#I pulled my mask to the side for two seconds to spit out my gum and when I leaned over it fell in

[slightlymore]

red

part of the ‘soulmates collection’

(slytherin) doyoung x (ravenclaw) fem reader

others: (gryffindor) haechan | renjun mentioned like once 

genre: one-shot | smut | angst | fluff | romance | enemies to lovers | slight dark academia vibes | fantasy au | inspired by hogwarts but only for the names and separation in houses. this is a university setting with different magic (different spells, no wands etc., slytherins have some cool ass rooms and very questionable powers) 

warnings: oral f and m, penetration, unprotected, marking m receiving, body possessiveness in a magical way (? i made this up lol I hope its not that weird. like the plot point is a little cringy but I found it hilarious as I wrote it so I hope you don’t get mad at me when you discover what’s it about lol); a lot of bickering and insults; swearing

words: 9.5k (lol) 

requested by anon that wanted academic fights turn into mad sex aha I got inspired by that to make a longer fic with more depth to it (if it's alright) hope you like it! this is one of my favourite pieces I’ve written so far!!!! 👀👅👀

_____

As the rays of the sun hit the announcement board, your eyes darted on the pages filled with small characters. 

A little crowd of people started to chatter behind you, trying to see the ranking sheet as well, but no one dared to come close enough to push into you - the Ravenclaw Prefect. 

“Renjun? Whose dick did you suck to get 6th?” a voice giggled before a loud smack transformed the airy laugh in a dramatic “ouch”. “Lee Haechan, I swear I’ll-” but you didn’t get to hear the rest as your vision got suddenly blurry with rage and your ears started to whistle when your shoulder got bumped forcing you to make a few ungraceful steps to the side. 

“What’s that face for, YLN?” 

You tightened your fists. 

You could have recognized that annoying voice in a thousand others: Kim Doyoung, the Slytherin Prefect and the person you hated most in the whole universe. 

“Ah, right,” he hit his fist on one palm turning his head with fakely widened eyes. “You’re second place. Again.” 

You hated Kim Doyoung and everything that had to do with him. 

His voice? Hideous. 

The fragrance of the fabric softener on his clothes? Repugnant. 

His favourite dishes at the cafeteria? Revolting. 

His favourite authors? Idiots. 

Everything reminded you of him and one time you had a literal meltdown in a supplies shop as every notebook and pen has been seen in his backpack at a certain point. 

“I see that manners are still very difficult for you to master, Kim,” you spit out his last name. 

Doyoung laughed. “I apologize profusely for not following useless societal rules such as manners the way your finite mind intends.” 

An echo of little “ohh” surrounded you but abruptly stopped as you threw a venomous glance at the little crowd behind you. 

“Is this what you’ve been doing to get in the first place? Not following the rules?” you cocked an eyebrow at Doyoung. 

The tongue inside his cheek moved around for a few seconds before he crossed his arms on his chest and got closer until his feet clashed with yours. 

You didn’t step back. 

“Is this an accusation?” 

You pursed your lips as if thinking and Doyoung let you put on the little theatre act before he could hear your “Maybe?” 

A single dry and unamused scoff came out of his lips as his eyes stared you down from head to toes. 

“So you’re resorting to - this?” he gestured vaguely. “You’re that bitter that you couldn’t keep your first place for two whole semesters now?” 

“Oh? It hurt so badly the first time that you kept track of it, baby boy?” you cooed. 

The new nickname threw him off for a split second and although he was quick to come back to his usual expression you noticed it and you smiled triumphantly. 

The crowd was collectively holding its breath. 

He opened his mouth to say probably something stupid as usual when the voice of the professor interrupted you and the spell got shattered. 

“Come inside little roosters. Preserve that energy for the class debate.” 

Previously silent to not miss a single exchange you had with Doyoung. everyone suddenly started to chat while making their way inside the classroom. 

You both still didn’t move a single muscle, your eyes still trained on each other like predators. “I said-,” the professor clicked his fingers between your faces, “-come inside.”

_____

“I can’t fucking believe this.” 

Your university was overall a good place with good and proficient rules. You followed them all and you enjoyed it. But there were also a few rules you suddenly realized you hated. Like the “your seat in the study room will be your seat for the rest of the semester and whoever seats in somebody else's seat during the year, said somebody can slash their shins”. 

You would have loved to see Doyoung sitting at your place. His long legs could use some kicking. But unfortunately, something even worse happened. 

He was sitting right in front of you. 

“Why are you here?” you added, throwing your bag on the desk in front of him and making a few of his papers fly on the floor. 

Doyoung sighed seeing his stuff gently falling around and raised his eyes with the most venomous smile he could pull off. 

“The Gryffindor gentleman over there-” he indicated towards his previous’ semester desk, “took my seat so I had to find another one.” 

You followed his pointed finger and spotted Lee Haechan in the midst of popping a chewing gum bubble. 

He winked. 

You rolled your eyes. 

He made an obscene gesture revolving a tongue in the cheek and hand motions. 

You returned the favour with your middle finger. 

“And you had to sit here of all places. You let a Gryffindor snatch your place.”

Doyoung licked his lower lip before taking it inside his mouth for a moment. 

“Miss ‘manners’ and miss ‘following the rules’ is mad that I, mister ‘fuck useless rules’ and fuck ‘useless manners’ didn’t smack a boy in the head to get a desk?” 

You breathed in slowly and exhaled before you could scream at him. 

“I don’t want to see you every day in front of me.” 

Doyoung pinched the base of his nose before speaking. 

“Listen, I also don’t want to see your face this close every day for a whole semester but it is what it is. All the other seats are taken. Stop whining or go and suck Lee’s dick to get his desk instead.” 

You scoffed incredulously and plopped down with force, ignoring the boy’s sighs as the movement made some other papers fall. 

"You're insufferable,” he whispered. 

"I am insufferable?" you stopped taking the books from your bag then suddenly dropped the heaviest one, making the whole desk tremble. 

Doyoung looked at you then smirked. "You're in a worse mood than usual. Is it because you couldn't reach the top?" 

He leaned in as if about to share a secret. "Are you frustrated that I'm always in your mind 24/7?"

His dark eyes looked like two abysses and suddenly you felt like falling into them. Then he blinked once, slowly, and you blinked too, the sudden silence chatter of the study room bringing you to the surface. 

Fuck Slytherins and their weird-ass magnetic eyes. You wanted to smack him in the fucking face. 

"So I see you keep wanting to be ridiculous as always," you replied but you both realized how soft your tone got. 

You cleared your throat - don’t talk to me anymore! it said - and you opened your books, eyes unable to look at Doyoung's face. 

He got the hint and leaned back into his seat amused, playing with his pencil. It rolled on his fingers, then on his knuckles and when he placed it on the desk with sudden force you jolted. 

"If you want to surpass me, stop staring at my hands and get on studying."

Doyoung had to slide away with his chair for you to not reach his throat and choke him.

_____

"So do you want to choke him with his tie or do you want him to choke you with his tie?" "I want to choke you." Haechan smirked. "I'm not sure I'm into that stuff but we can try it out." "I can't believe you did this to me." "Ah come on. Everyone is having fun. He's having fun. You're the only one taking it too seriously." "I am not taking it seriously. I'm just annoyed every time I see his face. 'The best option is to reinvent yourself'" you mocked Doyoung's voice during philosophy class. "You can reinvent the world first. What kind of selfish nonsense is that?" "Slytherin nonsense. But still, he had good points to his discourse- ahi." "Go and be his friend then." "I would, but I'm stuck here with you because--ahi." 

"You're always getting hit, Lee," that voice interrupted your discourse. 

You rolled your eyes and breathed out so heavily that for a split moment you thought someone transformed you into a horse. 

"Hit on, by girls." "I will hit you too if you don't leave my desk," Doyoung smiled peacefully.  "Well," Haechan got up slowly, "I wouldn't mind that either."

Doyoung bit his lower lip amused and to your absolute shock he winked at your friend. Haechan laughed and left you two alone. 

"What was that?" 

Doyoung sat down ready to get to work. "Huh?" 

"Were you friendly just now?" 

Doyoung blinked at you as if processing the question. "Yeah? I am friendly usually."

"Why are you not friendly with me?" 

Doyoung's expression suddenly trembled on his face like a mask. He looked up surprised and for a split moment, he appeared weirdly younger, with his open lips and wide eyes. You stared at each other for a few seconds and it was the first time you didn't feel like opening up his guts.

But then he smiled and it all got back to you. "Because I hate you,” he explained.

_____  

The ball was okay. A normal ball just like all of the other boring balls you were forced to attend each start of the semester. No alcohol, at least not offered from the university but definitely offered by the older students. All said students dressed well, but following the decency rules which led to boring outfits. 

Your red dress was the boldest thing around and Ravenclaw cheered upon your entry in the Grand Hall. 

A cool Prefect? Yeah, you had to be one if you wanted to beat Kim Doyoung. 

At the moment everyone liked him more since he let his people smuggle liquor into the university but you weren’t about to fall to such low standards to win. 

But food? Hell yeah. 

It was not illegal and everyone wanted to have pizza instead of finger food made of hell knows what. 

“Y/N, if you continue like this, I’ll probably fall in love with you,” a random dude smiled, helping himself. You smiled back at him, glad that cute guys wanted to talk to you. 

“Well-,” you started, ready to bat your eyelashes, but the guy suddenly jolted, the piece of pizza he was holding literally flying from his hands and landing on his face instead. 

You yelped, bringing your hands to your mouth in shock, staring at the way it slowly slid from his nose down on his impeccable white shirt. 

“Shit,” he threw the pizza away on the bin at his right and made his way through the crowd with spicy tomato sauce in his eyes. 

“You got all kinds of pizzas and not my favourite topping,” Doyoung suddenly materialized near you with a dramatic sigh, scaring the shit out of you.  “You!” you turned your head to him and pointed your finger at his face. Doyoung stared at your fingertip then at your eyes. “You did that to the guy just now!” 

The boy blinked at you as if you were crazy. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he shook his head but when he took a piece of pizza and started to munch on it, one hand waving at you and walking towards his friends, you noticed the way he smiled.

_____

A few hours later, people were scattered around the campus, most of them in bed “sleeping”, some of them actually already sleeping since it was almost morning. 

The prefects were still in the hall, wrists twisting and eyes annoyed at the chore of having to clean up after the ball. 

“It’s going to take you only half an hour, my children,” the headmistress chuckled brightly. “You’re prefects for a reason. Other children don’t have your advanced magical power and would end up cleaning for a whole day. Responsibilities. Am I right?” 

“She could clean in 5 minutes yet here we are,” the Gryffindor prefect mumbled after she left, leaving behind an obnoxious perfume cloud. 

If the ball would have at least been fun, it would be different now, cleaning while at least being a little euphoric. 

But not only was it the most boring and uneventful party ever, you also had to do Kim Doyoung’s part since he was as slow as a snail. 

“Get your shit together. We can clean much faster if you get your ass up,” you stared him down with hands on your hips.

Doyoung looked up at you from the chair he was sprawled on, one hand to sustain his head, the other twisting while his finger lazily transported a flying bottle of beer across the room. 

“I am working.” 

You scoffed. “You’re the best at object moving. If you wanted, you could also finish everything in 5 minutes.” 

The boy tilted his head to the side, suddenly focused and amused. “Are my ears failing me, or did you just compliment me?” 

“If you need my praise to do your job, then yes, Kim, you’re very good at this type of magic.” 

Doyoung chuckled happily and got up. With a smack of his lips, he rolled his wrists and all the trash disappeared from the floors and tables appearing into the trash cans instead. The Hufflepuff prefect whistled, impressed, and the Gryffindor sighed upon realizing he had worked his ass off for nothing. 

You put your tongue in your cheek annoyed but also secretly happy he actually did it. “Floors.” 

Doyoung took out his tongue in the most annoying habit he had. Your eyes involuntarily darted towards it and he smiled. 

“You’re such a snake when you do that.” “Okay, crow. Deal with your floors yourself then,” he passed you and walked towards the exit. 

The other prefects already left, too tired to deal with your bickering and probably relieved that someone else could clean up much faster. 

You stared at his back, annoyed, then twisted your wrist to pull his body back towards you. His black jacket moved as if a gentle breeze blew across him and Doyoung stopped. 

“Wait, sorry-” he laughed and turned around, his voice echoing in the gigantic empty room ringing inside your skull. “-were you perhaps trying to do-” he twisted his wrist and you yelped, feet dragging across the pavement as if your body was being pulled by an invisible force until you clashed on his chest, “-this?” he finished. 

Your hands were up on his shirt and for a few moments your brain couldn’t think anything besides, first, how good he smelled, and second, it was the first time for you to actually touch each other. 

“If you’re so good at this, then clean the floors as well, so we can finally go.” 

He stared you down.

“Ask nicely.” 

You scoffed incredulously. “I’d rather clean it with my own hands than do that.” 

He smiled. "You want to kiss me so badly, Y/N." 

“I-- what? Are you drunk?” 

“Why are you so flustered?” 

“I am--not-” you grabbed the hand he raised to cup your face, “flustered! I am appalled.” 

“I want to kiss you.” 

Breathing has never been a difficulty for you and you’ve always laughed at main characters in books talking so extensively about air, but at that moment, your hand still holding Doyoung’s one, your chests pressing against each other and his eyes, fuck, you actually started to slightly pant. What was wrong with him? 

“If you stopped using your snake powers-” “This is no power. It’s just you being attracted to me,” he finally cupped your face and this time you didn’t move away. “Check on it. You can pull away.”

He was right. But if that wasn’t some slytherin doing then you were probably going crazy because you saw your hands move almost on their own on Doyoung’s shoulders. 

Then you actually leaned in and he met you halfway. 

Your limbs were trembling when he brushed his lips on yours and to your surprise, they were warm and soft. 

Then he pulled you even closer and you whined for no reason besides your brain yelling ‘this is so nice!!!! we love dopamine!!!’ at you. 

And you sought for some more. 

When you licked his lower lips, Doyoung’s hands had a tremor on your waist but he was quick to adjust to your sudden burst of passion with the same energy. 

Of all the things that you anticipated that night, making out with Kim Doyoung was definitely not one of them. Then why you felt relieved as if finally doing somethig you’ve ached to do for so long?

Did he want to kiss you? 

He was currently kissing you at that moment? 

Absurd. 

Yet there you were, panting and desperate for each other, unable to stop drinking each other’s breaths. 

“I’m taking you to my room,” he whispered and the look in his eyes was something you’ve never seen before.

____

Suffocating.

You were suffocating as your breath was taken away from your lungs at Doyoung's every touch on your back. 

First your neck with his cold knuckles, then your spine to reach the zip of your red dress. He opened it slowly imitating the pace of his soft lips on your jaw. And when the fabric fell to your feet you turned around, your arms quick to pull him into a messy kiss, while his hands fell on your hips, pushing you towards the silky bed. 

You sat down and got quickly on your knees to be able to reach his face again. 

Doyoung, standing near the edge of the bed, closed his eyes when you drifted your attention from his lips to his neck then chest, placing a kiss on the newly exposed skin every time you made a button pop open. His abdomen twitched every time and when you reached his navel you palmed his torso up, enjoying his shaky breath when the shirt fell off his shoulders.

A little chuckle coming from you made him look down at your sultry face, the hue of the red lights and lit candles dancing on your skin. Then he stared at his own body. Dozens of kisses adorned it in the colour of your lipstick.

"If I can't mark you, I can at least do this," you raised one eyebrow at him, hands gently dealing with his belt. "Who said you can't mark me?" "Hm?" you opened his pants zip and you could have sworn that Doyoung's eyes flickered. "You really want to go around all covered in hickeys?"

The boy smiled and cupped your face, his thumb slowly caressing your lower lip. "Do it where it can't be seen then."

So you let your tongue out on your amused lips and leaned down to reach the skin above the waistband of his underwear. Your tip wetted his skin making his take in a deep breath. "Is here alright?" you whispered against his warm body.

Doyoung's hand found his place on your nape and you took it as consensus, gingerly taking his skin inside your mouth and sucking on it. A red spot already started to form and you sucked again near it, and again, before suddenly placing a kiss on his clothed bulge instead. 

Doyoung drank air through his teeth at the unexpected touch and his fingers got to your shoulders, pushing you into the bed before your legs could wrap around his waist. 

His tongue inside your mouth was as delicious as the silk your body was rubbing against. It made its way down your neck then chest and when it reached your perked nipples your knees buckled and you grabbed that red silk with your fists. Little soft whimpers escaped your lips and they became louder as Doyoung's fingers got between your legs. They scratched the lace of your panties and you lifted your hips as he dragged them down. The boy, then, palmed your skin and placed open kisses on it from the ankle down and every touch closer made you lose a bit of your self-control. 

You really were about to fuck Kim Doyoung. 

What kind of sick and twisted situation was that? 

Were you bewitched? 

Did he do something to you?

But when his lips reached your dripping core, tongue quick to collect your juice, it didn't matter. 

If this was the consequence of you getting bewitched, you wanted it to happen every day. And you told him. You hand gripped his hair and your back arched, profanities quickly spilling out of your chest. Doyoung cupped your ass, pressing his thumbs into your flesh and you let your thighs drape over his shoulders. 

Why was he that good? It honestly offended you to find out that Kim Doyoung aced pussy eating too besides everything else. 

And when he stopped to breathe, you saw his eyes and his juicy lips. 

It was the sexiest view you’ve ever seen in your life so you yanked his head toward your face and he obliged with a panting smile. 

Making out while his long fingers pumped inside of you was the highlight of your university career, and you cared about the curriculum a lot. 

And when he curled them upwards, touching spots inside of you that made you lose vision, you were ready to beg him to do it to you as often as possible. 

"Cumming- I'm--ah-" 

Doyoung got back between your legs and added his tongue to the action again. 

It was too much. 

His books flew from his shelves as you reached the highest climax of your life. 

He chuckled, peppering your shaking body in soft kisses. “I thought you weren’t good at object moving.” You breathed heavily a few more moments before finally finding your voice again. Doyoung reached your lips and you shivered upon feeling his hard cock resting between your legs. He stared at your expression as he lightly hit your oversensitive clit with its tip then rubbed himself between your folds with a sigh. “You’re the one good at moving, so please, move.” The boy bit your lower lip, stretching it out a little before sucking on it, one hand to cup your hip and the other grabbing the silk near your head. He got you so wet that he didn’t need much to easily slip inside of you. He cursed with heavy breath and you wondered if your nails were leaving marks on his back skin as he moved his hips. 

You didn't have Doyoung only in your brain like usual, thinking about him day and night. You finally had him physically so deep inside that you thought you were about to lose your mind. 

So this was it, the sweet overwhelming sensation of being in the present instead of chasing something in the future. 

It was just like everyone described it to be, everything. 

But it wasn't a moment in time or space as you’ve anticipated. It was a person and that person, you realized, was Doyoung. 

If your mouth wasn’t busy spilling his name out of it inside his soft lips and if his hums didn’t make your whole being vibrate, you would have probably laughed at the destiny. 

"You are, so fucking, hot-," you whispered breathlessly, eyes barely able to stay open to drink in his image. "So you admit it. You think I'm sexy," you could see his smirk even in the red darkness of his room. "I wouldn't let you ram into me like this if I thought otherwise." "Oh really? And yet I was here thinking you were doing charity since 'no girl would want to make my dick wet'." You chuckled before the sounds could get interrupted by your high moans instead, the frustration that phrase gave to Doyoung translating into his hips thrusting even harder. "I take that back." "Are you trying to say that you want me to slow down? You can’t take this?" "Oh, no, I love how you're fucking me as if you hate me." "But I don’t actually hate you”, you wished to hear at least for a split second but no word came out of the boy's lips, his hips slowing down instead as he buried his face into the crook of your neck.

It was as good as his fast thrusts, his strokes so fluid and deep it made you grunt every time he pressed into you. He was so good that it irritated you. 

"You really like to do the opposite of what I want, huh?" "Yeah," his voice inside your ear made your skin get goosebumps. “I love your frustrated expression and mannerism.” "Ah, shit-" you dug your nails into his back as the bed started to creak. "A good girl like you swearing like this? Who taught you?" "It's your influence." "Am I turning you bad?" "Yeah. Every time you're around I want to do bad things and I have no idea what's going on." You didn't expect to be that honest but Doyoung's intimate presence was like a drug, making you feel so high that you were ready to get twisted by him in every way he wanted. 

No. You desired it. You wanted Doyoung to play with you and for once you would not resist it at all. You would beg for more.

And when he actually took you there, in a place where your thoughts did not exist anymore, where only his touch grounded you, the hand that pushed you over the edge and the one bringing you back up, you did just that. You asked for more, shaking uncontrollably on his luscious bed and he did what you wanted. For once he granted every wish you had and even beyond that.

_____

Your desire to leave his room that night was not as strong as you anticipated. 

Doyoung arms didn't want to let go and you didn't fight him at all. 

Sighing, you got back to his chest and didn't comment on the way he tightened his hold on you. If this wasn’t the way people-that-hate-each-other-but-like-to-weirdly-fuck-for-some-reason behaved, it would be a concern for your conscious mind and not for your fucked up one. 

His scent was inebriating and if you didn't know the way he could make you feel, you would have thought that it was the highest form of aphrodisiac. 

And maybe it was actually making you feel high because under your lids you could have sworn that the room slowly changed colour. 

You opened your sleepy eyes and stared at the wall behind Doyoung’s shoulder, blinking hard. 

It was dark blue, almost black, with a myriad of little bright lights. 

The candles went out and the room did get dark after Doyoung rolled over breathless, his cum dripping slowly on your thigh, but you were pretty sure there were no stars before. 

And when you shifted to rest on your back you almost choked on your own spit. 

You weren’t looking at the night sky. 

No. You were inside the sky. 

Purple, whites, yellows and pinks all melted together to form galaxies and cosmic dust. 

No roof, no walls, no pavements, just the bed, Doyoung and you in the middle of everything. 

Your fingers dug into the arm Doyoung had thrown across your chest and perhaps you made some type of sound because the boy opened his eyes to stare at your profile. “Do you like it?” he murmured. Your head snapped towards his face and his eyes reflected the infinite little lights as if he held two other universes inside of them. “How is this possible?” He smiled sheepishly. “Slytherin rooms. They change based on the owner’s mood.” You felt your mouth open on its own. “This is your doing?” Doyoung hummed and closed his eyes again, pulling you towards him to hold you like before. You let him place his chin on top of your head and breathed in his scent yet again. 

