewhere in between like you, clad in a baggy t-shirt but with nothing but a pair of old panties below.

Not the very least sexy, you think, as your legs press together, rubbing across each other for warmth.

Where are his hands? Tucked under a pillow or perhaps idling in the crotch of his pants? Left hand idling, right hand wrapped tightly around the shaft of his-

“Mm?”

Shin’s voice centers your wandering thoughts, and you remember quickly that you were supposed to say good night.

“I think I’m gonna turn in for the night, okay?” you start. Something lingers on the last word. Hesitancy. You don’t want to hang up.

You can hear the sigh through Shin’s nostrils on the other end of the receiver.

“Am I that boring?” he asks.

You chuckle to yourself despite your heavy eyelids.

“No... but we have been on the phone for nearly 3 hours,” you remind him, despite the fact that you’re grinning ear to ear. You can’t help it sometimes, smiling as you whisper sweet nothings to each other until your cheeks hurt.

You haven’t felt like this since you were a teen, perhaps not truly ever your entire life.

He replies with a satisfied hum. “And yet, I still think I have more things to say to you.”

You turn to your side, your knees folding close to your chest as you pull your blanket closer to bunch securely around your neck.

“Like what?”

Breathy and light your voice goes, and his voice lowers commensurately, both in tone and innocence. “Spend a night with me and you’ll find out.”

You pause, and he pauses too, then breaks the silence with a careful laugh.

“Too much?” he teases. Your heartbeat picks up slightly despite your fatigue. He’s dropped the flirtatious act again, and is back to his regular self, the him you’re more comfortable with.

“Not enough, actually.”

He laughs again through the phone, heartier than before. 

“I’d call your bluff but I can’t read your mind through the phone.”

The image you conjured of him naked flashes back in your mind, then flashes right back out for a moment. A close one.

“Trust me, it’s a good thing.”

The image is back again, vivid and far more detailed, lewd even - Shin’s breaths are ragged, and heavy, fist closed tightly against the base of his cock, and he’s squirming, face flushed and sheets drenched, sticky sweat matting blonde locks to his forehead. His eyes are closed, he’s moaning your name, the taut muscles of his torso flex and stretch as he moans your name-

“___?”

You gasp again.

“Are you falling asleep?” he asks, gently. You have to remind yourself that he can’t hear you through the frequency, or can he? Paranoia threatens to make you start sweating too.

“I have to go.”

Another short pause, but he doesn’t whine anymore.

“Okay.” You can feel his warm smile through the phone, and your heart skips a beat. The image lingers in your mind’s eye; pre leaks through a dusky tip, and you wonder what your mouth would feel around it.

He has to be putting images in your head. Reverse telepathy.

“Good night.”

He lets you hang up first and you realize the late night phone calls are good, great even, but if the heat between your thighs is any indication, you might just need to graduate to the real thing.

[voidcat]

characters: you/imaushi wakasa, sano shinichiro...

a/n: angst lol. strangers to friends. themes of fwb but nothing explicit. switch of perspective. mcd obviously,,

as i said in this post the loose explanatio/beginning of an idea i had that i liked ALOT but couldnt write due to various reasons (esp lck of time) (open post for a lil further stuff for reader x wakasa ig,,,)

attending the same classes as shinichiro sano... you've heard of him alright but that's about it. a nice face to look at perhaps but a little odd. not someone you'd interact with occasionally, nor someone you'd remember in particular-

until you're paired with him for an assignment. it'll help build bonds between the lot of you! the teacher announces and everyone groans in unision

you shoot your new partner to be a look from where you stand and turn back to your notebook. the ring bells but by the time you can get up adn gather your stuff, sano is nowhere to be seen

it takes you hours to find him. and at possibily one of the worst times too.

you heard of the rumors about fights and deliquents but you didn't expect yourself to run into one. youre careful, you live a peaceful life, you avoid trouble, always keep a clean name and all-

the people around all battered and beaten up, covered in bruises, cuts and maybe blood, looking hungry, unsatisfied, maddened– and you're in the center of it all.

footsteps approach you, strong, stern, taking their time and all- you hold it in you to not turn for a look. wait for them to show their face at your feet, dont give them the satisfaction nor even the slightest sign of weakness.

a man with blond hair and a pretty face, long lashes and all, stands before you, looking almost a little amused. "what's a pretty little thing doin' here all by themselv-" "where's sano" you cut him midsentence.

the man looks baffled, a little offensed even. soon joined by a second figure a lot taller than him, they both look at you with hostility and a hint of curiosity.

who cares, you scoff internally, whatever intimidation they're going for, you won't fall for it.

the other man raises a brow at the way you've mentioned sano. shit, you do hope this was not the wrong place, or whatever fight went down there, they must've won... right?

"and who is asking?" the blond speaks up again, sounding a little annoyed now. "you know, we don't allow passes to every pretty thi-" "eeeew" you drag the word and scretch like a gum, making sure to put on a face. "none of your business actually." you add on, placing your hand against a hip.

"why, you-" before he can follow up with whatever's on his tongue, a jolly greeting from behind interrupts him, cutting through the air. you can notice how the idle folks around suddenly tense up, and for the two man before you, shoulders dropped, bodies relaxing...

soon sano emerges, with his hair put up and stylized, nothing like the man in your class, a deliquent out of a shitty teen's magazine you'd say so.

exhanging greets with the two men and doing a special handshake for only them to know, he looks in the mood, just his face a little bruised up and some blood on his clothes.

so that's probably why he skips school some days, you muse.

he notices you a little later.