“So the red room?” “I was horny.” You smiled. “And how do you feel now?” “A little less horny. If I’m not careful you’ll see a whole star engulf us soon.” “This is so unfair. We don’t have such cool rooms.” “Or maybe you do but being Ravenclaws you’re all thinking of boring, brown looking rooms.” 

You rolled your eyes even if he couldn’t see you and gently, you placed a hand on his chest, close to your face and above his heart. You could feel the calm and peaceful beats in syntony with the night sky. To know that inside that boy’s mind could be such beauty made your heart not beat as calmly as his heart did. 

You had no idea what you were doing, hugging so intimately with your sworn enemy, and maybe it was the romantic vibe that made you do it since there was no rational explanation to any of it, but you raised your face to meet his lips. 

And you just kissed him. Slowly and softly, barely brushing them with yours. 

Doyoung opened his eyes for a moment, as if surprised, but upon feeling you pressing yourself on his body he closed them again and pulled you on top of him. 

The universe didn’t change, although, when you let your tongue inside his mouth, slowly, as if having all the time in the world at your feet, the stars flickered and got brighter. 

“Are you trying to see a star up close? I can make it happen without you rubbing yourself on me,” he smiled on your lips. “What happens when you suddenly lose control?” Doyoung’s pupils trembled and the room started to shake. You knew it wasn’t real but you still jolted and looked around terrified. “Let’s find out.”  

_____

"I, saw, you, leave, with, Kim, Doyoung, last night," Haechan chanted teasingly as he sat down with his breakfast tray. 

You wanted to keep a poker face but your facial muscles weren't under your control so you smiled. 

"Oh!! Look at her! Oh my God. So- wow. Okay. Okay," Haechan tried to compose himself. "Is he any good?" he leaned in lowering his voice. 

You sighed and nodded. "So fucking good."

Haechan squealed and hit your shoulder before wrapping it with one arm and wobbling you around. 

"Stop it!" you hissed amused. "Everything hurts." "EVERYTHING HURTS! So he's got a monster cock."

"Shut up!" you pressed your hand on his mouth scandalized as Doyoung made his way inside the cafeteria with his friends. 

You breathed in slowly and just as slowly you exhaled, trying to relax. Haechan made an effort to appear calm as well. "Sup, Kim." You smiled. 

The other boy looked your way as he walked behind your table. "Hey, Lee," then he turned to you. "Y/L/N." 

And left. 

Just like that. 

He looked at you for one second and continued on his way to the Slytherin tables. 

No smile. 

No acknowledgement. 

Cold just like before. 

As if nothing had happened. 

You stared at his back, feeling your limbs heavy like stone. Turning around slowly, you grabbed your fork and started to eat in silence. "Hey." Haechan lightly bumped your arm with his shoulder. "He's probably just feeling awkward." You munched slowly and took it as an excuse to keep quiet. "Hey, come on." "What?" Haechan sighed. "You can say that you're disappointed that he-" "I don't know what you're talking about."

_____

For the first time, instead of feeling rage inside your gut, you felt anxious. 

Doyoung was in front of you, face almost hidden under his hair as he typed into his computer. He greeted you as he usually did before the, well, before you let him see the deepest parts of you, figuratively and physically. But after that single “hey” no other words came from his part. 

It wouldn't have been that weird if only a few hours ago he didn't kiss your lips in heaven. 

When you woke up that morning, the night sky wasn’t there anymore. At his place were clouds. White fluffy clouds in the middle of a pink sky. 

It was breathtaking and you felt like flying. 

And he did kiss you softly. 

And now he acted as if you weren't even there. 

Maybe Haechan was right. Maybe he was feeling awkward. It's not like he could suddenly act lovingly in front of the whole campus. You were still enemies after all. And maybe you were also right. 

You've just fucked. It's not like you started to date. He had no obligations towards you. 

Yet, when his fingers drew your spine and his sigh caressed your lips, it didn't seem just fucking to you. 

Was Doyoung like that? Was that his personality? Was he doing that to all the girls he brought into his room? Making them cum multiple times and showing them his soft side? Was that a well-plotted plan? Was he trying to hurt you? 

You were ready to let him do whatever he wanted to you the previous night, yet at that moment, under the bright sunlight of the study room, you felt sick. It was a weird feeling. It grabbed at your throat and travelled down to your heart making it difficult for you to breathe. 

You trusted him with your feelings and you let him see your vulnerable side. 

Did he laugh? Was he feeling triumphant now? Did he win a battle against you? He had you on his palm? Because, God, he did have you on his palm now and with only a twist of his wrist he could get you into his arms again. 

And you would have let him.

You hated it. You fell so hard it hurt everywhere. You were dizzy and confused and you couldn't look at him anymore.

_____

It was easy to avoid Doyoung for the following days. It was almost too easy as if he was trying to avoid you too. So walking towards the library you jolted hearing his low voice inside one of the classrooms. You stopped in place and after a few seconds of thinking you peeped inside. Then you gulped and hid under the door window. 

He was resting his hips on the professor's desk, eyebrows furrowed and arms crossed on his chest. In front of him was standing one of the most beautiful girls you've ever seen. 

She was talking with a peaceful tone and Doyoung suddenly laughed. You got up and quickly walked away.

_____

"How the fuck would I know?" the girl asked. 

Doyoung rolled his eyes. "Your dad designed them. You must know more than me."

"Listen. We're the only house with mood rooms because we're the only people who can control their emotions. It's not my fault you're a terrible Slytherin and your room has been pitch black for the past days." 

Doyoung sighed in irritation. "What the fuck does that even mean though?" 

"Usually mourning."

The boy shook his head. "No one died."

"Then it can be a general pain. Or confusion," the girl explained. 

Doyoung raised his gaze on her. "What would I be so confused about?" 

She shrugged. "You're the only one that can know. Chill out maybe and stop thinking when you're inside of it. I'll ask my dad how to turn it off and I'll let you know. Now leave me alone, I'm busy," she said and left the classroom.

_____

"Hey," Doyoung said. "That's my pencil."

You looked down at your fingers and furrowed your eyebrows. 

"No. This is mine."

The boy sighed. "I can sense it's mine."

"I legit bought it yesterday. And what are you? A psychic? 'I can sense it's mine'." 

"I'm a Slytherin. We're snakes. Everything I lick is mine. And I can sense that's mine." 

Your mouth opened slightly and you waited for him to laugh but Doyoung remained serious. 

"That has to be a joke."

"Okay, keep it. It just makes me feel giddy when things I own are used by other people." "Because you're selfish." "It's a real sensation. I know when something I licked is being used by somebody else," and he raised his eyes on you. You stared back and the weight of his words made your throat close. 

I hope it doesn't work with people too, you wanted to ask, but the noise on your left interrupted you. 

"Can I talk to you?" the same girl from a few days ago suddenly made her appearance near your desk. Doyoung looked at her surprised. "Yeah." "Bring me to your room," she ordered.

_____

You shouldn't have been there. 

It was useless and it would only make you further lose your mind. 

But your feet descended the Slytherin corridor, nose following the trail of the girl's perfume until arriving at Doyoung’s door. 

You remained still for a moment and after a few seconds of indecisiveness you suddenly turned around going back. 

That was too creepy. You had absolutely no reason to be there. If Doyoung wanted to fuck that girl, so be it. 

But then you stopped again. 

Fuck. 

Just, just a little glance. Just a tiny little glance. Just the colour. Just to be sure. 

You didn't turn around to actually see anything. With your back towards the door, you twisted your wrist, doing the most illegal thing one can do inside the campus - transparency spell. A tiny portion of the wall disappeared at your silent command and you could see the red hue spilling outside of it on the dark pavement at your feet. 

It was enough and you barely saw the stairs when you got out of the basement.

_____

"You weren't lying when you said it's pitch black. It even absorbs magic light."

Doyoung sighed. 

The girl presumably turned around because Doyoung heard her voice more clearly when she spoke again.

"Okay, so this is what we're gonna do. Sit down somewhere and relax." 

The boy let himself fall on the carpet with a grunt. 

"Close your eyes."

He obliged even if he could have let them open too for all it mattered. 

"Now, think of someone of your choice." 

Doyoung's mind automatically drifted towards you and the room besides being dark, felt suddenly very cold as well. 

"No, okay, Doyoung, change the person." "She's the only one I can think about." The girl sighed. "Well, at least we know the reason for all of this. God, it's so fucking cold, try to not think about anything for a second!" 

"It's hard, okay?" 

"Okay, fuck. Think about her but imagine something else. Think of a good memory you have with her."

Doyoung sighed irritated and furrowed his eyebrows even more. "I don't think this is going to work."

But when he let his mind imagine your panting expression underneath him, a slight red hue started to create from the floor going up to the walls. 

The girl exulted. "Yes! Don't stop. Continue thinking about that!" 

Doyoung opened up one eye as the girl exulted again and he could finally see the furniture in his room. 

It was a dark red, not the bright red he actually had his room painted in when he held you into his arms, but enough for him to not get a headache 24/7.

"Well it's not like I can think about--that, every time I need to be in my room, can I?" he got up. 

The girl knew what red meant and she chuckled. 

"Don't you have any other good memory with her besides fucking?" 

The room got bright red. 

The girl laughed even harder. 

"Ah, shut up." "Hey, I helped you out." "Barely," he plopped on the bed and put his face into his palms. 

It could have been considered a gesture coming from embarrassment if the lights didn't start to get dim again. 

"God, you're really all over the place, huh?" she sat near him. "What happened? Is she your ex?”  

Doyoung sighed and directed his gaze upon an indistinct point in front of him. Maybe he was tired, or maybe it was the dark room and the fact that Doyoung didn’t even remember the girl’s name, making her a safe stranger, but he whispered. 

"I made a mistake. I thought she was into me so-- fuck, I went down on her."

The girl made a surprised sound but waited for the most important part. 

“Well, she’s not into me, but I am.”

"You're so stupid!" 

"Yeah okay, thanks."

"We're Slytherins! It's not like we don't give head because we're prude, it's to prevent this! You horny dumbass." "I thought she liked me! I had no idea she'd- fuck someone else right after!" Doyoung grunted frustrated and fell back on the bed, the room getting to the pitch-black from before. 

The girl let the silence calm him down a bit before talking. 

"I am sorry. I had things used by others but I don't know what it feels like with people."

"It's not necessarily painful but- knowing the reason, it's just-" 

"Yeah. You just have to let her go so the bond is receded. Like with things, you know?"

"It's easy to let go of a thing that's yours. How can I manage to let go of her?" 

The girl sighed and remained in silence.

_____

You had no idea how you managed to remain seated in front of Doyoung that morning. 

His complexion was paler than usual and his eyes were very tired. As if he didn't sleep enough last night. Or at all. 

You had to breathe in and out slowly to ease the pain inside your stomach. 

"You look terrible."

Doyoung's dark irises under his low lids made your skin crawl when he looked up at you. 

"Is someone keeping you too active to get enough sleep?" you asked again, trying hard to get back to the tone you both were used to before. 

The boy tightened his lips in a mockery smile. "Yeah. As discussed, I have no problem keeping my dick wet."

"Well-," you frowned with a raised chin, your lips forming a pout for a moment before you forced them to keep the poker face, "-I started to see someone lately too."

He looked unbothered. "As in dating or hallucinations?" 

You ignored his comment. 

“We’ve already been on three dates,” you lied. 

“And you’re telling me this because-?” 

You shrugged. “Conversation.” 

“I hate small talk.” 

“Is there something you don’t hate?” 

“Silence. And smart people, which given your latest test results, you’re not.” 

You had no idea what it was. 

You and Doyoung had always called each other names, insulted each other’s intelligence and the sorts, yet at that moment, maybe because of your failing tests, the alignment of stars or the fact that you were actually in love with him, you burst into tears. 

It took Doyoung a few good seconds to realize that you were wailing in front of him.

“Hey?” 

He crouched on the desk to be able to see your face from underneath your arms. You hid it even more. 

“Y/N,” he lowered his voice. It was as soft and delicate as when he whispered your name under the sky. 

You suddenly took your stuff and ran away from the study room.

_____

Doyoung was slowly but surely losing his mind. 

One day, two days, three days and you were still nowhere to be seen. 

His room has been different shades of grey, which was better than black but now the walls had water running on them and the floor was constantly wet. 

Altogether, not a good time. 

“Holy shit, are you that depressed?” 

Doyoung raised his eyes from the book he was reading before rolling them so far up that Haechan thought they wouldn’t come back anymore.

“What do you want?” 

The Gryffindor took a step inside the room with hands behind his back and took a lazy stroll to where Doyoung’s dresser was crying. “Your flowers are all dead. Throw them away.” “They keep appearing every time,” Doyoung started to read again, the little line between his eyebrows showing how hard he tried to understand whatever the pages were trying to say but failing. 

“I’m here because it’s boring to not have you yell at Y/N in the study room as always,” Haechan spoke again nonchalantly, fingers rubbing against each other, as to get rid of the imaginary dust they collected from Doyoung’s furniture. Given the situation, the room probably made up piles of mud as well. 

"Who's the guy?" Doyoung suddenly asked. 

Haechan furrowed his eyebrows. "What guy?" 

"The one she's fucking."

The other blinked at him surprised. 

"You mean, Kim Doyoung?" 

The Slytherin's eyes widened and Haechan saw how he looked with flushed cheeks for the first time in his life. 

"Aw, come on. Of course, I know everything."

"If you know everything, then tell me who the fuck this guy she's been fucking beside me is!" Doyoung got up from the bed. 

"There's no other guy. What are you talking about?" 

"Fuck, I felt it how he touched her and it drives me crazy!" Haechan opened his mouth to talk but jolted, eyes staring at Doyoung’s arm extended to hit the wall behind his head expecting to see a dent in the hard brick from how much force he put into that.  

"Is it you?" “Uhm? What the fuck?” "Answer me." "Okay, first of all, take a step back."

Doyoung leaned in even more and Haechan gulped. 

"Okay! Okay, gosh. No. There's no guy fucking her as far as I know."

"Where is she?" "I don't know." "What kind of friend are you if you don't know it?" 

Haechan crossed his arms on his chest. "Am I seriously getting scolded on friendship values by Kim Doyoung right now? You that made her cry in the common room? You that made her rest her weapons in front of you just to see you treat her like scum? After using her? We don’t have mood rooms but we have things like hearts and mouths which we use to, you know, ask other people how they feel-" "I don't have enough patience and you know that."

Haechan breathed in and out before finally opening his lips again. "She's in the dorms. Obviously. Where the fuck would she be-"

Doyoung turned around on his heels like a tornado and walked towards the towers. 

"She doesn't want to talk to you!" Haechan told the other boy's back but he wasn't sure he heard him.

_____

She doesn't want to talk to you. 

Fuck it. 

Doyoung knew he was self-centred and he knew that your absence had something to with him but for once he really wanted to be wrong. 

Used you? You really thought Doyoung used you? When you used him and then got somebody else to touch you like that? 

Fuck, if Doyoung were in his room at that moment it would probably resemble a killing storm. 

"Hey, you can't be here," some random guy stopped him as Doyoung stepped into the Gryffindor common room. "How did you even enter-" 

"Shut the fuck up." 

Doyoung looked around, eyeing all of the different doors and chose left, venturing down the corridor, for once - and cringingly so - listening to his heart. 

Haechan was right. You didn’t have real mood rooms but he could physically feel the energy of each and one of them with his heart. 

He knew it was your door before even getting close to it, the feeling coming from it making his blood boil in his veins just like he would feel when you were around. 

With a twist of his wrist, he tried to open it but it didn't work. 

"Are you seriously trying to barge into a girl's room like that, Kim?" a scandalous voice said behind the door. 

"How did you know it was me?" Doyoung placed one palm on the wood. 

"Only you could force open a door without even knocking," you replied. "And the spell is made for you specifically, so I know."

The boy rested his forehead on the door and closed his eyes. "You were waiting for me." 

The silence on the other side made him sigh. "Open up. Let me talk to you." 

It got even quieter than before. "I wasn't waiting for you. You had no reasons to come," you finally whispered. 

Doyoung twisted his wrist and the door in front of himself vanished from his eyes. Apparently, you didn't anticipate he'd be able to use the transparency spell since you didn't even preoccupy yourself to block it and he could tell you didn't even sense it, so concentrated on your thoughts. From your perspective the door was still there and, previously leaning against it with your back, you rolled on it now and unknowingly imitated Doyoung's position, foreheads almost touching if not for the layer of old wood. 

"What do I have to say?" he asked, looking at your face. He saw how you bit your lower lip at the sound of his voice and the genuine sadness in your face made him even angrier at the whole situation. "You don't have to say anything," you finally replied. 

Doyoung's jaw muscles tensed. 

"Please, please, open this goddamn door." 

The intensity of his voice made you raise your head and your senses got sharp again, feeling the energy he put into using his spell. 

With the twist of your wrist, the door flew open and you finally saw Doyoung's face. 

"You used transparency," you suddenly looked furious. “You know you can’t do that inside the university.” "Fuck, I was," he stepped in. "What if I was naked?" "Nothing I haven't seen before." 

You rolled your eyes. "You make me so frustrated."

"I am making you frustrated? Then what about me, huh?" 

"What would you even be frustrated about if you don't even care about me? You tease me and you insult me and then you make love to me like a desperate man and then you go back to being your selfish, deprecable self. What is this? Why do you keep playing with me? Is it fun? You find it amusing to see me like this?" 

Your words completely floored him. 

"I can ask you the same thing. I can feel it inside my chest when someone else touches you and it drives me fucking insane. I made a mistake and I gave in thinking you had some feelings for me and that I wasn't just a fuck toy you could use one night and throw away." 

Your mouth fell open. 

He could feel it? He could feel you? So you did belong to him?

"This is crazy. You hid something like this from me! Now you have access to what's going on with my body without my consent!" 

"I had no idea I was in love with you, okay? It has never happened to me before. I don't want to know either when someone else eats you out! I just- you’re here hiding in your room and crying as if you have feelings for me or something when you let someone else-" he stopped. 

You looked at his reddening neck and closed eyes. 

His breath was shaky and you realized how you've never actually seen him angry or upset before. 

"No one has done anything to me, Doyoung. Unlike you, who fucked that Slytherin girl after showing me the fucking heaven. Did you do that to her as well? Sweet talk? For what? Is this your hobby? Making girls fall in love with you?" 

The boy shook his head in confusion."What are you talking about? There's no Slytherin girl."

"The one that had the urgency to see your room?" 

He pinched the base of his nose with a grunt of realization. "She helped me to figure out why my room was pitch-black and why it's currently grey with wet fucking walls."

"Oh yeah? Because to me, it looked very much red."

"You've been spying on me?"

You huffed and sat down on the bed like a child when they're found guilty but they're too proud to admit it. "You used transparency just 5 minutes ago too,” you justified yourself as if you were equal now. 

"And did you see me fuck that girl?" 

"I didn't want to actually look inside like a creep! But you were pretty much horny. The corridor got all red."

"I was thinking about you! And now I’m also thinking about you and I’ve been thinking about you all of these days and months and probably all of these fucking years since I first met you.” 

Your brain felt like mush. 

"Then you knew? You treated me like that because you liked me? Only children tease the person they like."

"I didn’t know. I had no fucking idea before. And apparently, I am a fool for not having realized before and fuck, perhaps I’m a child as well then. I’m insecure. Because I wanted you to think about me too. And perhaps you don’t even remember but I’ve tried to be nice to you before and it didn’t work. But you started to give me attention when I made you mad. It was easy and playful and I saw how you often smiled when I turned my back to you and- fuck, I got hopeful. That you’d start to feel the same.” 

“I do feel the same, for fuck’s sake! I am in love with you.”

Doyoung swallowed dryly. “Then why-” 

“It was me.” 

The boy furrowed his eyebrows. 

“That morning after I left your room I took a shower, and-,” you looked around as if trying to find the courage to say what you had to say, “- I was thinking about you, so-”

Doyoung understood before you could finish the phrase and you saw his face fall. 

“Wait, is it possible? Even if you do it?” 

You scoffed incredulously. “You’re the Slytherin here. Until a few days ago I didn’t even know you had magical spit making you feel whatever I did to my own pussy!” 

Doyoung closed his eyes and took in a deep breath as if he needed a moment.

“But I researched it when you told me about the pencil. It has to do with some weird-ass Slytherin shit where couples own each other’s bodies. Most people find it hot to know when the partner is-” you cleared your voice as it got suddenly tiny from talking about that shameful topic. 

“So no, I did not let anyone touch me. If you were smart enough you would have noticed that it didn’t happen anymore after you treated me like shit.” 

The boy looked as if his soul left his body.

The silence engulfed the whole room and you avoided each other’s eyes. 

But then it got disrupted by his movements. With slow steps, he walked the space from the middle of the room to the feet of the bed where you were sat down. 

With weak limbs, he let himself down on his knees in front of you and slowly he let his face fall into your lap. 

Your breath fell short. With trembling hands, you caressed his nape, lightly as if afraid to touch him, then his hair, patting it gently. 

“I’m sorry. I’ve been a fool this whole time. Like, I am so stupid.” His voice was muffled by your clothes and his arms wrapped your waist even more while saying it. 

“You’re the smartest person I know. But you could’ve just asked instead of assuming.”

He shook his head. “Yeah. Hey Y/N, so I can feel inside my gut that you orgasmed hard just now. Who did it? I thought you liked me.” 

He raised his head again, his hair messy on the forehead, eyes lit up by the sun coming from your big windows and violent red cheeks. He looked young and vulnerable and suddenly the whole situation seemed so ridiculous that you laughed. 

“I am sorry,” you chuckled and cupped his face. “You’re right. It was a weird situation. We should work on communication. And you should work on not being so insecure.” “You also assumed I fucked a girl just because I was talking to her.” 

You rolled your eyes. “Okay. We both have to work on that, alright?” 

He sighed relieved seeing you smile. 

“I’m sorry. I should have told you about that whole thing before. But I swear, I had no idea my feelings for you were that deep.” “Does it not work with mere crushes?” He shook his head. 

"Well, do you know what I want now? For you to obtain my forgiveness?" you asked. "Me to kiss you." You flicked his head. "You will never drop that attitude of yours, will you?" He smiled even more. "I love to see you like this."

“I want something else,” you explained. Doyoung turned his head to the side. “Me eating you out?” 

“Oh my God! No!” you tried to get away from his hold but he pushed you back on the bed and crawled beside you. “But that pussy is mine-” “Shut up!! Don’t say that ever again! You still need to apologize some more for that. Now I can’t even masturbate.” “You don’t need to masturbate if you have me.” “I fucking hate you so much.” “I love you too. So what was the thing that you wanted?” 

“It’s just-- it’s unfair. So I-- also want to know.” “You want to own my cock?” he chuckled in the crook of your neck. “Why do you really have to use such words?!”

“You can do it. You just need to go down on me too.” “Even if I’m not a slytherin?” “If you’re in love with your slytherin partner, you don’t need to be one to be tied to them like that.” “Pants off then. Now.” _____

Haechan walked through Doyoung’s room with a chuckle, trying hard to avoid all the flowers that suddenly started to grow tall until reaching the ceiling. 

With the corner of his eyes he also noticed the way all of them started to turn red and with a disgusted face, he moved faster, exiting it and closing the door behind him.

#doyoung #doyoung smut #doyoung fanfiction #doyoung scenarios #doyoung imagines #doyoung fluff #doyoung angs #doyoung au #nct #nct smut #nct fanfiction #nct scenarios #nct imagines #nct angst #doyoung angst #nct fluff #nct fantasy au

[nonbinarytoga]

Radioactive Izuku au from @polarspaz au that they’ve allowed me to write (I asked on anon but it was me dw). Please support them and their art! 

Title: 200,000 Rads

Chapter 1: Chance Encounter

Word Count: 2,852

"I'll be back soon, Mom," Izuku called weakly as he peeked into his mother's bedroom. She was curled up in her futon, her face a bright red as she sweated through her fever. Izuku clutched his mother's wallet in his hands nervously, inching towards the front door. He almost wished that his mother would get up, that her fever would magically be cured and that he wouldn't have to leave the safe haven he called home.

But his mother remained still, her eyes bleary with sickness. Izuku licked his lips, tasting the sour tang of radiation on his tastebuds and swallowed roughly. He steeled himself and turned around, walking to the front door and yanking it open before his anxiety could make him stop.

He stood, breathless, in the doorway for a couple of seconds as terror climbed up his throat. Spit pooled into his mouth, the taste of radiation filling his senses, almost choking him on the cloying taste. He swallowed harshly, wincing at the taste. Later, he would have to use a few rounds of mouthwash to clear him of the taste.

He wanted nothing more than to turn back around and hide under his covers. No! His mother was counting on him! It was an easy task, he just had to get some medicine, some cold compresses, and then he could come home! He slowly stepped out of their little apartment door, closed it and locked it behind him and then stepped out into the world.

It had been a little while since he had been outside since he was exposed to everyone out in the open. It was terrifying. He shuffled through, his hands stuffed into his pockets with little to no skin showing as he slithered down the hallway and towards the street. It was later in the day, most people were either getting home from work and school or just going out to enjoy the coming night.

Izuku quickly made his way down the road, practically running down the sidewalk and further into the city. He could feel people looking at him from all over, probably confused as to why he was wearing such heavy clothing. A heavy and cushioned jacket with a fur-coated hood, thick ski goggles, a pair of black sweatpants, black boots, and a face mask to top it off. People shuffled away from him, clearing the area as he trudged through. There were some people who had lived in the area long enough to know who he was. They didn't know too much about him, just that he was the daughter of Inko and had some sort of terrible quirk.

People who Izuku used to see daily when he was young sent him small nods or waves, but they knew that Izuku wouldn't respond. Izuku didn't have time for them anyway, and it was better to get in and get out without getting too attached to them. The memories of the person that he was before his quirk were hazy, but he could remember enough. They were incredibly bittersweet, but the deeper he went the more horrific the memories became.

Izuku slowed down to a jog as he reached the store, pushing open the door and slipping inside. There weren't many people inside the store, thankfully, and Izuku found himself quietly searching the shelves with pursed lips. Searching them with a critical eye, his fingers brushed up against boxes and bottles of medical supplies. The hum of some pop song on the radio had Izuku softly tapping his toe against the tile as he reached for the box of fever medicine for his mother.

As his fingers touched the box, another hand brushed against his. He squeaked and flinched back, startled as he looked up to see who had touched him. A tall blonde man with startling green eyes looked down at him. His hair was pulled back into a low ponytail and he had a thin mustache that was separated into two halves on his upper lip.

"Oops! Sorry 'bout that, little listener!" Present Mic chirped, "go ahead."

"A-ah, no," Izuku flushed, waving his hands around in a nervous twitch, "please, take it, um, Mr. Present Mic."

Present Mic snorted, "please, Mr.Present Mic was my father. Just call me Mic, okay?" He grinned, "and I mean it. You look a little under the weather yourself," he gave Izuku an easygoing smile and handed him the box of medicine, "next time, though, how about you go out before you get sick, yeah?"

"M-me? But I'm not," Izuku trailed off, realizing that Mic thought that he was the one who was sick. He nodded instead of explaining himself, "yes, thank you very much!" He gave Mic a low bow and shuffled away, leaving Mic to get whatever else he needed to get.

Behind his mask, a giddy smile rose onto Izuku's face. He met a pro hero! Present Mic was one of his all-time favourite heroes, with his incredibly popular radio show and incredibly kind demeanour, it was no wonder why so many people took a liking towards him and Izuku was no different.

Oh, Mom was gonna be so jealous once she heard! Izuku was practically squealing with delight, but he kept it in long enough to get to the front counter. A teen looking to be a few years older than Izuku stood there, chewing quietly on a piece of gum and looking at him with a blank face. She scanned his items, he paid, and then he was out of there.

His high from meeting Present Mic was still coiling within his chest, so much so that he decided to go on a small walk before he went home. He grinned behind his mask, knowing that his mother would be incredibly proud of him for getting out. He had become a bit of a home-body since the accident.

He hummed quietly to himself as he walked the streets, taking in the fresh night air. He felt lighter than usual. Happier since one of his long-time idols. As he strolled deeper into the city, however, the sound of a battle reached his ears. His legs began to move on their own, an aching curiosity curling in his chest as he speed-walked over to where the noise was coming from.

He peeked around the corner and then flinched back with a gasp.

Izuku's throat felt like it was closing up. He was pushed against the cold wall of a dark alleyway, staring into the heart of a battlefield. Three people took up the dim area, two boys who looked to be around Izuku's age and one adult that even the dumbest person could point out to be Stain. The Hero Killer. Izuku gripped the grocery bag he had picked up for his mother, watching with bated breath as the villain spouted some sort of nonsense about hating heroes and how those at UA were choosing to become corrupt.

"You hero students are all the same!" Stain hissed, wielding his dual swords as he slashed at the two students with reckless abandon, "you follow All Might blindly and never think about those who have been hurt by heroes!"

Izuku slapped a hand over his mouth to muffle a yelp as Stain's sword slashed against the boy with two-toned hair. Blood splattered on the dark pavement as the boy lept away, throwing out his arm to send a sheet of ice towards Stain that the villain easily dodged. His long tongue flicked out to lave at the sharp metal and the boy dropped like a rock. Izuku started to tremble in horror, tears building in his eyes that glowed an eerie green. He was going to die! Stain was going to kill him!

"You almost killed my brother!" The other boy, dressed in a sort of knights outfit, roared as he sprinted for Stain, "I won't let you kill my friends!" He grabbed at Stain, flinging him against the wall and slamming his arms into Stain's chest to pin him. The force made rubble tumble lazily off of the roof of the building, missing the fighting men by a few feet.

Stain cackled from where he was pinned, giddy as can be, "you're his brat brother, eh?" He hissed, one hand still gripping his main sword tightly, "how lovely it will be, taking down TWO Indegniums in such a short period of time!"

He raised his sword and brought it down, catching the tender skin that was exposed between panels of metal, spraying more blood into the air. Stain's tongue lashed out and lapped up the blood, causing the boy to slump uselessly to the ground. Stain laughed again, kicking the boy harshly in the side where he was unguarded.

"How pathetic," he spat, "you'll be fun to kill, you wanna-be hero." He raised his sword, taking it in two hands and resting it above where Indegnium's heart was, lifted up and-

"NO!" Izuku shouted, throwing off his puffy jacket and knocking Stain off of Indegnium, sending the two of them sprawling onto the ground. Stain recovered faster than Izuku could, snarling in fury.

"Who the hell are you, kid?" Stain spat, raising his sword, "another hero brat?! My lucky day!"

Izuku scrambled back, letting out a terrified squeak as Stain's sword came down. A searing pain curled on his face and he screamed, his hands flying up to his face. Blood poured messily down his face, getting into his mouth and soaking into his clothes. Izuku looked through the blood and his tears to see Stain standing still above him, staring at his sword. Izuku's blood caked his sword and was glowing horrible neon green.

"Interesting," Stain growled, sticking out his tongue to lick over the blood.

"No, don't!" Izuku yelled, "it's not safe!"

It was too late, Stain's tongue curled over Izuku's blood. Izuku wilted, slumping against the ground. He could see Stain, unable to move his head and watched in horror as Stain's face fell. Literally.

Stain howled in pain, gripping at his face and dropping his weapon as his face began to melt off. His tongue, long and slick, began to char and fell off in a meaty clump as Izuku's blood coursed through his face. Stain's skin sloughed off like wet newspaper, his blood and muscles twitching as they boiled from the strength of Izuku's radiation. Izuku gagged at the sight, his breath picking up quickly as his own blood slowly crawled over the ground, shining like paint under blacklight. It crawled sluggishly across, most of it soaking into Izuku's clothes, burning larges holes into his shirt and pants, while Stain gurgled messily on his own blood.

Stain was still screaming as he went down, his eyes starting to melt right out of his head. They rolled out of his head and splattered on the ground like pudding while more blood gushed from his wounds. His nose, or what was left of it, melted away to expose blood. His cheeks started to burn off, the smell of scorched flesh filling the air as more muscle and skin melted away, his teeth literally falling out of his head and falling to the ground like mints.

Izuku was crying, wailing out into the night to match Stain's own gargled howls of agony until the radiation reached his throat and melted away his vocal cords. Stain gave a few more chokes, and then vomited and in a horrifying display of regurgitation, vomited up his own stomach. Izuku closed his eyes tight as feeling slow came back to him as Stain finally died. He scrambled up, unable to get up past his knees as he gagged and vomited up his dinner. He coughed loudly, openly sobbing and wailing both in pain in terror.

He could hear police sirens getting closer as he started to pant, his breath coming in faster and faster until he was barely breathing at all. A hand touched his back and Izuku howled, scrambling up and away from whoever touched him only to fall onto his ass. Looking up, one of the boys who had been fighting Stain stood above him, staring at him with open eyes in shock. He took a step forward and Izuku scooted back, uncaring that he was smearing around his own sick and radiation, shaking his head.

"No, no, no, no, no, don't get close to me!" He shouted hoarsely, "please! I-I can't hurt anyone else, please!"

The boy paused and took a few steps back, blinking a few times and shaking his head as if to clear away whatever he was thinking. He returned to his partner and began to tend to his wounds with a medical kid strapped to his side. Izuku sobbed quietly as he pressed up to the wall, covering his face with his hands and shaking.

The sirens got louder and louder until the skid of tires on the pavement reached their location. The sound of multiple pairs of footsteps made Izuku looked up, and he melted when he saw who was there. Some police officers, a man in a long tan coat, and the pro heroes Thirteen and Present Mic.

Present Mic was speaking in low tones to the man in the tan coat but went silent when he saw Izuku. His face dropped, his eyes flickering over the scene of gore that surrounded and covered Izuku, and then to the radioactively green sludge that covered him. He took a step forward, but Thirteen beat him to it.

"Stay here," they said firmly, patting Present Mic's chest. They stepped forward and crouched down in front of Izuku, putting their palms out in a placating motion. "You're safe now," they said softly, "are you okay? Are you hurt anywhere?"

Izuku coughed, wiping the blood away from his mouth and shook his head, "J-just my face," he stammered, "I, um, my quirk," he sniffled, hands shaking in fear.

Thirteen hummed and nodded slowly, "what is this stuff made out of?" They motioned towards Izuku's blood on the floor.

"It's radioactive," Izuku replied, "don't touch it. It," he looked towards Stain's body which was little more than a clump of flesh and bones on the ground. Looking at it had him bursting into tears once more, molten green trailing down his cheeks as he began to wail.

Thirteen was quiet, and then carefully grasped Izuku's hands to pull them towards their own, "it's going to be okay," they said, "you're not in trouble. I'm pretty sure I can clean stuff up, but then we need to get you to UA. Who's your doctor?"

Izuku whimpered, throwing himself into Thirteen's arms and crying quietly. The hero rubbed his back in slow circles in a soothing manner. As Izuku's tears began to dry, he noticed that Present Mic was inching closer to them. Thirteen noticed as well, they sighed and waved him over quietly.

Izuku told her the name of the agency that the Hero Commission assigned to him when he was born, as well as the name of his personal doctor while Thirteen uncapped one of their fingers and sucked up the radioactive sludge on the ground, sans the stuff that used to be Stain.

"What's your quirk, dear?" Thirteen asked as they capped their finger, allowing the EMT's and other heroes to approach while a separate group attended to the two UA students. Izuku sniffled, wiping his clothes with his bright green blood and tears.

"Radiation," he replied in a croaky voice, "it comes out when I get stressed."

Thirteen nodded their head, turning to Present Mic who had been put into a radiation suit just in case, his hair making his head lumpy underneath the bright yellow suit. He squatted down in front of Izuku, looking at him through the face shield.

"It was very brave of what you did, little listener," Present Mic said seriously, "you saved Shouto and Indegnium's lives tonight-if you weren't here they could have been seriously injured or worse."

Izuku nodded, flinching when one of the EMT's tried to touch his face, "those bandages won't work," he croaked, "you have to use the special ones."

The EMT looked a little irked but pulled away all the same. Thirteen gently massaged at Izuku's shoulder, their touch was grounding to Izuku.

"We have to take you to UA," they said, "so your doctor can patch you up. Eraserhead will be there and he can stop your quirk. Is that alright with you?"

"That's fine," Izuku said softly, and with Thirteen's help, he slowly got to his feet. His body felt numb and shaky as he followed the two heroes out of the alleyway and towards a familiar vehicle. It was a circular pod with a radiation symbol on the front, strapped to a truck. Izuku broke away from the heroes and climbed into the pod without fuss, looking out the thick glass windows as the pod lit up green with his light. He closed his eyes and leant his head against the warm metal as his radiation warmed it up, and wished he was at home.

#writing #z's writing #bnha #mha #Izuku midoriya #deku

[gofancyninjaworld]

OPM Manga Chapter 147 Review:  Toxic

Story: Preview to a catastrophe

I’m going to do something a little unusual.  Rather than give a summary of what happened, I’m going to save everything else that happens that for the meta and focus the story itself on just one thing.  Garou’s return.

For a guy of many many words, Garou here is wordless, a creature of instinct, rage, and an unstoppable desire to put down any hero he encounters. Social niceties be damned.

no, Fubuki, you don’t belong in this battle

Bomb realises very quickly that this isn’t going to be a fight that he can afford to not engage fully with.  He wastes no time unleashing his trademark long-range offensive move, although he’s no slouch in close- up fighting either.  I love how the panel below superimposes several snapshots in time in a single image, as if the cameraman hasn’t enough time to separate the action into individual frames. It sells the speed and fury of the fight better than many blurry images.  Also Murata is flexing on us with regards to his portrayal of fight choreography, he’s allowed. :)

For his own part, Garou flows effortlessly from conventional to unconventional in his fighting, bending improbably out of the way one moment, parrying in an orthodox manner the next.  Eventually the seeming balance between the two breaks inexorably in Garou’s favour, leaving Bomb marvelling at the former’s incredible evolution.

Nothing for it, there’s no choice but to kill Garou if possible. Bomb hides a hand behind his back as he readies his iron-cutting fist one last time.  It’s unfortunate that Garou has long since intuited how to do the same when he faced off against the Monster King, half a day ago ( I know, it’s been years for us), and does exactly the same, matching up timing and intensity perfectly with Bomb’s, thus cancelling it out.

Bang finally catches up to where the two are fighting to find his elder brother defeated.

Just as at the end of chapter 83, master and disciple face off.  But the atmosphere between the two could not be more different, and the stakes are about as high as they could possibly get.

What new awakening will come from the next fight?  Portents are dire.

Meta: Elsewhere

What doesn’t kill me has made a tactical mistake

For a story whose big schtick is that surviving what should have killed one makes one stronger,  it’s surprising the amount and variety of mileage it gets out of that idea.

Making light of the idea, we have Genos literally rocketing back to his feet and casually dusting himself off after being smashed into a hole in the ground by Black Sperm.  After being thrown into or through so many bits of masonry and earth, getting up with elan is nothing to him.  Damn, he’s become tough! Awesome.

On the opposite side, making dark of the idea, we have Fuhrer Ugly, whose strength of hatred and rage is such that he keeps continuously reforming despite being continually digested by Gums’ digestive fluids... and has turned that into a new ability, able to melt anyone who touches him, kill with his spit, and reform after being cut.  Terrifying.

And on the other other side, a perfect hypotenuse of awesome and terrifying, we have Garou.  He has disinterred himself from the remains of the Monster Association base and while apparently fighting more by instinct than reason, his moves reprise everything he’s learned to date through his life-and-death fights with incredible fluency.

And of course, there’s Tank Top Master whose tank top seems to have magically preserved his life.  I wonder what Fubuki has in mind for Pig God to do to help her help Tank Top Master.

Anyway, talking about serious injury...

Let’s talk about gore, baby

I’ve said before that I’m tired of all injuries accruing to either Genos or Zombieman and wanted some flesh-and-blood to be mangled.  I don’t take that back: share the pain, baby!

But even for my evil heart, hoo, the brutal suddenness with which Fuhrer Ugly ended Zambai’s life was yikes!  Heroes may never die, but those next to them have no such protection.  I’m sorry man.  You paid the highest price for supporting a hero.

Heroes may never die but that doesn’t mean they can’t suffer horribly.  If Tank Top Master being turned into a human patty wasn’t grisly enough, finding out that SuperAlloy’s famously resistant shine isn’t chemically resistant is enough to give one a shudder of horror/disgust:  his hands have been defleshed down to tendon and bone.

Never mind fear; it’s going to be a while before  SuperAlloy *can* fight at all. And with his chest being burned as well, I think that he will be lucky not to come away with disfiguring scars.  He might start wearing a shirt after this...

  ONE, have some mercy for your heroes or half of them will never work again. But not too much mercy, they’ve had it too easy for too long.

There’s more to help than rescue

If you’d told me that this day would see Genos earning the trust and respect of the heroes he has called the bitch and the witch respectively, and that feeling would be mutual, I’d have told you to stop fantasising.   I’ve spent enough words talking about the unexpected compassion he showed to Fubuki when the latter was beside herself with worry for her sister.

Tatsumaki has internalised the advice Blast gave her so thoroughly that she’s come to think herself as being beyond help.  But there’s more to help than haplessly accepting rescue.   Help can also be someone intervening only when you most need it, respecting that you can generally take care of yourself.  Help can be sharing the burden, enabling you to achieve more, more easily.  Help can be having your back so you can fight without fear of ambush.  All of these forms of help Genos has provided to Tatsumaki from the moment the battle pitched high into the sky.  And she’s had his back too.  Seeing her consciously acknowledge that and lean into it was an amazing gift I didn’t know I needed. 

from allies in name only to comrades-in-arms, what a fearsome pair!  Gambatte!

Of course it can get worse

The heroes’ situation seems to be getting worse and worse.  Their number is being whittled down to size: Tank Top Master is out for the count, Bang is tied up, Superalloy Darkshine is maimed, Atomic is out of his main weapon, Child Emperor is lost somewhere and Puri Puri is looking for him, Zombieman and Amai Mask are still pulling themselves together, and Tatsumaki and Genos are standing more by spite than strength. 

On the other hand, the monsters aren’t out of monster by any means.  There’s still lots of Black Sperm, Evil Natural Water is surely sloshing around somewhere,  Vomited Furher Ugly is a pungent threat, and Homeless Emperor is watching proceedings with an amused eye.  I called the monsters the sundew monsters for a reason -- they waste heroes by outlasting their efforts.

The standing heroes are going to need respite, or a diversion, or reinforcements pretty soon or they’re going to all die for real.   Preferably all three.  We’ll take two out of three.

Further notes:  The Cyborg is Listening

The first thing Kuseno says to Genos when the latter comes back after a bruising encounter with a monster is ‘are you alright?’  That we know.  The second thing has to be ‘did you bring me good data?’  Everything that happens to Genos, everything he touches, everything he sees, everything he hears, all that information is recorded for later recall and distillation into useable data.   We’ve been admiring how capable and tough this new upgrade has proven to be.  It’s all hard-won insights, built one on the other.    Does that mean I’m discounting what Genos does?  Hell no.  It’s his extreme courage and willingness to step into the most hopeless situations that has enabled this valuable data to be gathered in the first place.  And it’s his using these wonderful upgrades to push as hard as he can despite the risk that makes it worth Kuseno’s while to stay up late to craft them.  Now I’m super-interested in finding out what new insights the pair will glean from today’s fighting.

...polite engineer for ‘fuck you’

Sure, like many serious things in One-Punch Man, it initially appears as a gag,  but if you’ve not been paying attention to date, hear this: good data is like gold dust in this world.   And people will kill for it.   As we watch the dissipating contrails where Drive Knight was as he carries his precious samples home, don’t way you weren’t warned.

#OPM #manga #review #Garou #but not as we know him #the free fight between hero and monster gets ever more intense #despite their cooperation and numbers the heroes are getting the worst of it #this is a fight where everything changes panel to panel on all fronts

[bossyleo]

Beautiful Crime, (CH 1)

Summary; Kat and the trio of women rob the grocery store. Their normal lives go down the drain when they met a leader of the gang. Kat has double life's, will her past life crash her down? will she keep running like she always has to start fresh or will she stay and fight from her past life and bad blood? Along the way, she fell in love with someone who she never expected to be.