"oh!" mouth formed into an 'o' shape, you can see his surprise written all over but he is quick to disperse all that." greeting you with your surname formally, he reaches out a hand, then brings it up upon noticing the splatters of blood and takes it back with a sheepish smile.

"what brings you there?" he asks, never losing a bit of his joy that contradicts the entire atmosphere.

"our assignment." you say curtly and receive another sound of surprise from him. he looks apolegitic at the very least, you think.

"well.. uh-" he scratches the back of his head, casting a glance around, you wait to see where the stammering will go.

"how would you wanna do it then?" he asks more for you than himself, to ease you probably, you can only assume.

another joins their little group, keeping silent and watching what's going on. you relly, really should get going, you decide after giving a quick look around. "we can go over the details at an appropirate time later."

"alright then!" he says, never missing a beat from his energy. it's unbelievable, you think. "should we... ah-" he pauses, "exchange numbers to keep in touch then?" he asks, and he means well, you can tell just from the way he looks and talks, but the rest? you're not exactly dying to say out loud your contact information. especially not with that blond anywhere within a 20 meter radius.

"here." you say, reaching out your hand to reveal your phone. "i'm not announcing my number for a bunch of weirdo, self proclaimed deliquents to hear."

your words take him by shock but he breaks into a snort right after. the two men exchange a glance and a thug at their lips as well. the blond however does not look once pleased with your words.

or you at all.

you begin to come and go to their place often, the assignment builds up slow but steady and the guys seem reasonable enough after actually sitting down and hearing each other out. shin looks happy with the development too, says you have brought a change but you'd disagree. he is the light and sun and the beating heart of this place and wherever he goes, they follow, absolute devotion and belief in him, as a person, for his mind and for his heart.

you can see why, you can feel it too. once you begin to spend your time with shinichiro sano, all the rumors and speculations you've heard up until then are gone. assignment be damned, you can tell when a friendship begins to bloom and with shin- it happens at such a pace, you find yourself a little afraid.

the assignment ends, presentation and all, with flying colors you pass and decide to celebrate it out, with the rest joining as well.

a karaoke bar is all fun and games until night rolls out. it has gotten late but shin offers to walk you home; keizo and takeumi dragging a very drunk and messed up wakasa. everyone bids one another goodbye- save for wakasa... and you almost believe youhave seen a hint of sadness in their eyes as they bump their fists against yours. if you didn't know any better, you'd ever go as far as to say they'll miss you around.

a day passes, another and another... much to their relief and encouragement, you stick around.

not within the vicinity on the days big fights go around but definitely dropping by to hang out, fool around and whatnot. it's now your laughter mixed with shin's that fills the air, and everyone seems joyful and happy most of the time- save for imaushi wakasa.

for reasons unbeknowst to you, he remains hostile, rude, and on and up about sending your way stupid lines like he did the first time. most of the time you ignore him, which annoys him further– the scene alone brings a smile to your lips, the smirk of a vixen, you even overhear him once, yelling to keizo about you are, sounding very much frustrated.

despite this is how the things begin and roll out, neither of you expect to grow close- closer than you'd have imagined.

yes, you and shin might be the sunshines, but you and wakasa? the two of you become inseperable. you even hear some people mumble how they fear the two of you looking down at them, gazes that burn holes through their skulls, see into their souls... the two of you could make a power couple- if you were one at all.

there is the heat, there is the tension. you comb through his hair with a gentle touch that has wakasa melting in your hold, yet the second someone dares to imply anything more, you shoot them a glance so heavy, it'd crash their lungs.

wakasa hopes, in the end, that perhaps there is an end to it that is happy, that is hopeful. he knows there is no making up for the way he treated you but you were not the kindest toward him either, so it makes you equals, no?

so he sings sappy songs at karaoke whilst tipsy, so any accusation he can brush off as the effect of the booze, but hopes you caught how he looked at you. so he touches you as soft as you do him, trying to mimic your kindness, an attempt at how love, in the physical, in action should be.

he doesn't know any better, why should he? why should anyone to begin with?

it scares him how natural it is for shin and you. some days he finds himself envying the two of you even, would things be any different were you to attend the same school as the two of you? oh what wouldn't he do to be graced with your smiles and giggles all day every day, having you look at him as you rest your cheek against your palm–

he aches for something a tad normal sometimes, at the very least with you. would the two of you ever cross paths were it not for shin? the thought scares him and he feels like an asshole for envying his friend like this, desperate for anything that would come from your hands.

but at the end of the day, it is himself you seek out. his arms that you allow around your person, his lips on you, devoring you, it's wakasa that consumes you wholly and the thought brings a wave of comfort at the very least.

then the entire world collapses down in the span of 24 hours.

shinichiro dies.

almost 24 hours have passed since his death and wakasa still cannot find it in him to return to reality yet.

then like an angel amidst the chaos, you reemerge from the fog, from smoke. it doesn't take a genius to figure out something is wrong.

"waka," you call out to him, sound laced with something he cannot quite pinpoint. shutting his eyes completely, he sits in the same spot for a moment, all the doubts, every single negative, twisted and fucked up thng he has been holding at bay til now so close to breaking out.

you speak, but he does not hear the words.

not pass the 'i am leaving'