Warning: +18, gun mention, robbery.

A/N; I want to say thank to @prettygangfriend, @cacoetheswriting for helping me and editing the story. Thank to @ skamlover to help me with my OC Spanish language. This is my first fanfic I publish is here, Please let me know what you think and I’m interested in your feedback, don’t be silent readers. I worry if I hear no comment, it mean that nobody like my story. I apologize if my grammar is awful, ENJOY!!! Also, let me know if you want to be TAGGED!!

Here is the cover @atriaedits has made

__________________________________________

The sound of the obnoxious chewing, followed by the sound of a loud, snapping pop, is coming from the backseat, slowly driving Beth insane.

“Oh my god! I asked you to stop doing that like five minutes ago.” Beth turned her head away from the window and glared at her friend, feeling annoyed by that ridiculous sound she’s been hearing since she picked her up.

“Damn girl. You know what, fine” Kat spits out the gum and tosses it to one of the trash cans standing outside of their window. “Happy now?” She glances at Beth then opens the vanity mirror to check herself out, trying to fix her hair. Pulling two strands of her brunette hair, she adjusts her face-framing bangs. As she takes a minute to admire her shining, golden hoop earrings, they hear a screeching sound of a tire coming up behind Beth’s van.

Both of them look up, only to reveal the red, rusty car, that belonged to no other than Annie. She couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight of Ruby sitting in the passenger seat, while Beth was already preparing her big sister speech.

“I cannot believe you,” Beth started, once Annie had parked her car. She threw her hands up in defense, trying to calm down Beth.

“Chill, sis. I’m like, two minutes late.”

The four women gather around and go up to the back of Annie’s trunk, popping it open to reveal four ski masks and four toy guns. Kat grabs the plastic guns from the gym bag, admiring the crafty work of Beth’s painting job. She has to admit, they look pretty realistic—well, realistic enough to make sure the hostages will comply.

“Wait, Annie, I think you should use the concealer to cover the tattoo,” Kat says.

“What, Nah, I’ll be fine, my shirt will cover it.” Annie reply.

“Let’s get this over with,” Ruby says, letting out a deep sigh, while Annie passes everyone their very own ski-mask. Both Beth and Annie wore a blue one, Kat went for the color black, as she wanted to make sure to match her outfit, and Ruby decided to go with a bandana instead.

Not wasting any more time, the four women walk into the ‘Fine and Frugal’ grocery store. It takes a couple of seconds before people notice their cloth covered faces, but once they do, the ladies go into action.

“Listen up!” Annie yells out, pointing her gun up into the air, “Everyone just stays cool, and nobody gets hurt!” 

The rest of the women are quick to follow Annie’s actions, and start pointing their guns around the store. People look around in both confusion and fear, but they make sure to get onto the ground. A smirk appears on Kat’s face, while watching the store manager walk up to them, his hand up in the air.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is a robbery,” Annie said as if she announced to the customers.

           THREE WEEKS EARLIER

The ripping of a wax strip echoes through the room, followed by a loud shriek of pain coming from Beth, who’s currently finding herself on her arms and knees.

“I wonder how Kat’s doing” she wonders out loud, “Oh god, she won’t hurt Ashley, right?” 

The lady waxing Beth has a look of concern on her face, silently praying for her co-worker Ashley. “She’ll be fine, ma’am”, she reassures Beth, before continuing her work.

“I can only hope-“ before she could finish her sentence, a young brunette walks into the room. Beth turns her head to figure out what was going on, or what was important enough to interrupt her session.

“Mrs. Boland? I’m afraid your card has been declined” 

Beth couldn’t help but frown and come up with something that would explain the situation, but Kat walked in just in time, handling it. 

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll take care of it,” Kat tells her, sticking her hands inside the pockets of her white, comfortable robe. The woman gives her a quick nod, before walking out again.

“I’ll pay you back,” Beth says, shaking her head while looking over at Kat. “I’m sure Dean just forgot to pay a bill, he’s been really busy and distracted, lately.” 

Kat raises an eyebrow at her explanation, already knowing there’s a lot more to it than just Dean forgetting the bills. She’s always thought of him as someone who’s rather suspicious, and untrustworthy, but she wasn’t going to insult Beth’s husband to her face, so she drops it.

“Yeah, I’m sure” Kat mumbles, hoping Beth wouldn't catch the sarcastic tone in her voice, which she didn’t.

Kat feels her phone vibrating, and she lets out an annoyed sigh. The name of her boss pops up on her screen, and she couldn’t mentally curse herself for hurrying to answer it.

“Hello, sir“ she rolls her eyes at the familiar sound of her boss yelling and ordering her around on the phone. “Yes, of course- Hello?“

 “He just hung up on me!” Kat calls out, making Beth scoff loudly. “First he insults my cooking, and now this? What an asshole!” She says, and Kat nods at her in agreement while remembering that day all too well. 

Last week Kat tried to get out of a work thing by telling Mark, her boss, she already did had dinner plans to attend. She didn’t know how or why, but apparently he thought it was a great idea to invite himself. If that wasn’t bad enough already, he felt the need to tell Beth he wasn’t a big fan of her cooking. Beth was ready to defend herself, but of course, Dean told her to calm down, which ultimately led to those two pricks becoming buddies, who even started hanging out.

“The truth is, he’s just an idiot who thinks women can’t be equal to men. One day I will prove that piece of trash wrong, trust me. Kat convinces Beth while taking off her robe, revealing her work outfit as an office assistant, underneath it. 

She was wearing a cream button-down paired with a matching suede jacket. She brushed a dark curl off her shoulder, walking toward the mirror against the wall. A glance at her reflection, reapplying a dark red lipstick with a flourish. She shifted her weight. “ I got to go, Adiós “ Kat picks up her purse and leaves the room, leaving Beth to sigh heavily as she picks up her phone, calling the bank wondering why her credit card decline, she knows her husband, Dean probably forgot to pay it.  Beth thought.

Kat enters her hybrid car small with a four-door which she got a good deal from her friend, Beth’s husband, Dean. She drove to the coffee shop which is near the diner where Ruby works at. She stands in line, waiting patiently for her turn.

 Then she placed the orders, she checks her phone to see what time it.  Glad I’m on my lunch break, can’t wait to see my baby soon. Kat thought happily.  Kat grabs two medium cups and hurries to her car. The girls would be expecting her at the diner soon. She quickly drives to the meeting spot and dashes in carrying her coffee. 

The bell ding above the door as Kat enters... See Beth and Annie is already in their booth near the window. Kat smiles at them as she walks over to them, “Hola.” She pushes Annie’s legs off the seat as she sits down.

“Ooo, Coffee!” Annie was about to grab one from the tray but Kat hit her hand as she scolds her “I promised my jefe I would bring him some, so keep your hands off “ Annie glances at her,” I don’t know what you just said, but it sounds hot” Kat shake her head as she chuckles.

“Where’s the translated book I got for you? You need to read it.” Annie shakes her head and replies “I tried to but then I fell asleep.” Kat chuckles again.

“ And she was only halfway through my wax.” Beth continued the conversion she had earlier to Annie before Kat walked in. “But I offer to pay it, What happens?” Mia asks.

Beth shook her head, “I changed my mind, You need the money for your son, Mateo.” Beth answers. Kat wants to help her friend Beth but knows she is right. “Gracias”. Kat reply, showing her red lips turn into a smile. “So, What happens?” Annie asks. Beth answered, “Well, now I’m uneven.”  

Ruby walks over to her friends, places the coffee pot on the table. “I don’t even wanna know.”

“Dean maxed out their credit card at some lingerie store,” Annie explain to Ruby.

“Do you think he’s sleeping around?” Beth glance at Kat.

Annie and Kat chuckle. Ruby shakes her head and replies in a sarcastic scoff, “Don’t nobody want Dean.”  

“MmM, Sometimes I wonder why you married your first boyfriend? I heard that the first boyfriend isn’t a good keeper.” Kat said out aloud.

“What, But, Annie married Greg!” Beth says as if she defends herself.

“Look how it turned out,” Kat replied sarcastically.  They chuckled.  “Maybe it’s your anniversary present,” Annie says, trying to make her sister think the bright side but fail to.

Kat tries to hold her snort from Beth but fails. “Yeah right, Dean isn’t the type, I have a feeling like he is one of the old fashion types.” Which led Annie to join in laughing with Kat. They take a breath as soon as the laugh dies.

Beth rolls her eyes and decides to ignore Kat’s comments “He already gave me 100 coupons to Bed Bath & Beyond.”  She looked at her friends.

Ruby’s upper lips curled in disgust. “Ew. Really?”

“Son of a bitch.” Annie says bluntly, hissed.

“No, I really do love it there.” Beth smiles.

“Really? He should’ve given you a coupon to Bath & Body Work instead.” Kat takes a sip of her coffee, Ruby nods in agreement.

“No. That old guy is stealing your tip.” Annie pointed her fingertip at the old guy. The trio follows her gaze, their eyes settle on an elderly man slowly but surely walking toward the empty table, and seems like he’s struggling to walk properly. He looked around, smiling harmless when a couple passed by. 

Kat placed her hand on Annie's hand. “Girl, pointing is rude.”  Mia shakes her head. 

Ruby turns around and gives an ‘Are you kidding me’ look to Annie “He can’t even walk.”  

Annie urged Ruby “ Go get it.” She gave ‘go get it’ hand gestures which cause Ruby to sigh then she gets up on her foot and slowly walks toward the table. Her eyes widen when the elderly man was about to lean in. Ruby quickly swipes up her tip just before he even touches it.  He sent Ruby a look as he made his exit, cane in his hand, dropping the act. 

“Shady S.O.B,” Ruby said shaking her head as she sat down, her eyebrows furrowed in disbelief, “absolutely shady.”

“Don’t let the innocent look fool you ” Kat says as she takes a sip of her coffee.

 A smile appeared on Annie’s lips, almost proudly. “At my old job, we just got robbed all the time, So I got the six sense now.” 

Beth looked at her sister, “Are you serious?” She hopes that Annie is kidding. 

“I mean, it’s no big ideal,” Annie said as she gave a half shrug.  “ All the stores I work at eventually get hit.” 

Shaking her head, Beth met Annie’s eyes showing concern in her eyes “You could get shot.” 

“Ugh. One can hope.” Beth took a breath. 

“These guys, they don’t want to hurt anybody. They just want the money. So we let them have it. Nobody’s trying to be a hero.”

Hunching over and leaning in closer. 

“Do they get caught?” Ruby asks. Beth slowly turned to look at her friend, brow’s knitted together as she looks at Ruby questionably.

Annie let out a ridiculous scoff, “Yeah, the dumb ones do ‘cause they park in the front by the security cameras.”  Kat mutters idota, but is glad that Annie and no one got hurt. 

“You gotta put your getaway car in the back by the loading dock,” Annie shows hand gestures as if she planing out the blueprint. “And you never get dick around with the registers.” She added.  “The real money is back in the vault.” 

“You’ve really worked this out. “ Beth nods is impressed by her little sister.

Annie’s shoulder shrug “Just keeping my options open.”  Kat nods in an agreement.

“How much is in the vault? Ruby asks as if she gives a thought.

“Thirty grand, give or take.”  Annie answer. Ruby’s pupils widen open, eyebrow up raises up. Kat let out an ‘O’ shape of her mouth. Letting out a whistle like she is impressed by how much.

“Damn, I could use that money.” Ruby says as Kat nods, “perfecto count me in.” Kat reply with a grin. 

“Oh my god, me too” Annie joins in. Beth looks at them like they are crazy or serious.

“So, when do you want to do this?” Ruby glance at Annie and Kat.

 Annie replies “Well, I already bought three automatics and filed off the serial numbers so really, name a day” 

Kat pauses her lips for a moment to think which day is better. Beth looks at the three women, not sure if they are serious or not  Until Ruby’s lips turn into a Cheshire Cat grin at Beth which causes the trio  to laugh at Beth.

“You should see your face” Annie points out.

“It’s whiter than usual,”  Ruby says, Kat chuckles.

The four women entered the Fines & Frugal with their masks covering their faces and a toy gun in their hands and stopped in the center of the hallway.

"I'm gonna need you to all get on the ground," Annie says as the four women point the toy gun at the hostages. "Get your cell phones out of your pockets and keep your hands where I can see 'em," Annie says as the hostages follow the instructions. 

“All right, good. Now, I need you to get your manager up here. Annie says, but no one is moving or listening. Annie says it again but still no reply.  Annie looks at Ruby as she shrugs her shoulder like she doesn't know what to do. Ruby yell in a nice tone "Hey, where's y'all's boss at?" Still no response from the hostages. 

All of a sudden, Beth decides to act like a bad cop.  " I better get a manager up here right now or I will start capping people! I'm not even joking, mother.” Beth kicks the wooden boxes with her right leg. Causing people to be afraid of her as they gasp in fear. Causing Annie's and Ruby’s eyes to widen as if they are in shock at Beth while Kat nods and is impressed by it.

                     ONE WEEK EARLIER

 Kat enters the entry foyer inside of the Boland’s Residence with her son whose’s six years old. He smiles happily when he saw his friends, Beth’s four children in the living room, playing. He let go of his mother’s hand and run toward them. as he pulls his little backpack off as he  drops it on the floor, Joining his friends. 

Meanwhile, Kat walks into the kitchen, seeing Beth cooking dinner and Annie sipping diet coke soda "Hola," Kat puts her purse on the chair and car keys inside the purse as she sits down next to Annie. 

"How was work?" Beth asks, chopping the chicken fingers into stars. Kat sighs heavily, “he’s killing me, I swear sometimes I just want to punch him en el hosico.” 

Beth and Annie look confused at first, and then Annie says “Ooo! Asshole” Finally, Beth understands what her friend, Kat’s saying. Kat looks at Annie “it amazes me that you don’t know Spanish words, just only cuss words.” 

Annie smiles. “What can I say, I love curse words.” Annie smiles, proud of herself which causes Kat to chuckle.

“Oh, because your life is so great. I should want this life?” Annie asks, frowning

“Woah, what’s going on?” Kat asks, wondering why the sisters are arguing. 

“Lil miss perfect think’s I’m running my life.” Beth looks at Kat and back to Beth. 

“I didn’t say that,” Beth said, cutting the chicken fingers.

Annie scoffs and rolls her eyes, “Look at Kat, She’s a single mother with a gorgeous figure and a cute son. She’s living the best motherhood life.” Annie says, flattering her best friend. 

Kat chuckles, “oh honey, No I’m not. My boss who thinks women can’t be CEO, I’m still his assistant which I should’ve moved next level, but noo. Also, My son keeps asking about his father every single day.” Katsays sadly. 

“Oh, I'm sorry,” Beth replies as she put her hand on top of Kat’s hand to comfort her as Annie gave her a hug. Kat has told her friends that the father isn’t in the picture.

“And, I mean, not to pile on, look who you married. “ Annie glances at Beth.

“It’s 20 years and four children. Marriage sometimes takes little work.” Beth says, defend herself and Dean.

“Well, It depends on the sex life, and when you told me that you and Dean aren’t wild like you used to, it means something went wrong ” Kat says then Beth glare at her like she can’t believe she says to her face.

“You could lose your daughter. Has that occurred to you?” Beth ignores Kat’s comments and focus on her little sister.

“Well seeing Greg is suing me for custody and I can’t afford it, yes actually, the thought has crossed my mind.” causing Beth to stop at what she doing. Kat hugs Annie for comfort. 

“I didn’t know,” Beth says.

“Now you do,” Annie replies as she pulls away from the hug. Then Dean car dealership Boland Motor commercial appears on the tv.

Beth glimpses at the tv as she sees Amber, the seller. She heard Annie said “Jezz, who’d this chick have to blow to get on TV?” as a joke.

Beth takes another look at the blonde woman on her screen, while Kat's words linger around in her head. She has seen the lady talking to Dean before, and now that she's thinking about it, it is awfully coincidental she's gotten such an unexpected promotion.

"Kat, Can you drop the kids at Annie's neighbor, the babysitter? We'll be right back." Beth asks.

Kat reply" yeah, sure" then she gave her car key to them because she knew five children won't fit in her car so she will use Beth's van instead.

"Hijos!" Kat yells as she searches for the children then goes upstairs and finds them in one of Beth's children's bedrooms, playing and coloring, drawing on the papers. She took them in Beth's van and drove them to Annie's neighborhood so the babysitter can keep an eye on them.

An hour later, "I'm back," Kat says to sing an along tone and is about to shut the front door until she hears a familiar voice "hey!" from outside and seeing it from one of her friends, Ruby. Kat let her inside. Then close the door.

"Guess who found those caramels Bugles at Kroger?" Ruby asks, trying to find Beth and Annie, but finds them in the living room instead. Normally, the four women would sit in another room to watch The Bachelorette but instead, they are in the living room and Beth is lying on the couch while Annie tries to comfort her sister.

Kat's and Ruby's brows knitted in confusion and then Beth immediately went up to them and hugged them. They hug her back but look at Annie over Beth's shoulders confused.

'Dean's having an affair' Annie mouths to us. Kat's pupils widened as she figures it out. But Ruby doesn't understand' what' Ruby mouths back.

Annie mouths it again but a bit more forcefully. Kat whisperer in Beth that she be right back. Beth nods and lets Mia go and hug Ruby's.

"Huh" Ruby questions again. Annie sighs 'Dean is' Annie says then makes sexual gestures then Ruby finally gets it "son of a bitch" She mutters. " Oh, what can we do?" Ruby asks. She rubs Beth's back.

"How about a screwdriver?" Annie suggested. Kat came in from the garage, carrying a sledgehammer over her shoulder.

Beth sees Kat over Ruby's shoulder and an idea pops in her mind, as she replies "a sledgehammer." Annie and Ruby glance at each other's confusion while Kat's lip turns into a smirk.

Shattering, Beth swings the sledgehammer and hits Dean's computer in his office. Beth hit his trophies and then the file cabinets as she yanks the files and throws them on the ground, the paper flying in the air. Continuing hitting the other file cabinets. While Annie and Ruby, Mia stand in the doorway of Dean's study office, watching Beth take her anger on the cheating husband's things and destroy them. "Are you planning on stopping this?" Ruby asks, "Hell no," Kat says as she's recording what Beth is doing on her phone.

Ruby glance at her friend, Kat. "What are you doing?"

Kat grins, "Dean shouldn't mess with Beth, I might post it on YouTube."

"Don't do that, her kids might see it." Ruby scold her. Kat rolls her eyes dramatically, and replies, "fine but I'm still keeping the video."

"Send it to me," Annie says. Kat nods and sends the video to Annie's phone. Ruby scoffs.

Kat says goodbye to the girls because she has to pick up her son and then head home. She picks up her son and drove to her apartment she shares with Mateo. She fed him dinner and gave him a bath before bedtime.

Kat tucks her son, Mateo in his bed at home. "Good night Mi Amor" Kat pecks his little forehead, "Noches Mami " He rubs his little eyes with his thumb. She sighs heavily, feeling angry at Dean and feeling bad toward her friend Beth. She doesn't deserve this at all. Kat thought.

Meanwhile, Beth sat in the dining room, waiting for her cheating husband to get home. Drinking her vodka out from the bottle. She remembers the conversation she has with Mia and wondering if she'd make a mistake to decline Kat's offer.

“Are you SURE I can’t punch him in the face?” Kat asks, 

“Yes,” Beth responded.

“What if I break his nose a little?” Kat suggests. Beth gives her ‘no’ expression look.

"Are you SURE I can't punch him in the face?" Kat asks.

Spanish translate (Correct me If I’m wrong)

jefe- My Boss

En el hosico - On the snout

Mi Amor - My love  

noches mamá- Night Mama

#nbc good girls #eiza gonzalez #good girls rio #rio imagine #santanico pandemonium #rio fanfic #Rio x Katerina

[sanderssidesfanfiction]

If There’s a Place I Could Be - Chapter Ninety Seven

If There’s a Place I Could Be Tag

October 12th, 2001

Remy laughed in the guy’s face, causing him quite a bit of confusion. “Girl, of course I’m gay!” he crowed. “Emile’s my boyfriend, duh? It’d be a bit weird if I weren’t into boys and he was my boyfriend. Now listen,” he purred. His smile was as cheery as ever as he leaned into the guy’s face. “You ever try and make Emile uncomfortable again and I’ll make your life a living hell, and I won’t hesitate to ruin your reputation. Understood?”

The guy paled, nodded, and scurried off. Remy smiled to himself and spit his gum into the nearest trash can. Playing the stereotypical gay had its perks. Namely, it made it all the more scary when he tore into someone, and it was a convenient mask he could always fall back on should something go wrong. Because he always knew how to play dumb and cute as hell. He could use this to his advantage, surely...

  March 28th, 2004

Remy’s grip on the steering wheel was tight as he drove the car towards Emile’s parents’ house. Emile was sitting in the passenger seat, trying to hide the fact that he was doing deep breathing exercises. Clearly, they were both nervous about seeing Emile’s grandfather again. Emile was nervous enough that he had gone to Mass earlier that morning, presumably in case his grandfather asked about the last time he went to Confession. Personally, Remy was fairly certain Emile had nothing to confess, but he wasn’t Catholic, so he wasn’t going to pretend to know.

Emile made a concerned whine as they got off the highway, and Remy took a deep breath, pushing as many homicidal tendencies as he was willing to out of the way to grab Emile’s hand with one of his own. Emile blinked, looked down at their intertwined hands, then over at Remy.

“You whined,” Remy said. “Like a kicked puppy. I was concerned.”

Emile blew out a breath. “Your tone suggests annoyed.”

“My tone is nonexistent because I’m incensed,” Remy said simply. “Not at you, though.”

“At my family? That’s kinda worse, Rem,” Emile said.

“Well, your grandfather certainly hasn’t endeared himself to me any,” Remy growled.

Emile flinched. “Rem, please,” he said softly.

Remy’s tone softened but his eyes didn’t leave the road. “I don’t want you dragged through the wringer, mio amore.”

“I volunteered,” Emile said weakly.

“Willingly? That’s kinda worse, mio amore,” Remy shot back. “What would Sue say about you willingly putting yourself in harm’s way?”

“Actually, Sue and I talked about this and the ways it could go after my panic attack,” Emile said, straightening in his seat. “She said that as long as I wasn’t going into this with the goal of hurting myself, then it was worth talking to Grandpa. How would Fern feel about you jumping to the conclusion that I’m doing this to hurt myself?”

“She would say it’s your choice,” Remy said. “But given the facts I told her... she also called you a bit of a hopeless romantic. And a dumbass. She also gave me full permission to drag you out of the room if I heard raised voices or crying.”

Emile blinked. “That’s why you asked?!”

Remy smirked, just a bit. “Well, she said her permission meant nothing if I didn’t get yours, too.”

Emile laughed in disbelief. “No wonder you took a shine to her; she’s enabling you.”

“Oh, no! No, she takes no one’s shit. That includes me, mio amore. No, she doesn’t let anyone pull the wool over her eyes, and she tells it like she is. She took one look at her notes, plus Kim’s when she got them, and looked me dead in the eye, promptly asking, ‘So, how long would you say the abuse has been going on?’” Remy laughed. “I love her so much. As a therapist, of course. I will not run off into the sunset with her. I’d prefer to do that with you, Emile.”

Emile shook his head, swallowing. “She sounds like a good therapist.”

“Yeah. What did Sue tell you? Beyond talking about possible outcomes, of course,” Remy said.

Emile blinked back tears. “She said...” Emile’s voice grew thicker. “She said...to be realistic. To not put all my eggs in the happy basket, because based on what she heard, and her past clients’ experience, this usually doesn’t shake out well.” Tears were falling down his cheeks and Remy pulled over to the curb in a flurry. “I don’t want him to be mad at me, Rem. I don’t.”

Emile sounded like such a lost little kid in that moment, that Remy couldn’t help but hug him close. “It’s gonna be okay,” Remy said. “Even if you don’t get the outcome you wanted. It’s gonna be okay.”

“How can you...be so sure?” Emile sobbed.

“Because I’ve been there, Emi,” Remy said. When Emile looked up at Remy, Remy’s heart broke, but he continued. “I’ve been there. And yeah, it hurts like hell if your family doesn’t accept you. I’ll be honest: even if your grandfather acknowledges you’re bi and I’m his grandson-in-law, odds are he won’t be happy about it. Take little victories where you can, and if he comes to the wedding? Great. Work on him being happy for us at a later date. He can grow to love the both of us together, but it will most likely take more time than just three months.”

Emile looked at Remy like he had all the answers in the universe, and Remy was a little terrified. “Now, your parents are expecting us, and we don’t want to keep them waiting too long. But if you need a second, or a minute, even...”

“Yeah,” Emile said softly, shamefully. “Yeah, I need a minute.”

“There’s no shame in that, understand?” Remy asked.

“Yeah, yeah,” Emile said dismissively.

“I’m serious here, Emile,” Remy said sternly.

Emile sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I know,” he said. “But I can’t accept that right now.”

Remy nodded, opened the glove box, and passed Emile some tissues. Emile dabbed at his face while Remy flicked the channels on the radio. He would kill for some slow, smooth, jazzy song that he could slow-dance with Emile to, even if that was a tad impractical in the car.

When Emile had composed himself, Remy kept driving. He fiddled more with the radio, observed the same five restaurants that were staples in every city, and contemplated calling August at Sleep Easy to ask how things were going, just to stall the inevitable. But if Emile was ready, then Remy had to be ready, too. Remy was going to back Emile one hundred percent, even if he was a bit of a hopeless dumbass when he picked his battles.

Remy drove up to Emile’s parents house, but when he turned to Emile, he realized he may have wanted to make the drive longer. Emile was ash-white and shaking, staring at the house like it was on fire, and he was just told to run in without any protective gear to save two kids on opposite sides of the second floor. Remy unbuckled his seat belt, and put a reassuring hand on Emile’s arm. “You’ve got this,” he said softly. “I’ll go in first, you come in when you’re ready.”

Emile swallowed, nodded.

Remy mirrored the nod, looking far more confident than he felt as he stepped out of the car, onto the curb, and closed the car door. He leaned against the car a minute, observing the house. He never really had before, but then again, he never had reason to stall either. Remy popped a piece of gum in his mouth and kicked off the car, putting on that “flamboyant, unflappable gay” persona he used when he needed to pretend he couldn’t care less about what was going on.

His shoes sunk into the grass, but the front yard wasn’t a swamp. Remy dimly remembered Mom mentioning something about it raining yesterday, before they had gotten to the heart of their conversation about Emile and his grandfather...

“Look, Mom, I’m worried about him. Emile cares about him a great deal, and either his grandfather takes that for granted, or worse, he just doesn’t care. I don’t want Emile’s heart to be crushed come tomorrow.”

Mom had tutted and reassured Remy the best she could, but Remy could hear the doubt in her own voice.

Mom and Dad had come to the door to greet him, and he grinned, all big and flashy and fake, but he did pick his head up a little more as he saw them, and he noticed Dad’s smile relax a little bit as Remy straightened. Dad knew what he was doing, and Emile had no doubt warned Dad and Mom both about Remy acting off in defense of this well and truly anxiety-inducing situation.

He hugged them both with a laugh, sharing the usual pleasantries. Remy straightened and saw Emile’s grandfather standing behind them, and he pulled down his sunglasses, peering over them to glare at Emile’s grandfather. “You hurt Emile, my guy, and I’ll make you wish you had never been born, m’kay?”

As Emile’s grandfather twitched, Remy smirked inwardly, continuing to chew his gum. “Surely, you’re not the same... boyfriend Emile had at that Christmas?” Emile’s grandfather asked.

Remy laughed and took off his sunglasses, walking inside. “Oh, that’s me, sweets. I just don’t act nice around people who hurt my fiancé.”

Emile’s grandfather flinched at the word fiancé, and Remy grinned, all teeth. Good. Let him be uncomfortable.

“Remy,” Dad warned, and Remy turned to him, prepared to continue being snarky and sarcastic until he saw the warning look he was getting. The fight drained from him and he sighed. Dad put a hand on his shoulder. “I know you’ve had similar hurts in the past, but there’s no need to go full feral right out the gate.”

Remy felt like he might pass out. “I guess you’re right. Forcing Emile out of the car before he’s ready because I instigated a fight would not leave a good impression.”

“No,” Dad agreed softly.

“Similar...hurts?” Emile’s grandfather asked.

“Well, yeah,” Remy said, swallowing his gum and sighing. “Not that it’s any of your business, but my mother came to my and Emile’s house, berating me and calling me slurs, exclaiming that I was going to Hell for being gay. So when you pull the same shit that manipulative, abusive witch pulled...well. Forgive me if I get a little twitchy.”

Emile’s grandfather looked mildly horrified, and wanted to say something, but Emile ran across the yard. “Remy! Remy!” he exclaimed. “I just realized you took that gum out of your pocket, please tell me Grandpa is still alive!”

“He is,” Remy said. The implied For now might as well have been verbalised.

“Okay,” Emile breathed, grabbing Remy’s hand. “Thank you. For, uh, not killing him on sight.”

“You didn’t do it to my parents, I figured you’re owed that same courtesy,” he said, glancing at Emile.

Emile’s grandfather flinched again. “Do you...truly see me as so abhorrent that I deserve to be killed?” he asked.

“I believe that those who hurt others shouldn’t be allowed around those they hurt,” Remy said, stepping closer to Emile. “And while we can argue about the morals behind murder all day, it is still illegal in the eyes of the law, and I’d like to be married to my fiancé outside of prison.”

“That doesn’t...answer my question,” Emile’s grandfather said.

Remy laughed hollowly. “All due respect, but Dad told me to pull the reins back on the hostility. If I told you what I truly think, I’m pretty sure we would fall right back into hostile territory.” Which was more or less a fancy way of saying yes, and everyone in the room knew it, as the temperature seemed to drop several degrees.

Emile’s grandfather gave Remy an unreadable stare. “Very well,” he said stiffly. “Given what you’ve said to me, I think it’s safe to presume that you would rather not deal with me. As such, I’d like to cut straight to the chase and speak to Emile. Alone,” he added, when Remy opened his mouth to speak.

Remy flushed red, but Emile squeezed Remy’s hand. Remy turned to Emile and silently asked, Surely, you don’t expect me to take this sitting down?

I’ll be fine, Emile said with a downward tilt of his chin.

Oh, like hell you will, Remy scoffed.

“Remy, that’s rude,” Emile said. “I can handle my own. I’ll be fine. Besides, you have permission from me and Fern, remember?”

That did make Remy feel marginally better, but not better enough to fully accept the situation. Mom walked up and gently pulled Remy away from Emile. “Let the boys have their discussion, Remy. Can you show me how to make one of your famous cups of coffee, provided we have the stuff that you use to make it?”

“You two, don’t touch my stove!” Dad squawked, following Mom as she dragged Remy to the kitchen. Remy watched as Emile’s grandfather awkwardly put a hand between Emile’s shoulder blades and together they walked to the living room.

#if there's a place i could be #sanders sides fanfiction #remile #emile picani #ts sleep

[willymywonkers]

A Trip into the Factory

Summary: Maude gets invited into the factory for the first time in years. Chaos and fluff ensues.

A/N: This really is an excuse for me to try and write Wonka a little better. It's not too great I'll admit that, but I'm still getting used to writing him, lmaoooo.

It was a typical Tuesday afternoon for Maude, which mainly included grading assignments and checking over the kids work.

However, there was one thing different about this Tuesday. Charlie invited her over to the factory for dinner.

Usually she'd be happy to visit the Buckets, the only set back here was actually going into the factory.

Ever since Wonka and her reunited, things had been a little rocky. Maude was always busy with her students, and tried to creating some order in her schedule. Will was busy mentoring Charlie around the factory. There wasn't any time for them to really connect.

"Sure, I think she would thoroughly enjoy the factory, heh." Willy said, trying very hard to seem confident.

"And, when you're done, we can have dinner with my family." Charlie smiled with excitement.

"Yeah." Will gulped, slightly.

This was one of Willy Wonka's rare moments where he was uncertain. Usually, he knew exactly how people would react when entering the factory, but Maude was a different story. She helped sculpt every room when it was first built.

Willy had planned on asking Maude to move in with him before she got married. Being business partners was one thing, but being actually together was another. He knew from the start on why he didn't like her husband. Even during the wedding, Willy tried to be supportive of her. Hell, he even made especially for her a dozen chocolate roses. His feelings for her never really went away. He just wanted her to be happy.

After being isolated from the world for over 15 years, it really took a toll on how he interacted with others.

Meanwhile, Maude was dealing with her own worries. She looked at herself in the mirror, constantly overthinking.

She needed to leave in about 30 minutes, and that wasn't enough time either. Maude rummaged through her closet desperately searching for something to wear. Eventually, she found a brown dress that was casual enough to wear without looking completely overdressed.

She slipped on some heels and grabbed her coat before heading out the door. She was lucky the factory was walking distance from her house, but when the gates opened, she was extremely hesitant to go inside.

'Come on, Maude. Don't be pathetic.' She thought as her hand was just inches away from the door.

She bit her lip, tapping her gloved fist against the cold steel door.

Suddenly, there was a click and the door swung open. Maude stepped back, surprised a little at the sudden opening of the door.

Wonka stood just a little bit outside the door. He smiled, greeting Maude at the door.

"Heh, welcome, Maude." Will flashed a big smile at her.

She smiled back, taking off her coat. "It's quite warm in here, Will."

"Ah yes. It's because of my oompa loompas. They just can't stand the cold."

Maude tilted her head at Will. "Right, and what are oompa loompas again?"

Charlie had told her about these 'oompa loompas' but she wasn't entirely sure about what they are.

"Oh, well, they're my workers. They were directly imported from Loopmaland." Will explained as the two walked down the large hall.

"Loopmaland? I've never heard of that place before." Maude seemed to look even more confused.

"Well, I discovered it while I was searching the world of exotic candy." Will hummed.

Maude couldn't help, but be amazed at the amount of things Will had done throughout the years. Maude felt that she didn't really accomplish anything. After she left Ron, she mostly did boring adult stuff. When she worked in the factory, Maude felt unique and carefree. Will would listen to all her ideas for different kinds of mixtures. She remembered a time where she felt happy being in the factory, because it almost was a sanctuary to her.

The hallway began to get slimmer and slimmer. Soon enough Maude and Willy crouched down to get to the very small door at the end of the hallway.

"I don't remember the chocolate room being this small." Maude joked, trying not to hit her head on the suddenly short ceiling.

Willy shook his head. "It's not. Just watch."

Just as he turned the key, a whole world was opened up for Maude. Her eyes widened. Her lips parted at the view.

It was meadows of gorgeous green grass, and luscious chocolate river that flowed throughout the factory.

There was buttercups at her feet, and a jelly pumpkin on her right.

Maude felt overwhelmed with joy. "You did all this?" Her voice was below a whisper.

Willy smiled wide. "Yeah, I did."

Maude turned to Willy, smiling dreamily at him. "Wow.." Her body suddenly when limp, as she passed out in a sudden trance.

Willy panicked, catching her before she hit the ground. "Maude? Maude!!"

She snapped out of her trance. "Yes? Yes! I'm awake."

Will took a deep breath. "Heh, good. I was worried that I killed ya there."

Maude chuckled, blushing slightly by the way Wonka was holding her.

Wonka seemed to noticed it too. He cleared his throat. "Well, let's get a move on. There's lots of things I wanna show you."

He set Maude back down on her feet. She chuckled nervously, still amazed at the view.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of low drumming. A purple sea horse shaped boat pulled up right next to Willy and Maude.

"Hop on board!" Willy stepped onto the boat, with Maude following behind.

The Oompa Loompas seemed to be chattering amongst themselves and chuckling.

"What are they laughing about?" Maude chuckled.

He laughed nervously. "Surely, it's from all those doggone coca beans. They're a bit of a handful."

Maude smiled. "They seem quite lovely. I think I got a report from Charlie, talking about living with the Oompa Loompas. It was incredibly-"

"Weird?" Willy interrupted.

"Yeah, but, a good kind of weird." Maude chuckled. "You're a great mentor."

Willy's smile faltered slightly. "Well, I have to get him prepared to run this factory. There's not a lot of people I could trust to hold the secret recipes, and keep them secret."

"Right."

"I guess the only other person would be you."

Maude's expression shifted from happiness to a bit of sadness. She attempted to smile. "Thank you, Will."

She stared blankly for a few seconds. She began to remember Ron's horrid yelling.

"You'll always be in his shadow, Maude. Don't you want your own factory? He stole most of your ideas, Maude. A few of his would be nothing."

Maude would always refuse to steal from Will. Ron would call her a coward. Still, this torment would go on for hours, until she resigned.

The boat began to diverge into a dark tunnel. Maude's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the Oompa Loompas drumming as it began to get faster and faster.

"Can they see where they're going?" Maude said, as she turned to Willy.

"Hehe, no." Will chuckled. "There's no telling where they're going."

Maude's face turned pale as she held on to the side of the boat.

The boat suddenly took sharp dive right into the tunnel. The boat looped and turned as chocolate splashed its sides. Maude suddenly had her arms around Wonka's, holding onto dear life. Will looked over at her a little surprised. In most situations, Will despised human contact. Here, he was just amused. Even when he was a little boy, he hates when adults touched his hair, or even when they lightly tapped his shoulder. However, he was very loose when it came to Maude. She didn't appreciate close contact either, but in very few moments, Maude would casually touch his hand accidentally. She would always say sorry, but it was strange because Will didn't mind it. It was an odd connection between the two. They really just couldn't explain it.

Maude was still holding onto Will as the boat came to a stop. She sighed in relief, but quickly let go of Will.

"Sorry." Maude muttered.

Will gulped. "No matter. Let's continue."

The boat had stopped in front of the experimentation room, a place where Maude was quite familiar with.

"The experiments room. I'm pretty sure you know this one, heh." Will said, hoping off the boat.

Maude looked around, admiring the enormous amounts of lab equipment, as well as different kinds of experiments. "Oh, wow. It's gotten quite modernized."

"You're darn right. I've testing out a ton of new candy, but sometimes it's so hard to focus on one." Willy turned towards a big machine. He turned it on and out came a single stick of gum.

"This piece, right here, is a full 3 course dinner all in itself."

Maude picked up the stick of gum, and simply looked at it.

"I wouldn't eat it. There's still a few things wrong with the mixture."

"I see, and what seems to be wrong with it." Maude carefully set the stick back down.

"Well, it's ok, once it gets to the end. It's the blueberry pie that does it. I've tried it on like 20 Oompa Loompas, and each one ended up like a giant blueberry."

"Do you think it's because you made the mixture of the pie too strong?" Maude examined the sample closely, just before sticking it in her mouth.

"Yeah, well." Will's eyes widened as she stuck the gum in her mouth. "Just spit it out once it gets too sweet."

The flavors were very incredible, however it didn't mask the faint blueberry aftertaste that plagued each flavor. Once it got a but too sweet, she immediately spat it out.

Will looked at her with a bit of disgust. He kept a bit of a distance from her. After a few moments, nothing happened.

"I think I know the problem. The blueberry pie mixture is too strong. It masks all the other flavors with a sweet aftertaste." Maude put the gum in the nearest trash can. "If you eliminate that strong aftertaste, then I believe the gum should be just fine."

Willy's expression turned from disgust to ecstatic in a matter of seconds. He grabbed Maude by the hand, and shook it vigorously. "Maude, you're a genius. Absolutely incredible. I don't get why I didn't think of that sooner."

Maude smiled slightly. "This is just like old times. Remember when we were experimenting with those fizzy lifting bubbles? We flew so high. We almost lost our heads."

"Yeah, haha. I remember." Will nodded, still holding onto Maude's hand.

"I remember Ron being so worried." Maude laughed.

Willy's smile soon faded. "Yeah, him."

Hearing that name again really made Will's blood boil. He had an idea what was happening with Maude and Ron. Will had really hoped Maude would choose candy making over Ron, because that's what made her happy.

His gloved hand had a tight hold on Maude's. "It's really weird, heh."

"What is?" Maude asked.

"Being here with you. I just would've figured you'd always be with me, making candy in the factory."

"Well, I'm here right now."

"That's not what I mean."

Maude tilted her head up at him, a little confused. They looking into each other's eyes for a moment. His gorgeous purple eyes burrow deep into her dark chocolate ones.

He leaned in, giving Maude a tiny peck on the lips. It was quick and painless. Still, it made Maude go red as a cherry.

Willy giggled, wiping the tiny kiss off his lips.

"W-wow.." Maude muttered. "That was unexpected." She blinked for a few moments, promptly pinching herself, before even realizing what had happened.

"Heh, I've always wanted to try that." Will said, smiling wide. "Kissing is so weird."

"But it's a good kind of weird." Maude chuckled, as she pulled Will into another kiss.

This was so much better than she could've imagined.

#catcf #catcf 2005 #maude figgle #willy wonka #catcf fan character #catcf oc #maude and willy #willy wonka x oc #willy wonka x reader

[greywritesfics]

Chapter Ten: Prove Yourself

A nagging feeling clawed at the back of Minori's mind as she furrowed her eyebrows, her feet pounding the ground beneath her. The moment she was taken in by the government after her mother's horrendous actions, she has been treated more as a red flag than a human being. She's always under heavy supervision, and most people see her as an unstable person who has a high possibility of being a villain.

Minori knows that she'll never be able to escape the world's scrutinizing gazes, but that doesn't mean she can't lessen what they can judge her for. She can prove everyone wrong and diminish the saying like mother, like daughter.

She bolted down Musutafu Japan's hospital's garden path like an Olympic champion at the start gun. Pushing the double doors with a new resolve, she quickens her pace to the receptionist's desk asking for Aizawa's room.

"Shota Aizawa?" she asks, gum clicking between her teeth. "He's not here." The nurse finishes indifferently without ever looking up from her screen. Minori sucked her teeth in frustration. Her fingers twitched, itching to throw the damned computer screen. She ran all the way here from her apartment for her teacher to not be here, just her luck.

Minori pushed her way through the doors again, her pace now at an all-out sprint as the slapping noise of her shoes resonated around the hospital's sterile walls with a clanging echo.

If Aizawa isn't here, then there's only one other place he'd be: U.A. High School-- he practically lives there anyway.

Minori finally made it to U.A. and made her way into the teacher's lounge and hurriedly walked over to where Aizawa was situated.

As she stood in front of the lounge's door, her chest heaving, and her eyes roamed her homeroom teacher and all his glory. She let out a breath of relief to see that Aizawa was discharged from the hospital only two days after the incident, and seemingly okay to return to class. Except he had his whole body wrapped up in layers of bandages. She winced, remembering the almost lifeless body of his at U.S.J.

Minori's face fell into a grimace, regret crawling all around her mind. She felt like the most selfish person in the world at the moment. After a life-threatening moment, she rushed to her teacher to speak to him about herself. She should have waited.

Part of the agreement with Nezu was if Minori ever needed anything, she would go to her homeroom teacher, Aizawa, including personal matters such as groceries. But as she stood there, she became hesitant. Would he even help her?

She heard Aizawa let out a sigh as he settled back into the sofa, a hand holding his coffee. Nearby, the hero she recognized as Present Mic perked his ears in interest.

"Spit it out, Ki," Aizawa says, his charcoal eyes peeking through the bandages. But Minori doesn't make a move to speak, her mind reeling with negative possibilities. "Come out with it already. It seems to be pretty important if you ran all the way here," he rushed, waving his bandaged arm languishly at her.

"I'm sorry," she said, eyes downcast. She wasn't sure what she was apologizing for. Was she apologizing to him for being selfish, or herself for coming all the way here and backing out last minute? Her inner turmoil was apparent to anyone in the room, and although she tried to wear a mask of indifference, it was failing miserably.

Aizawa slowly dragged himself from the sofa towards the door where Minori stood. "Last chance, if you don't speak now, you won't get a chance to again," he stated bluntly, already reaching for the doorknob, opening it slightly.

Instinctively, Minori slams the door, "Sensei!" His black eyes acknowledged her with his usual disinterested look, and her lips pull into a frown, her grey orbs flickering from him to the ground. "Aizawa sensei, please give me a chance," she mumbles, her head falling into a bow and fists locked by her sides.

She knows that she's asking for too much, especially after everything that Nezu's done. Nezu has been the first and only one to allow her to be human rather than a criminal, but she can't just stop with him. She needs to fight for more acceptance. She needs to prove her worth. If she doesn't at least try and fail then, she'll never know what could've been.

"Please give me a chance to prove myself! I know of my name-- I know it invokes fear. I can see-- I can feel the stares of everyone around me, walking on eggshells as if I'll suddenly attack them. But I want to-- I need to prove them wrong! I'm not here to wreak havoc. I--I want to write my own history." Minori doesn't open her eyes as she trembles, she feels so frustratingly vulnerable that her eyes squeeze tighter as she pushes herself to finish. "So, sensei, please help me."

There was a brief silence before Aizawa let out a sigh. "And how do you expect me to help you with that?"

Without thinking any further, Minori allows her body to act on its own accord. Falling on her knees, her head lowers in a bow as she raises her arm, showing the unnatural mark. "Please... take this off of me. I don't want my first impression on others to be one of weary. If I didn't wear this, then maybe they wouldn't be scared of me from one look in my direction. Maybe... maybe if I didn't wear this, they wouldn't dread the possibility that I might go rogue any second."

Aizawa only hums in acknowledgment as he opens the door and steps out of the lounge, demanding Minori to follow him. With a shaky breath, she exhales and wobbles to stand on her two feet. She hesitantly opens her eyes, finding that Aizawa had already left the room and was walking in the halls.

Minori follows him, her large grey eyes never leaving his bandaged back, and Aizawa doesn't say a word as they walk. Minori's fingers tremble with nerves, "sensei," she protested at the silence, furrowing her eyebrows, unable to comprehend what just happened.

"Take a seat, Ki," Aizawa retorted, his eyes peeking out from layers of his bandages. They've returned back to class almost immediately, and Aizawa acts as if nothing had happened. Meanwhile, Minori can't help but feel her chest tighten in apprehension.

Minori's typically desolate display was replaced with a look similar to a puppy getting kicked. Her shoulders deflate, and her eyes are drawn to the floor as she walks to her desk. She slightly looks up when she hears a tsk. Tilting her head back to look at the source, she found a pair of narrow, crimson orbs staring straight into her own. His scowl deepened as he saw her glazed grey orbs, and Minori stiffened almost immediately, instinctively glancing away. Only to make eye contact with warm and worried amber eyes that belonged to a certain pink female.

Minori reprimanded herself for allowing such a vulnerable side of her to be picked up on by others. She was fully aware that Bakugo was glaring a hole in her back as she walked to her seat. Blinking rapidly, she urged herself to revert back to her unreadable expression.

After Aizawa dismisses the class's questions on his well-being, he begins homeroom.

"The U.A. sports festival is drawing near." Although it hadn't been long since the villain incident at U.S.J, the U.A. school board decided to go through with one of its most prominent annual events, the U.A. sports festival. A festival that is rumored to have even exceeded the Olympics in prestige. After an attack as horrible as that of the famed U.A., one would think that claiming to have the tightest security would postpone such an event. The class was still getting over the shock of being attacked, but none dreaded the occasion. Instead, they celebrated and welcomed it. After all, what better way to showcase their determination and talents than this.

"Our sports festival is a huge chance," Aizawa said, looking over in Minori's direction through his bandages, "If you expect to go pro, then the path to your future will open up at this event. One chance a year-- a total of just three chances. No aspiring heroes can afford to miss this event. If you understand that, then don't slack off on your preparations!"

Aizawa's jet-black pupils connect with Minori's silver-grey ones, igniting a fire into hers as his words pierce into her heart.

"This is your chance to showcase your Quirks and prove yourself."

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#rebirth #chapter ten #bnha bakugo katsuki #bnha x oc #bnha imagines #bnha fanfiction #hero vs villain #bnha aizawa #mina ashido #ua sports festival #mha bakugo katsuki #katsuki bakugo imagine #bakugo x original character #is it bakugo or bakugou?? #black oc #oc insert #bnha x poc #bnha x poc!reader #slow burn #mha quirks #bnha quirks #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #bnha bakugou #bakugou katuski x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugo x black reader #bakugo x black oc

[wheelersdealer]

Her Majesty

Request: “please more steve smut!!!” + “king steve x reader hate sex? like…Hardcore Smut.” + “a lil bit of choking!!” + “GIVE US STEVE EATING OUT THE READER PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE,” - Horny anons. Summary: You (Queen Y/n) and (King) Steve hate nothing more than each other. Despite being at the top of Hawkin’s High’s social hierarchy, and despite working well enough on the social scene, you can’t stand each other. Steve makes a comment about “Her Majesty, the Prude,” and beckons you to prove him otherwise. Pairing: “King” Steve Harrington x “Queen” Reader A/n: Everybody in my ask-box is thirsty my gosh…y’all gonna get dehydrated.

“Hey Y/l/n!” You lurch hearing Tommy’s voice. Nonetheless, you turn to him, flashing a small smile and crossing your arms. He stumbles in the hallway where he’s walking ahead of an eagerly skipping Carol and plain uninterested Steve. 

Just when he thinks to reel back and smile at the blink of attention, your smile turns a bit more mischievous, and he’s back to scowling the moment your lips purse ready to spit out something. 

Even then his sickening ass is somewhat encouraged, coming up to you and sticking his hand to the locker by your head.

“Heard Zurich couldn’t secure you. How’d you feel taking a ride on the Tommy Train? Might show you a thing or two.” He’s chewing his cheek and smirking. It’s disgusting, frankly.

However, you hum pleasantly and smile at the ceiling. “You know, Tommy K. is kind of cute.” 

He deflates. When he does it he doesn’t portray sadness as much as a mix of anger and embarrassment. Then his fingers are clenching beside your head and while his body doesn’t change, his neck stretched forward. You wonder if refusing to be intimidated burns that ego of his. Well, actually it’s obvious it does. And speaking of the devil, Carol and King Steve Harrington round-up right beside you.

“Y’know,” Tommy nods back at Steve “Maybe you wouldn’t be such a prude if Harrington aught to show it to you.”

Steve seems intrigued to hear your answer. You look him in the eye and say, “Sorry. I’m just not attracted to whining trust-fund babies.” 

“C’mon Tommy,” Steve steps away, rolling his eyes. “Wasting your time trying to get that stick out of Her Majesty’s ass.” 

And you scoff. It’s like music to King Steve’s ears hearing you react. You let it slip, it had no intention. In fact, you wince finding you’ve shown disgust. It only means they’ll come back harder starting now or the next time around. You lean back against your locker and cross your arms, looking angered and ashamed off to the side.

“Oh my!” Steve chirps. “Was that a scoff?”

Steve’s in front of you now, arms crossed to mimic you and feet planted a fairly dominant distance apart. It doesn’t help much but you roll your eyes and show just how much they’ve managed to piss you off. No point in trying to mask it with confidence and charm now. Tommy’s the type to hold onto the most insignificant of details. 

“Queen Y/n, showing some capacity to care? Gotta be honest, didn’t think you had anything other than ‘sticking it to the man’ in you.” 

“Sorry. It can get hard sometimes keeping a straight face for someone so appalling. You know, that just might be the reason I’m such a ‘prude.’” 

Steve leans back, offended. 

“Awe…” you scrunch up your face, “how’s that ego holding up for ya?” You reach and cup his cheek, then hold your palm to his forehead. “My my, burning up? What, did Tommy H. pass it on or somethin’?”

You ‘pout’ but Steve can’t bring himself to slap your hand away. He glares.

So Carol does it for him. It stings for you but she’s the one hissing, stepping closer and stomping with her heel before Steve rolls his eyes and holds her away from you.

“Not a prude, are ya?” Steve chuckles and pulls out a stick of gum. He slowly lowers it onto his tongue, brows quirked at you seeing what he likes to believe is intrigue. Then he’s chewing it obnoxiously, letting his mouth open and make a horrible smacking sound with every chew of it. 

He lowers himself, nose just barely against yours. “Prove it.”

First, he jumps at the pure rage on your face. But then he laughs. He’s shuffled off by Carol and Tommy, both trying to pry his eyes from you. But he just won’t turn around. Only when you look to the side to clench your jaw does he bother.

Prove it.

It rings in your ears for a minute. His slick voice, deep and natural, for once not clouded by his higher-pitched ‘chill and calm’ King Steve persona. 

You huff, still leaning against your locker. “I will…” 

And likewise, you lean in the front doorway of Steve Harrington’s home. First, you ring the bell, knock on the door, wait while chewing your cheek and checking your watch every once in a while. You’re about ready to either A. Kick his door down or B. Climb through his window, when he opens it looking less ‘King Steve-ly’ than you’re sure you could have ever imagined.  

“Y/n?”

You wave, smiling cheekily. Then you step inside, slipping off your jacket and ignoring Steve’s slur of confused huffs to say “Go on then.” You throw your jacket over your shoulder. “Take them off.” 

He squirms a bit (of causes he can’t quite distinguish) when you deliberately look him up and down.

“Excuse me?” With a single push of his hand, he closes the door, then crosses his arms and looks you up and down.

You shrug, waltzing over. “You said prove it.” 

His jaw drops. He’s getting it, slowly but surely. He chuckles and clicking his tongue. “No - no no no, that’s not how it works sweetheart.” You roll your eyes, and he starts stepping closer, unraveling his arm and bringing his hands to our face. One grips your chin to bring your eyes to his, the other cups your cheek. “You don’t just come in here begging, so you can go back out there preaching how you tried but I said no and how you ‘trying’ prove you’re not a prude.” 

You giggle. “King Steve’s gonna say no? To me?”

“Eh…I got my eyes on Nancy Wheeler…”

“And I’ve got mine on Byers. Get this over with and we can put this childish little campaign of yours and Tommy’s to rest. I’m willing to give you the final, biggest ‘fuck you’ before I even try getting serious.”

“Oh really? What’s so ‘fuck you’ about this?”

“It’s to show I only fucked you out of pity that you’re so emotionally deprived you call every girl that won’t sleep with you a prude. Harrington, sweetie…” You coo. “What, didn’t get enough love from mommy?” You wrap your arms around his neck and ‘nip’ at the bud of his nose. Steve slides his hands down to your hips. “Let me be obligated to give you some.” 

He rolls his jaw. He leans in and breathes against your lips, “Fuck…you.” 

He leans, but just when your lips are about to touch you grab his hand and skip past him, twirling him and dragging his stumbling body down the hallway. Before you get much of a chance to realize you’re not too familiar with the layout of his house (only familiar through a handful of crowded parties), you yelp as he grabs around your waist and lifts you in the air, walking backward and pushing open the door of his room.

You flail a bit before pulling your legs in and just letting him. But then he throws you onto the bed and you get on your hands and knees to look back at him. 

“What was that for, Asshole!” You scoff, coming to sit as normal and taking your shirt off while he takes off his.

“What?” He tilts his head. “We’re supposed to be civil now?”

You scoff, chucking your tops, slipping off your bottoms, and kicking your shoes off the edge of his bed. 

He’s just finished kicking his pants from his ankles when you get on your knees and reach ahead, grabbing him and pulling him onto the bed from over the foot-board. You give him what he wanted initially, kissing him passionately while getting him over you. 

“Slow—“ he says between a kiss, and then there’s another “—down, Jesus.” He scoffs, having to reach back and take his socks off. You grimace at the image of him wearing them despite how brief it is. He scoffs back at you, “Seriously?” And then he’s on you again, hooking his arm under your thigh and pulling your calves onto his back.

He’s lifting himself a bit to adjust down there when you snap your fingers in his face. “Hey!”

“What?!” He’s genuinely offended.

“Put your money where your mouth is, Harrington.” You smirk. 

He rolls his eyes, but nods, his hair bouncing. “You’re gonna regret that.” He forces a smile. 

He sits up and crawls back a bit, giving you the space to sit on your elbows while he gets between your legs. He runs his hands up your calves and eases himself between your legs. He spreads them carefully, settling with your thighs on his shoulders and his hands comfortable on your hips. 

He looks up at you with an open smirk, and upon seeing your eagerness he stops himself, chuckling.

“Oh come on,” you hit your foot on his back. “Don’t tease, Harrington.” 

“Oh hush-hush.”

“I want, your tongue.” You playfully nip at the air, scrunching your nose. “I want you to kiss it and lick it and suck it, Harrington.” Your voice becomes whiny, and you roll your hips to hold yourself closer to Steve for just a second before he secures your thighs on his shoulders before finally pressing his lips against you.

You moan, feeling his tongue slide over your folds. You tilt your head at Harrington, looking curious but impressed. He looks up softly then closes his eyes, sucking on your clit and rolling his head while he does. You reach one hand and tangle it into his head of hair nuzzled between your legs. 

He looks again…and smirks right before sliding his tongue into you without warning.

You gasp, chuckling a bit before whimpering and moaning as usual.

You get your other hand in his hair and the way you grip his locks has him pressing his nose deeper into your wetness as he licks painfully slow strokes. Your thighs close tight around his head, arch your back, and let out soft wispy moans. The sounds make him moan against you, and the vibration sends another bout past your lips. 

You buck your hips but that doesn’t put-off his determination. He still moans, working his tongue harder. Then he brings his hands into the equation, spreading you so he can taste more.

He stops for a moment. And you whine at him, tugging his hair a bit before relaxing some.

You feel him smirk against you.

Then he’s licking as feverishly though steadily as he can, lapping up everything. 

And then you reach it, coming and moaning just a bit louder than you already have. Don’t want to give him too much. It’s hard not to shriek, your body going stiff and your back arching. You shake, hips jutting without your control and a fried chuckle slipping past your lips.

“Harrington!” You grip his hair, and despite you having reached, he keeps lapping, moaning. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” 

You come down completely, your thighs relaxing. And you take them off his shoulders, much to his disappointment for just when you begin to do it, he thinks to try and hold them there. 

He frowns at you, almost as though he’s judging pre-lecture. 

He climbs back up over you, sitting between your legs again. But he puts his hand between you two and rubs at your folds again. You jerk with each movement of his finger, the aftermath still sensitive and tingling still present. 

He runs a hand through your hair and gets close, mumbling just above your lips. “What’d you say about, ‘putting your money where your mouth is?’” He hums. When you understand his bargain (with a smirk slowly growing), you sit up and get out from under him.

“Fine then, Harrington. I will.” You crawl on all fours, turning on the bed and laying between his legs once he gets comfortable. You lower yourself to your stomach, lifting your legs behind you and crossing them. You wink at Steve when you catch his eyes lingering on your shape. He’s caught on it, not seeming to notice your grip around him until you start pumping him. 

You bite your lip for a moment, keeping eye contact with him.

Then he gulps and nods, hoping to spur you on.

It works.

You give his length a painfully slow lick, then close your mouth over the head and sucking sweetly. You work him up and down, only going so far before coming back up (to Steve’s pained moaned) and licking at his tip again. You’re calm with it, body relaxed along with your grip. After a bit, you throw your hair back over your shoulder and seeing you hold the bundle of hair tight in your hand to assure its position behind your shoulder makes Steve shudder. 

Then you’re back down and taking Steve deeper in your mouth. He bumps against your cheek a few times before you pull him out with a slurp only to take him back in your mouth, keeping him much straighter this time. You hold yourself up a bit, wiggling your bottom and keeping yourself hovered some more on your knees instead of your elbows so you can take more of him. 

You look at him softly, eyes wide and fluttering. 

Then you devour him, taking him as deep as you can and keeping him in your throat just long enough to make him choke at the feel and sight of it. You pull up and continue, going as deep as you can and treating Steve to some sounds he very much enjoys. 

When a bit of precum hits your throat, you squeal a bit, gripping him tighter. He winces at it but comes down from the spark of pain with a jumpy chest and unsure chuckle. 

And so…you grip him tight again, running your hand up and down him while sucking and licking around the underside of his shaft. He moans, “Fuck,” and bumps his head back into the headboard. 

The faster you go, the harder it is for him to keep his hands to himself.

Eventually, he says fuck it, sitting forward and grabbing your hair. He brings you down on him, groaning “Fuck,” again through tightly shut teeth. “That’s right…” He bites his lip and cums into your mouth. “That’s right Y/n…eeeverryy last drop.” You oblige, swallowing around him but with a clear look of vengeance in your eyes. He can only chuckle, letting go of his grip (though it wasn’t that harsh to begin with) and making you free to pull him out of your mouth.

But you don’t, not yet. You clean him up a bit first, waiting till he’s completely done and completely laid back against his pillows. 

You pull him out of your mouth with a pop…then giggle with a closed mouth. 

He chuckles, rather delirious. Then he’s reminded of the vengeance in your eyes, and he jumps to sit up, curious but fearful. You crawl out from between his legs and sit on his lap. You lean forward, chest against his and one arm wrapped under his neck with your hand in his hair. You tug it while you kiss him, Steve moaning into your mouth and bringing his hands to your hips. 

His hips jut up feeling you reach for him and pump him a bit, just enough before you lift yourself up…then lower yourself onto him. 

You moan at the feeling, breaking your lips from him and sitting up. You put your hands to his chest and roll your hips, lowering your chin to your chest and almost growling when you see his eyes close and head throw itself back into the headboard again. 

“C’mon, keep up Harrington,” you tease as you rock in his lap. 

He sits up some more and you squeeze his shoulders while he holds your hips. You lift yourself up and down in a monotonous cycle, though one that has his breath quite labored not before too long. He puts his chin to his chest and closes his eyes, almost whimpering at it.

When you chuckle, he pops one eye open and can’t help but smile, somewhat embarrassed. You push on his chest again and decide to in fact let him lay down and relax while you take this one. You thrust him into you at a regular pace, keeping your chin held high.

The pit in your stomach is hot, and the fire is growing. 

You lean back, holding yourself up with your hands back on his legs. You continue to lift and lower yourself, picking up faster and faster. 

Steve’s head is deep into the pillow as he whispers hushed, quick, curses. 

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuuuck—“

Leaning forward suddenly, you pull him into another kiss. He goes with it, sitting up and making his arms tight around your waist. You’re stuck right against him with little room for your chest to expand. It leaves you putting your chin over his shoulder, and you pass the baton to him doing the work.

He’s cautious at first, then his hips snap up into you and you’re clutching his back and whimpering into his skin. You cling to him, whispering your own curses with as little energy as you have to do it. 

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck.” 

He’s grunting into your ear, taking short breaks between each thrust but hitting hard inside you each time. 

You lift your chin from his shoulder and he takes his chance, planting his lips on yours and daring to make you lean back. You feel him even deeper, and for your own sake, you break the kiss to again nuzzle into his shoulder where you moan and whimper and grunt into his skin.

Then, he flips you two around. 

You huff at the loss of breath when your back hits the mattress, and you scramble as fast as you can to wrap your legs around his back. With his back rising and collapsing with how viciously he’s thrusting, your calves slip down every time he moves. So you keep your feet flat on the mattress and your knees pointing toward the ceiling. 

You sit up with the help of the headboard and pillows, but Steve keeps at it, his head dipping to rest against your breasts. He refuses to take his eyes from where you two meet time and time again.

He lifts his head to say through clenched teeth, “Guess you’re not such a fucking prude after all,” then puts his lips on your neck and sucks. 

You moan, rolling your eyes at the comment but forcing through a series of grunts, “Told you, Harrington.” 

You hold onto his head, fingering digging through his hair and into his scalp.

“I swear you won’t like what I’d do if you stop now,” you seethe, that overwhelming warmth in your core like a time-bomb coming closer and closer to your orgasm. And thank goodness for him, he doesn’t. He slams over and over into your g-spot, a sweet, unbelievable tingle sparking through your body every time he hits it. 

You squeak, and the way his body shakes with his laughter makes the feeling in your gut even worse…or perhaps, better.

He fucks you senseless and you close your eyes. There’s no use trying to focus on anything with him rocking you.

And finally, with your back arched and your chin and nails digging into Harrington’s back, you come, the warmth leaving you in something that’s so satisfying but something that steals all energy from you. You whine and continue to ride it out, moving your hips involuntarily along with his. 

He can feel you pulse and squeeze around him as wave after wave of pleasure hits you. He grits his teeth and grunts into your ear, a similar warmth and tension becoming overwhelming for him. His thrusts become jittery and uneven, and when he’s still for just a second, you feel him twitching in you, but he goes back to thrusting. And then he comes, his thrusts still coming as hard as they can, but sloppy now.

You feel him pulse inside you, and you feel the warmth of his cum fill you. 

No need to worry, you enjoy it. You roll your hips as he does it, chuckling in his ear as he too finds his strength lost from him and his weight on your chest becomes more significant. 

He manages just enough to lift himself for a second.

“You uh, you on the pill?”

“Mmmm,” you grab his head and kiss him. “Well,” you say between a kiss, “should’ve thought about that before you came in me. But lucky for you I just so happen to be. Because what did we learn today, Steve?”

He chuckles, exasperated. He too kisses you between words. “Might not be a prude but you still can be a hell of a bitch, Y/n.”

You chuckle. “Mm, I know.” You lean back and nip at the air between you two, scrunching up your nose. “I know.” 

You kiss him again, tenderly. 

You lean back and whisper, “Now get the hell off of me.”

(Message me if you would like to be tagged whenever I post a Steve imagine!) 

@stevieharrrr @songforhema @broadwayandnetflix @billyhargrovescigarette @bckysloki @christinawxxx @timeladygallifrey @gwenebear @chloe742 @wtf-multifandom @theyoutubedork

#Steve Harrington x Reader #Steve Harrington imagine #Steve Harrington imagines #Stranger Things imagine #Stranger Things imagines #smut #normal #3.5k #steve #imagine #monarchy

[pernatius]

Lost in Space Part 11: Ch 4

Previous

Summary: Finally, on Commander Knox’s spaceship, the trio finds themselves running out of time before the commander becomes an all too powerful Watcher.

Lost in Space on Tumblr

Lost in Space on ao3

My sword is on its side, far from my reach, but I can’t feel my fingers. I don’t feel anything. Friend turned foe is lifting me by my collar. With how tightly he’s gripping it, the thread is starting to come loose. It won’t be too long until I drop back onto the floor and fall asleep for good, forever dreaming of my defeat. We have less than two minutes until that happens. My jaw is smashed. It’ll heal, but by the time it does, it’ll be too late. I still force out my sorrows even though it slurs out as indistinguishable sounds. 

S1Y transforms his other arm into a blaster. The outer metal on his arm slides back and floats around the internal hardware, pushing forward. He points it at me. My face heats up as it charges inches from my crooked nose. My hair flutters backward as it comes closer to finishing. Before I close my eyes and let my failure consume me, I note that even though the shadow from the vein above us masks his face, the goo’s glow lights up the bottom of his eyes. The purple sludge is slowly sliding down his face. Because of it, he looks to be crying. “Please, forgive me, my dear friend.” 

I tried to let out, “Forgive me, Ashley, for leaving you as I did.” It came out as a grumble. 

I squeeze my eyes shut, but S1Y’s blaster never goes off. Hesitantly opening my eyes, I see his wrists are being held above his head by my still lifeless Ashley. As he’s staring up at me in disbelief, he tries wiggling himself loose and begs for answers. She stays silent, not even piping up as he smashes the back of his head against her forehead, which has it bruised soon after.

I’m floating above them. I see that my hands, which I can now feel as I clench and unclench them, have a golden glow around them. No, my whole body is glowing. I’ve seen this sort of light before, but I don’t have the time to question it, and I especially don’t have the time to get hurt for what I’m about to do. 

Reaching my hand out, my sword becomes engulfed in the same glow around me. It spins in the air towards me, flying past the two, nearly cutting off one of S1Y’s hands, and I grab it with one hand before I float back down. S1Y makes another attempt at pulling himself free, but this time, he’s successful. He rips out one of Ashley’s arms from its socket. Eyes widening, I watch it fly past me, its blood sprays across the left side of my face, and it then twitches on a vein in the corner of my eye. Her only hand lets go of him and clutch the stump as she stumbles away from him and eventually goes on her knees with gritting teeth and tears falling down her cheeks. She doesn’t cry out, but I could only imagine the pain, and I think this is the angriest I’ve ever been. Whatever guilt I would’ve felt dies down along with my senses. My body moved on its own as the cause of my love’s pain shoots at me with two blasters. While those lights seemed to slow and blur, I didn’t even see my body moving. I didn’t even notice I’m in front of S1Y and preparing to decapitate him until I heard his voice in my head. “Thank you.”

He moves his arms to the sides, almost as if he’s giving the entire universe a hug, and closes his eyes. It’s been too long since I’ve seen that smile that I thought was lost forever, but I don’t relent. 

I catch his head and his actual lifeless husk before both can hit the floor. I look down at his smile one last time before setting his halves gently down and moving to Ashely. What’s left of her right arm is leaking out too much blood. It’s all over her left hand and right leg. Through squinting eyes, she looks up at me. She smiles, and my heart skips a beat. I bury down all the things I’ve been waiting weeks to tell her, especially my sorrow for running away from her rather than talking it out because we’re running out of time. 

Two glowing hands leaned towards her armless half. Without hesitation, she removes her hand from the wound so that my hands can clasp it. I infuse some of my new power into it. She squirms as the armless sight heats up. Her blood has stopped pouring out of her as I have her right arm fly towards us. I catch it and press it against the now glowing site.

As bone and skin stitch back together before our eyes, she touches the side of my face and wipes away her blood from my cheek. I so desperately want to press my lips against hers. I’m about to as we lean towards each other. I can feel her body heat, which increased my hunger to taste that cherry chapstick. We’re about to kiss, but she stammers out, “Help Saamuki.” I step back and see her clutching the sides of her head, pulling at her hair. Her nails draw blood. “Knox is trying to regain control. Help me by helping her.”

No matter how much it dreads me, she’s right. We have a minute left. With teary eyes, I remind her, “Until death do us part.”

Her eyes widen, and before she can respond, I snap my fingers. She’s teleported out of the ship along with Mikrovos, Khavas, and the bodies of Shiitakee, Skeema, and S1Y. 

Across Saamuki’s no longer glowing body are Knox’s blades. She’s been lifted in the air and is locked in place. Before he can ask, I punch him in the face. The swords slide off of her body, and I catch her. Her body returns to its blue state, and she smiles at me with a weak expression as those bloody holes close. I set her down and order, “Get as far away from this planet as you can.”

Saamuki, who’s now revitalized, gets up, reaches out to me, and asks with wide eyes, “No, wait—” 

She’s teleported out of here before she could finish. Now it’s just me in this wretched state and the actual Devil himself. He spits out a tooth as he mocks me, “A little late to show off don’t you think?” He turns to the timer and smirks at me when he notices I’ve gripped my sword even tighter. “Don’t you get it? You’ve lost. How can you possibly stop what’s meant to be in under a minute?”

I swing my sword with one hand to the side to send a blinding golden beam of light at the crystal with the other hand. It’s beginning to crack and between the cracks is purple lightning firing across the room. One zaps between us, but neither of us flinches. “That. We have under a minute until we both die.” 

He shuts his eyes, and he shows his purpling gums. His teeth grind against each other as his body shakes with rage. His fists go above his head then thrust at his sides. Knox growls and whatever was left of his humanity leaves as long claws are pushed out of his fake fingertips and toes, as well as horns and three sets of wings. Where flesh was has been turned into an exoskeleton. His fur turns into quills, and fangs grow with the horns shoved out of his head’s sides, which touch his shoulders and curve. Two purple rings of light appear and spin around each other and his body. Opening his eyes, purple goo flows out of them. Still, I don’t flinch as he shows me what happens when you slice and dice your DNA. “Before I kill you I’d like to congratulate you for being the first one to witness my true form.” His voice has gotten a lot deeper, almost demonic, fitting. That symbol used for the Lords appears above his forehead, but there’s a line going straight through it. ��Thirty eight seconds to entertain me. Make me see that you have gone even uglier, worth my while.” 

He smirks. More purple goo gushes out from his mouth, and it fizzes at the corners of his lips. One moment he’s staring down at me as he’s shooting quills, which I slice through all, and the next, he’s diving towards me. My sword connects with his claws, cutting through them. I was about to mock him, but his claws regrow, and I swerve away, but the claws I cut extend towards me. I’m able to fly up, escape all but one, which penetrates my neck. I pull it out, but once I do, I find Knox has joined me in the air and smashes his wings together. They propel me away and cause me to lose control. I try fighting against the wind current to the best of my abilities, but I end up smashing against the crystal, which electrocuted me. I drop both the quill and my sword. 

Knox comes at me, and I pull my sword from its fall, and it reconnects with my hand just in time. I swing it at him, but he teleports to the left, pulls me by my hair, spins me around, and then throws me into the floor. I fall through the floor, room after room, and when the smoke clears, I see I’m back in the storage room and sent in a panic because of it. 

The room is warmer but is darker than I remember. The crystal above only outlines a few crates, so my glow is my only source of light. It’s surprisingly quiet in here until I hear Knox’s laugh echoing. I wave my hand across the room and see nothing, so I’m met with surprise when I find Knox appear in front of me and ready to punch me. My sword was supposed to go through him, but his body crystalized. So, his fist collides with me, and I am sent flying once again. I land in a crate and am covered in something slimy. There is no sign of any of those things, but a massive shadow now looms over me. Knox is descending onto me with his feet first. I teleport away, and he smashes the rest of the crate. 

On a railing, I look down as he looks around the room for me. When his eyes spot the hole Saamuki cut, he realizes, “Ah, you’ve got to see my experiments. A shame their pitiful lives were wasted because now I can’t become what I was always destined to be because of you.” He spots me, and I dash towards him, breaking through the guardrail in the process. The rings around him send beams of purple light at me. I evade them all. “One second,” he added, 

The last thing I see before the explosion is my sword, which its blade has turned into pure light, going right through Knox’s chest and one of his horns going right through my chest. Then, boom. 

“Take my hand,” a familiar voice called out to me. Ojos?

People say when you die, you see the light. I did, but it’s not the type they always talk about. I don’t see dead loved ones, hear a harp playing or doves coo. Maybe being burned in the afterlife makes more sense for me, but I don’t think I did die even though I’m standing in a white room before seven almighty beings. The Lords of the universe are sitting in their thrones staring down at me. The Lord I talked with at their library has their head leaning into their propped hand at the very end of the left side. On the far right side is the one I met in my unconscious state, but now they have chains wrapped around the lower part of their face, covering their mouth. The center is a Lord who has their legs spread apart and left arm behind the headrest and the right across their right leg. There’s a cigarette pressed between their ring and middle finger. Somehow smoke blows out in front of their mask where their lips are supposed to be. 

Sword reforming in my hand, I’m about to lunge at them, but the center one snaps their fingers. My crown is teleported in their hand. I’m weaponless, yet I bravely inquire, “What am I doing here?”

To the right of the center one, a Lord that’s the bulkiest out of all of them grips their armrests, cracking it; the action causes their muscles to stretch their cloak even more, and they shout, “First, you dare to strike us. Now you’re commanding us?” This Lord’s voice is almost entirely masculine. 

Between them and the Librarian Lord is a Lord hunched forward. They look to be the tallest and longest. This Lord softly replies, “You’re a Lord. No need to waste your energy shouting, especially when it means hurting my ear.” They proceed to rub where their left ear should be. 

“Clearly, this human isn’t as perceptive as you.”

On the center one’s left is a porky Lord. From what I can tell, this one is the shortest. They respond, “It’s been centuries since you complimented them. Correction, any of us.”

Right of the one that tried taking my soul, who’s the only one that has a gold, faceless mask coos before asking, “If Second wishes to compliment them, let it be, but if they do then they should give me the rest of the compliments.”

Fourth, the first Lord I met sighs, “One, can we just answer her question already? I am growing tiresome hearing you idiots bicker. No, I have been tired from having to deal with all of your constant blabbering for centuries.” 

Besides the silent Seven and One, the Lords were about to go off on Fourth until One silences them with their hand raised. The center Lord flicks their cigarette. It hits Two, which is met with a grumble from them and a snicker from Three. One gets up from their throne and stands straight with their arms behind their back before revealing, “Welcome home, my daughter.” 

#232 #lost in space #my writing #writers on tumblr #writeblr

[amaranthinecanicular]

heartsick

[My gift for @nekosisterart, for the @bnhasecretsanta2019 event. Enjoy!]

It doesn’t happen often, to be fair. Usually Tamaki’s instincts are good enough to avoid the trouble, but even he falls prey to a bad oyster now and then. Or turned chicken, or soured dairy. And given the sheer volume of food he eats by the day, it’s quite impossible to tell which component of which meal was the culprit.

Then again, thinks Tamaki, with his head shoved in the toilet bowl, it’s possible that it isn’t food poisoning at all. He and Fat Gum had recently caught a villain on a minor crime spree in Hosu, whose quirk afflicted victims with flu-like symptoms for an excruciating twenty four hours. Then again again, a stomach bug has been going around the agency. Then again again again—

“You pushed yourself too hard,” says Mirio, easily. He’s crouched beside Tamaki on the bathroom tile, one hand combing hair back from Tamaki’s brow and the other massaging soothing patterns into his spine. One hand peels away to jiggle the lever, and then returns, cooler after palming the metal. The sick swirls down the drain, the sour smell swirling away with it. Relief, if only for a few minutes.

“It’s food poisoning or it’s a stomach bug,” Tamaki says. His voice echoes in the porcelain, wobbly and weak. “I haven’t been pushing myself any harder than normal.”

“You have.” Mirio thumbs the stringy hair sticking to Tamaki’s temple. “You’ve been working your butt off since Fatgum made his announcement.”

The announcement. Fatgum’s retirement. Tamaki grimaces, only in part due to the roll of nausea that works through him. Mirio might have a point there. “There’s only a few weeks left until he leaves. I have to prove to him that I can handle the agency.”

And to myself, he doesn’t add, though he’s sure Mirio hears it anyway. He’s kind enough not to say it. “If you weren’t good enough to take care of the place, he wouldn’t be leaving it to you. Anyone with eyes in their head can see that you’re the right choice, and no one believes in you more than Fat Gum. ‘Cept for me, of course!”

He shoots Tamaki a cheesy wink, and Tamaki means to smile, except he pukes instead. Violently. Ugh.

“I’m dying, Mirio,” he moans, once he’s able. “Say goodbye to Kirishima and Hadou for me. Apologize to Fatgum and the sidekicks. It’s over.”

“That’s too bad,” Mirio says mildly. He flushes the toilet again, and hands Tamaki a glass of water from the counter. He’d brought it with him when he shuffled in this morning, still mussy-haired and bleary-eyed. Tamaki woke him with the sound of his retching. “I’ll cry a lot at your funeral. There will be a lot of crying, but don’t worry, I’ll cry the most.”

Tamaki coughs a thank you into the toilet.

Mirio asks, “When’s the last time you took a day off?”

A bad question. Tamaki should know the answer but he doesn’t. He stalls for time by rinsing his mouth once, twice. Then he says, lamely, “When was the last time you took a day off?”

Mirio laughs. “Today, actually! I’m going to stay home and take care of you.”

Queasiness swoops into Tamaki’s stomach. He braces to throw up again, but no, this time the reaction is purely emotional. “You don’t have to do that. Really. I’m just going to go in late. I’ll text Fatgum. You should go to work, I’ll be—”

Oh, no, that swoop was physical too. He spits out something rancid and yellow-green while Mirio pats his back sympathetically.

“—just fine,” he finishes miserably.

“Right. So you’re not going to die?”

“No,” Tamaki tells the toilet, in a voice that betrays exactly how much he feels like he’s dying.

“That’s great! I’d still like you to stay home, though.”

Tamaki knows the face Mirio is making, half exasperated and half soppy. In his opinion, tossing his guts into the toilet calls for neither exasperation nor soppiness. Mostly it just calls for disgust. But he lifts his head, and lo and behold: there in Mirio’s face, utterly uncalled for tenderness. Tamaki is pathetically weak for it. He rests his head on his arms and watches him, and Mirio watches him back.

He musters up the courage to whisper, “I don’t want to be a burden on you.”

Mirio bursts out laughing. Despite the embarrassment that instantly heats Tamaki’s face, it’s good to hear. “Tamaki, we’re married! This is exactly the kind of burden I signed up for, you goose.” He kisses Tamaki’s forehead, and in response to the weak protests about how disgusting that is, he kisses him all over the rest of his face as well.

“Are you okay to go back to bed?” Mirio asks, once he deems Tamaki thoroughly kissed. Tamaki considers the delicate state of his stomach. He nods.

“As long as we bring a wastebasket, just in case.”

Mirio scoops him into his arms with so much care that Tamaki’s head doesn’t swim at all. He’s too exhausted to feel embarrassed, and instead chooses to rest his head against Mirio’s chest and indulge in the steady thump of his heartbeat. As far as Tamaki is concerned, there’s nothing more soothing in the world.

When they were nine, Mirio fell halfway through the floor. It was the most frightening moment of Tamaki’s young life—nearly two decades later, it still ranks pretty high. At their next sleepover, when Mirio inevitably fell asleep first, Tamaki squirmed as close as he dared, until he could feel the warmth coming off of Mirio’s body. That was grounding, but he squirmed closer still, and closer, until suddenly there was Mirio’s heartbeat fluttering against his ear. Constant. Clear. There was no way something so dependable could vanish into the ground and leave him forever. He was asleep in moments.

In their last year at UA, Tamaki found himself seeking that same reassurance. Mirio had lost more than most pro heroes could fathom, and Tamaki had nearly lost Mirio. Sat next to his hospital bed, half of his own face still smothered in bandages, he put his head down on Mirio’s chest and anchored himself to the rhythm beneath his sternum. The loss of his quirk was crippling. The loss of Sir Nighteye had broken his heart. But it was still beating. Mirio would stand again, quirk or no quirk, because something that strong simply couldn’t give out.

“Everything’s going to be okay, Mirio,” he had said then, and he says it now, as Mirio lowers him to the bed. Admittedly this situation is much less dire than the last, which is what Tamaki is trying to make Mirio understand. “Really. You should go to work. I’ll feel better soon.”

Mirio exhales a patient laugh through his nose. He pulls the comforter up to Tamaki’s chin. “Everyone needs a break now and then, Tamaki. That doesn’t mean you’re giving in, or that you’re weak. Just let me take care of you for once, yeah?”

For once. As though their whole lives Mirio hasn’t been—Tamaki chews on his cheek. It tastes sour with old sick. After several long seconds, he sighs. “I guess… one day wouldn’t be the end of the world. For either of us.”

Mirio’s smile is brilliant. The sun, warming Tamaki’s shivery insides. “Great! I’ll let our agencies know. Just lay back and let me spoil you. You’ll be better in no time.”

Tamaki already wants to take it back, but then Mirio presses his sunshiney mouth to the arch of Tamaki’s cheekbone, and Tamaki’s heart oozes through his ribs and down into the roiling tempest of his stomach, soothing it some. Just one day. Not the end of the world. Better in no time.

:

Several hours of devoted care later, and Tamaki might actually feel worse than he did that morning.

Mirio has always been hardy, is what neither of them took into account. Even as a child he rarely fell ill, and losing his quirk didn’t change that. His stellar bill of health has never been more evident than right now, as he fumbles through tending to Tamaki: the cool cloths draped over his forehead are never wrung out properly, stray droplets of water left to dry slowly along his scalp. Mirio has retrieved every blanket they own and piled them haphazardly on the end, until Tamaki feels constricted and overheated. The soup is canned and watery, and the jokes Mirio tells to distract him from his misery are tacky, half of which he’s heard before.

Tamaki loves him so desperately he can hardly breathe.

“What did I do to deserve you?” he murmurs, as Mirio locates yet another blanket from some closet or other and lays it atop the lumpy pile.

“I’m pretty sure you just existed, Tamaki.” He digs out Tamaki’s hand and holds it in both of his own, kisses the knuckles. “How are you feeling?”

Lightheaded. Nauseous. Sick with love. “Um. Snug? I mean—much better, thank you, Mirio.”

Mirio sees right through him, of course. He scratches the back of his neck, grins bashfully. Guilt cradles low alongside the nausea in Tamaki’s belly.

“I guess I don’t really know what I’m doing, huh? Me and dad didn’t get sick much.” He chuckles. “Thanks for indulging me, Tamaki. I’ll let you get some rest.”

He kisses Tamaki’s knuckles again, and then his forehead, and then he turns to leave. Pulls up short. Tamaki hasn’t let go of his hand.

“Stay,” he croaks, “please. I’ll sleep better with you here.”

Mirio’s grin softens into something so fond it aches bone-deep to see. Tamaki doesn’t look away.

“Of course.”

With effort they pry back the corners of half a dozen covers, and Mirio slips under. He draws Tamaki close. His added body heat turns the nest of blankets into a furnace. Sweat breaks out all over Tamaki’s skin, soaking slowly through his pajamas and into Mirio’s. It really is disgusting.

Tamaki is asleep within moments, lulled away by the white noise of Mirio’s heartbeat, as familiar and comforting as a favorite song. It’s the most peaceful sleep he’s had in weeks.

:

The next day, Hadou is hauling container after plastic takeaway container of fresh and steaming soup into the bedroom, where Mirio and Tamaki are both huddled up and shivering.

“You know, this was really irresponsible of you two!” she declares, voice barely muffled by the surgical mask she’s wearing. More soup stacked on the side table: chicken noodle, miso, and okayu. To an outsider it might look like overkill. In reality she’s well-armed. “Though I’ll admit it’s pretty cute that you’re sharing the same garbage can. Gross too, you know, but cute. This will help with the nausea. Take one every six hours. If you don’t want that, some ginger ale should help settle your stomachs. Your agencies each signed get well cards, so here are those, and here’s one from Eri. I read them, hope you don’t mind, and Eri’s is definitely my favorite.”

Mirio laughs; it’s hoarse and phlegmy, but no less bright. “As ever, Hadou, you are an angel! What can we do to repay you?”

“You can eat your soup and stay well away from me, mister!” She sticks out her tongue. Mirio returns the favor. “Stay warm, eat a lot, drink a lot a lot of water, and rest. That means no fooling around, either.”

Tamaki, who is already scarfing down the chicken noodle, chokes on the next spoonful. Mirio laughs so hard he coughs up a ball of mucus. Hadou continues, one finger tapping her chin.

“What’s that like, by the way? Since you’re both sick with the same thing, it’s probably not much different than normal, right? You don’t have to worry about getting each other sick. I guess you have to worry about throwing up in the middle, though, so you’d probably have to take it slow. That could be nice! I bet there’s a lot more fluids. Hey hey, what’s it like?”

Tamaki hides his mortification in his soup. If illness doesn’t kill him, Hadou’s insatiable curiosity will. “We’re not—fooling around, Hadou, we’re sick.”

“Good!” Hadou gives him a thumbs up, completely unfazed. “I’ll be back to check on you after work. Eat! Drink! Rest! Love you!”

“Love you!” Mirio calls after her, and “Love you,” Tamaki mutters. He returns to scarfing. After two days, he’s so hungry that he doesn’t care if his traitorous stomach disagrees with him. He’s starving and he’s keeping this down.

He pauses mid-bite when Mirio knocks their shoulders together. “I guess it was the bug at the agency, huh?”

“Probably. But.” Tamaki takes a slow breath. Caps his soup and meets Mirio’s eyes. “You were right, yesterday. About pushing myself too hard. I’m just—afraid. And I have to keep going, because if I don’t, the fear might get the better of me. People are counting on me now, Mirio. That can’t happen.”

“It won’t,” Mirio says, warm and intent. “You’re brave, Tamaki. The bravest person I know.”

In their shared lives Mirio has made the same claim with searing enthusiasm, when Tamaki’s doubts were so severe and all consuming that Mirio had to clutch him close and sob it into his shoulder. Here and now, fully grown, he speaks gently; Tamaki just needs the occasional reminder.

Heat rises behind his eyes. He presses a kiss to the corner of Mirio’s mouth. “I couldn’t do this without you.”

Mirio’s face is flushed and feverish, but Tamaki doubts that’s what makes his eyes so bright. “Think of it: soon we’re both going to be leading our own agencies. Talk about power couple, huh?”

“I can’t wait. We better eat up and get better if we want to get there faster.”

“Ha! You're right. Thank goodness for Hadou!”

He tucks into the okayu. Tamaki lifts his spoon again, but for a moment is content just to watch him.

He says, “I did tell you it was probably a bug, though.”

Mirio groans, a low and stuffy rumble that vibrates the whole bed. “Yeah, yeah, you told me so, go ahead and say it.”

“I told you so.”

He still feels mostly like death. The nausea hasn’t totally subsided, and Mirio smells awful. He’s sure he doesn’t smell any better. But for the first time in two days, he isn’t anxious to get back to work. In fact—Mirio sniffles hard and grins at him around the spoon—there’s no place he’d rather be.

#miritama #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #togata mirio #amajiki tamaki #ran's writing #bnha fic #bnhasecretsanta2019 #nekosisterart

[trying-write-fanfics]

OverhaulXreader part 15

Warning there is violence in this part

She left the restaurant after hours with a head full of worries. She was falling up with opournity. She wandered around, not going straight home feeling uneasy. Y/n pulled out her phone and wanted to call her mom. She stared at it, annoyed she was holding back. They should have made up by now. She hit the call button, that woman is her mother.

“I know you.” an unfamiliar voice said.

Y/n looked up as the phone rang. A man she did not know pointed at her, and then charged at her. Who the hell was he. She took a step back, but wasn’t fast enough. The man closed two hands around her neck and started squeezing. Y/n dropped her phone.

“You’re that damn Chisaki’s girl!” He growled.

Y/n tried pulling his hands off her neck, but it was no use. Irritated and terrified, she wanted this man to suffer even though she had the under hand. She clawed his arms, scratching them, getting his blood under her nails.

“That damn deserves to suffer, even if you’re his favorite whore.” He squeezed harder.

It was hard to focus at this point. Spots began to block her eyes. It was happening again. The struggle to survive was going to end because she’s not strong enough. Powerless, going to die because of her yakuza connections. This was it, the end. She could feel the air wah being closed off, throat touching opposite sides.

“Tell me, was it worth selling yourself out-“

The man released after meeting some sort of impact. Y/n fell to the ground, caught herself on her hands. Blood came out of her mouth and then she collapsed on the sidewalk. She could hardly breathe even being freed.

“Miss, miss! Please stay with me! Help is on the way. I promise.” She heard a new voice say shaking her.

Everything was a blur. When she came through, she was in a hospital room. At first no one was there until a huge man in yellow came in shortly after waking up. He wore a black mask. He had a box of donuts in his hands. He was not the doctor. That’s all she could. It was confusing and she was hurt. No one came to see her, but how long has she been here?

“Looks like you’re awake!” The huge man said.

“Yeah...what...what….who….” her voice was so hoarse from her injuries.

“Calm down, calm down, don’t hurry yourself. You’ve only been out for less than an hour. The doctors are taking good care of you.” The jolly yellow Santa told her. “Do you remember what happened?”

It came back to her too fast. She looked down at her hands and saw the blood was still under her nails. She winched and out her fingers on her neck. She then nodded.

“I’m sorry I didn’t get to you sooner.” He told her. His eyes widened after he said those words. “You might not even know who I am.”

She shook her head no. He sighed a little bit. There were too many heroes to keep track of, especially for normal civilians .

“I’m Fat Gum, the number 59th hero!” He tried sounding happy. “From what I’ve heard your (first name last name)”

She nodded at the sound of her name. Why was he here? Didn’t he still have patrolling to do?

“I have a couple questions for you, if you don’t mind.”

Did she really have a choice? This whale of a man saved her life, and was the only one to visit her in the hospital.

“I’ll start by telling you the man who attacked you is in custody. He was under the influence of some drugs. Did you know the man?”

Shook her head no.

“He said you knew a man by the name of Chisaki Kai, do you?”

Her stomach dropped. She pulled a confused face.

“I might.” She hoarsely said.

“You might?”

“I have a lot of customers...I pretend to know them just cause .... they recognize me.” She had to talk slow.

“What’s your field?”

“I’m a manager at the...Wicked Sparrow.”

If Mr. Fat Gum was drinking water he would surely spit it out. This young woman is already a manager at one of the most fanciest restaurants in the city.

“You?”he was in disbelief.

She nodded with a little less weight in her face.

“I went to culinary school in France.” She told him.

“That’s impressive!” He smiled at her.

It hurt her that this man was the only one here. She knew if Kai was here he would tear down those doctors. If her parents were here they would make their presence known. No one she knew was here, worried except for the hero.

“How about a free meal.” She told him. “You and someone else.”

“What? No, I’m a hero, it's my job to save civilians in trouble.” He waves his hands.

“I insist. Just wear your costume. It’s good for business.”

“So that’s why you’re a manager. Striking up deals best you can.”

“Just tell the staff my name.” She told him.

“Well I haven’t been there yet. I guess I just have to try.”

He kept Y/n some more company because no one came. Fat gum did have to leave her though. Her insurance covered the incident.

“Did you get any information on the yakuza?”

“Only that they probably eat sometimes at the Wicked Sparrow. She’s just a nice manager who had someone misunderstand her kindness to a customer.”

It took three days for Kai to find out about the incident. Y/n hadn’t reached out to him, and she even ignored a text he sent. His crew were able to piece together the extra stress Chisaki was feeling once Chrono informed them the mysterious not girlfriend hadn’t contacted him when he tried calling her. The news came on and at first the news story went over his head. It was labeled when a woman gets strangled and saved. The woman was kept anonymous. Chrono found a fuller article with quotes from strangler. He dumped the article on the Chisaki’s desk.

“I don’t care.”

“Read it, it might have to do with you.”

The articles censored, but he recognized the strangler. The attacker thought the woman was his drug dealer’s “call girl”. The man did feel guilty for attacking a woman who had nothing to do with yakuza. What?

“What I don’t get it….” he was stuck for a second. “Are you implying Y/n is the woman in this article?” His voice was calm and collected but he was terrified.

“I went to the hospital, she checked out later that night. Work also said she’s off.” Chrono explained. “But you can ask her yourself.”

The drive over to her apartment was nerve wracking. His precious Y/n couldn’t have been attacked. Of course he sold bad drugs to the market and this is what he gets for walking around in public with his angel. He can’t protect her every moment of the day. Or else things like this happen! She had to rely on a low level hero to rescue her. It couldn’t be her, she would have told him! She would have been afraid! She would ask him if she could stay the night because of the trauma and he would destroy that filthy attacker. She would call him in the hospital because she would need him by her side.

Knock knock.

He waited.

Knock knock

“Y/n, it’s me.”

Heard a sigh and the door began to unlock. His love has her hair up, a hoodie and sweatpants. The marks were on her neck, he knew she was the woman from the article now. Her eyes were tired and bags hung under them. He was stumped at what he wanted to say, knew what happened.

“Do you need anything?” She asked, not able to look in his eyes.

“I haven’t heard from you.”

“It’s been a rough couple of days.” She breathed.

“Can I come in?” He asked, taking a step closer.

“Kai...please...I can’t right now.” She said on the verge of tears.

“Y/n, please what can I do.” He took another step closer.

“Please!” She sobbed and covered her arms around her head.

He reached for her shoulder, but then noticed his glove was missing. He stopped himself. Unable to comfort her the frustration grew.

“Y/n let me do something-“

“I almost died!” She cried at him turning her head. “I was terrified and alone, and powerless! I can’t...I can’t be around anyone right now.” She was hyperventilating at this point. She couldn’t breathe. “I can’t ask for anything, I know you can’t.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m not going to force you to comfort me, it's not worth it if it’s not natural.”

Him unnatural?

“Move in with me, I’ll be able to protect you-“

“And what quit my job? Never see sunlight again? Hide so no one can ever touch me again? I’m going to be hurt again and again and that’s just life!”

That would be ideal.

“Just listen to me-“

“Kai, I can’t. I can’t rely on you, my parents or anyone!” She sobbed even more.

That was his breaking point. She can’t rely on him? He’s trying his damn best for her. She already knew he wasn’t perfect. She hasn’t even told why she chose him. Was this all just fun and games? It happened too fast. There was a hole in the wall and his hand was swollen yet again. Instant regret pumped through his veins. He looked over to see Y/n arms covering her face, afraid to see the damage she would have to explain to her landlord. He put his hand over the hole to fix it.

“Sorry...it’s fixed.” He told her.

“Just leave.” Her arms went to her sides.

It was hard to tell what he did wrong. The attacker chose to strangler her.

“Y/n…”

“I need to be alone right now.”

“I’ll check on you in a couple days….” his tone sounded more like he was asking.

She shut the door on his face and it was followed by the sound of locking. Privacy. It’s what he’s giving her for now despite wanting to do the exact opposite.

Next https://tryingfe-imaginesblog.tumblr.com/post/613891397705220096/overhaulxreader-part-16-the-next-couple-of-days

#overhaulxreader #overhaul #chisaki kaixreader #chisaki kai #bnha #bnha fanfiction #xreader

[richtozicr]

LOVE’S GONNA GET YOU KILLED       -----         BUT PRIDE’S GONNA BE THEDEATH OF YOU. 

TW FOR HOMOPHOBIA, HATE CRIMES, BLOOD, AND SLURS.  ( inspo. )

It’s hard to hear that a ton of different arcades are shutting down. It’s kind of depressing. The town over- the place that many would go to flex on people that didn’t live in the area- had lost their arcade a month ago. It made Derry’s arcade more popular. But it also brought a lot of strangers into Derry that Richie doesn’t actually know.

There’s a redhead that shows up one day and Richie is immediately captivated by him. He sits back, watching the other play Street Fighter with amazement. It doesn’t take awhile for Richie to realize he’s not paying as much attention to the boy’s gameplay and is now watching all the freckles on his face. Bright blue eyes trail down to the other’s lips before he catches himself and looks away fast. Guilty. He feels like a sinner. That’s what the church calls him. Not him, specifically. God, no one knows. Bowers has maybe a hint of knowledge. The same with his gang. Their murders flash through his memories. Brief seconds. Bowers is locked up for good. He’s safe. For now. It’s nothing to panic about.

He doesn’t even realize due to the fact that he was so caught up in thinking about everything that the redhead is now talking to him. His eyes dart up and Richie clears his throat to pretend like things are okay.

“You can play now, if you want,” is all Richie hears, as his eyes glance over at the high scores. TZR. Second. He rushes to the machine and looks at the high scores. Second?! He’d been top ranking in Street Fighter for three years straight. He looks at Rank #1. JMS. He turns back around to face the other and looks severely impressed.

“Woah, you’re insane,” is all he can get out. “Do you know how long it’s been since anyone’s even remotely tried to get top?” He asks, pushing up his glasses so he can just stare at the other. Richie is amazed. “I’m Richie, by the way. Most everyone calls me Trashmouth,” he sticks his hand out for the other to actually shake. Richie is more than excited to make another friend around his age who actually likes Street Fighter. The stranger shakes his hand, accepting the invite for friendship.

The stranger’s name is Jaymes. He lives another city away. Around a 25 minute drive. Richie wonders if this shit stain of an arcade is even worth it, but he’s also sure maybe he’d be the same way as this guy if Derry’s arcade shut down. Richie wonders what Jaymes’ score was back in his original arcade. How’d he get so good? Especially to beat Richie?

He spent the next two hours until the arcade closed just playing with Jaymes. The entire time, Richie felt like his heart was being thrown into his throat. This boy was cute and they had a lot of mutual interests besides Street Fighter. He figured that this would actually be a good way to be able to start getting friends that weren’t the losers club---- seeing as they had all started to slowly stop hanging out with each other. He still saw Stan, and he still saw Bill, and even he’d joke around with Eddie here and there, but it was like they were in high school now--- things changed. Bev had moved away and it was just difficult for any of them to care anymore. 

It was good for the first few weeks. Great, even. Richie tried not to stare at Jaymes a certain way, or smile around him, but by god, he was hot and Richie couldn’t help but stare sometimes. He’d hope that Jaymes didn’t notice. He really did hope that Jaymes didn’t know. He remembers the day he asks Jaymes if he wants to catch a movie and that he heard great things about Edward Scissorhands. To Richie’s shock, the other actually agreed.  

Richie had been waiting the whole week for the date-- well, though it was just literally the two of them catching a movie. It wasn’t a date. That’s what he kept having to remind himself as he got ready. He chose a muted colored hawaiian shirt this time, instead of opting for the more colorful ones he had suddenly acquired at the start of the decade. Something subtle. Something that wouldn’t gather too much attention to the two. Two boys seeing a movie together that wasn’t an action film? Especially since it was a romantic movie, according to critics. They were playing a risky game.

The movie had gone splendidly, though halfway through Richie had been distracted by the fact that Jaymes had actually held his hand. It was secret. Under the security blanket of their popcorn box---- no one would know either way. It had made Richie want to throw up he was so nervous. But he remembers glancing over and pushing his glasses up in the dimly lit theatre to look over at his date. Jaymes was just smiling back and Richie could have sworn he saw the other wink at him as they continued to hold hands throughout the rest of the movie. 

As the movie ended, Richie left the theatre, unsure of what to say to Jaymes. The redhead had told him to walk him to his car and that he’d parked behind the theatre just to be on the safe side, and Richie believed him. They went down the alleyway next to theatre and stopped behind it. He saw a few employee cars but the workers were still definitely in the theatre. “Hey, I just wanted to thank you for coming with me. I know you didn’t have to or what----” The Tozier wasn’t entirely used to being interrupted so when the other actually leaned in and kissed him-- Richie’s heart soared. Holy shit. His first kiss. Oh god, he felt like a fucking fish. But he was so stunned.  Once Jaymes pulled back, he just saw that the other was laughing after kissing him.

What? Wait, laughing? Richie was pretty damn sure he hadn’t said any type of joke.  “Wha-- Sorry, uh,” Richie cleared his throat and felt his face was entirely heated. Pushing up his glasses quickly he looked back at Jaymes in confusion. “Sorry, like, that was my first kiss-- so I don’t really get what’s so fucking funny.”

“The funny thing is you actually were a fag. One of my boys pointed it out to me and at first I didn’t believe it. You queers really do fuckin’ think that you can just pretend to be straight to trick people into your little web, then you use them to get your own sick fantasies out of it ----” Richie looked stunned. He looked behind him after hearing a few leaves crunching in the street behind them. Oh god, had anyone seen them? Coming up on them was a group of four different guys. Maybe around their age. Richie didn’t recognize them either. 

Richie suddenly realizes what’s going on. Oh fuck. Oh fuck. He has to get out of here. “No, no ---- fuck you, “ he spits, pushing at the other. “ You fucking kissed me you asshole. If anyone’s gay here it’s you. “ That’s about the last thing Richie can get out before he’s grabbed and held down by two of the guys that had come up behind them. He’s recognized them. Slightly. He’s pretty sure he’s seen them around Jaymes. This was all some fucking set up. He can’t even scream because if he grabs attention to this, someone’ll spill the beans that Wentworth Tozier’s son was kissing a boy behind the fucking cinema. It’d ruin his dad. 

The first punch is what knocks his glasses off his face. It’s in his jaw and he’s automatically regretting ever laying eyes on Jaymes. He hears one of them --- a blur, he’s not even sure how close that person is to him---- pick up his glasses and then smash them on the ground. “Fuck off, all of y--- “ his face is slammed into the brick building. Once. Twice. Richie can already taste the iron dripping from his gums. Everything is a blur and it makes him feel dizzy. He’s surrounded and he keeps getting knocked down, picked back up again and he feels a lot of pain coursing through him.

It scares him. Is he about to die from a hate crime? Oh fuck, oh fuck he might die ---- until he hears one of them after what seems like ages. He’s pretty sure it’s Jaymes but he can’t see anything. It doesn’t help that he’s crying. He’s a fucking mess on the ground. “We don’t want to kill the faggot, “ is all he hears. It’s at least mercy. One of the other friends says that Richie deserves to die because they’re just spreading their fucking diseases everywhere anyhow. Richie spits out blood as he tries to pull himself up as they’re talking amongst themselves. A swift kick to his head knocks him out fully.

It’s maybe a few hours later when Richie finally comes to, on the floor next to a dumpster---- hidden, dried blood all over him. There’s also a foul stench that is something Richie recognizes but can’t actually figure out. It’s rancid. He feels around for his glasses on the ground, hoping they’ve at least let the glasses slide somewhere near him. It takes a few minutes for Richie to find his glasses and even hoist himself up. His glasses are broken. Half the glass is missing. He has a horrible prescription, so even telling his mother or father what happened is going to be hard. That’s money they have to spend, but his mom will make some quip about how all they do is spend money on Richie. Once his glasses are on his face, the bridge of the glasses hit up against his nose and it automatically makes him revolt in pain. Oh fuck. Oh god, his nose is absolutely broken. He leans up against the wall of the cinema and looks down at the dried blood everywhere. Then he notices the permanent marker that’s on the ground. 

Oh no. 

He’s not fast. He’s honestly wishing he had just never went back to walk Jaymes to his car. As he hobbles, he’s glad that it’s late in the night. Perhaps even early morning. Once he gets to his car, he realizes the paint that’s all over the windshield and he curses. Fuck. How’s he going to be able to get this off his car? Once he unlocks his car and gets in, struggling to not sit in a position that spikes pain through his body, he turns on a car light and looks at himself in the mirror.

There’s ‘FAG’ written all over his face in permanent marker. He just takes his hand and smears the blood over the words, hoping to god it helps masking a little bit of what he says. The key turns the car over and he is relieved to know the assholes didn’t siphon his car of gas, but he’s also dreading even driving home. He punches his steering wheel and just starts crying all over again. Who the fuck is he even going to go to?

Never mess with Derry. It was too dangerous of a place. No matter how hard people marched, Richie was pretty sure Derry, Maine was always going to be the worst place to grow up no matter who you were. 

#「 HEADCANONS 」 → ❛ ᶜᵃⁿ ᵒⁿˡʸ ᵛᶦʳᵍᶦⁿˢ ˢᵉᵉ ᵗʰᶦˢ ˢᵗᵘᶠᶠ. #homophobia tw #hate crime tw #blood tw #slurs tw #did i go into serious detail? no bc that shit kind of triggers me too SO #i mean it's... vaguely detailed #do i like how i ended it? no #but was it getting too long? yes #final word count 1925 #i've always had this headcanon that this canonly happens to richie #like worse than what we saw in the movie #and when i saw that tiktok i had so much inspo to write that for my richie #mutuals can reblog i guess

[kisstheashes]

Self Preservation Ch. 4: Burn Marks pt. 2

Summary: Anti knew how difficult breaking this one would be. That’s what made it fun.

Content warnings: suffocation, forced cannibalism, vomit, moderately graphic depictions of torture 

Chapter Archive + Moodboard

Tagging: @shadowstakeall @egopocalypse @antis-loyal-puppet @fandoms-creed @atlanta-art @steffid101 @starlightxnightmare @ratatat-barakat @here-be-becquerel @superbanananinja234 (if you want to be tagged notify me! I’ll gladly add you to the list!)

The glitch giggled, disregarding Marvin's statement. "It̨ w̷o͏uld͘ have̵ b́ęen ̨so ̧m̶u͝c̵h͘ fu̵ǹ ͟t͞o ͢f҉in̴d ̶yo͘u ͜b͘e̡fo̸r̡e͏ ̀hé d̴id̷." He glitched in front of Marvin, knife near the magician's face. He looked like he was taking pleasure in every second of this. ͘"͏Be̴n͏d͞ your pat͠h͠et͢ic͢ ͞w̴i͝ll ͟ţo̸ ḿi̢nę.̢ Makè yo̢u beg m͏e͢ ̸to͟ ̧help ̢y͏o͏u co̧ntrol y͘o͢u͟ŕ ͞m͟agi͞c̀. How̷ f͢u͜cking̀ ̷delìcio͟us wo̴úld ̨th̸aţ b҉e͟." His eyes turned black as his tongue licked his sharp teeth.

Marvin's lips curled into a disgusted snarl. "You had no hope of bending me to you. You were too weak." He remembered the first time Anti made his presence known to them- there was an electrical jolt that tore apart their fuse box and shattered light bulbs. Sean had collapsed after it happened, which had scared all of them. Marvin did his best to try to revive him, even though he didn't have full control of his powers yet. The spell fired off and broke a window. He glared at the glitch. He wasn't that person anymore. He was in control now.

After a few days of settling into his new home, Marvin met the last of them. His name was Chase Brody, and he had two kids and a wife. He kept trying to touch Marvin till he blew up and ended up locking himself in the guest room, crying out of stress. His curse started acting up again, and he ended up burning the door before backing off. "Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck!" He stood in the center of the room, enveloped in his blue curse. He was crying, scared he'd hurt someone again.

He heard a knock, then Sean's voice. "Marvin? Are you okay?"

"Leave me alone!" He screamed. His curse fired through the door, burning a hole in it. Marvin was horrorstruck. I could have hit him! "Please just go! I'm too dangerous!" He curled into himself, sobbing.

A few moments later the door was busted off the hinge and Jackie ran in, glowing red. "Marvin! Marvin, shh, shh. It's gonna be okay!" He grabbed ahold of Marvin, and brought him into a tight hug, ignoring the extra heat. "Calm down, Marvin. It's all okay. I've got you. You don't need to be afraid." He kept the kid close even as he fought.

"I'm too dangerous..." He kept crying and collapsed into Jackie's arms, curse dissipating. He let Jackie comfort him as he sobbed.

"No, you're not. You need to learn control is all. It's all gonna be okay. We'll help you. You belong here." Jackie kept shushing him, and pet his hair. "It's okay."

They sank to the floor and sat there for a while. Long after Marvin stopped crying and calmed down. When Marvin pulled away Jackie let him, and they looked at each other. "...thank you," Marvin mumbled.

"You don't need to thank me. It's what someone should do." Jackie smiled at him.

"I...did I hurt you??" Marvin started checking him over before Jackie stopped him.

"I'm fine. My own power protected me. Let's worry about you." Jackie smoothed Marvin's hair back. "Let's focus on you."

"Ì ͏c̢o͏u̷ld͢ sa̕y̴ the̡ ̷s̡ame̴ ͏f̢or ͝y̵o͢u̴.̀ ̕Y͏o̕u͢ ̛wȩr͘é muçh mor̸e̸ fu̴n̢ ̨t̸o҉ w̨a͟t͞ch́ whe̸n̸ ̸y͢o͘u͠ di͡d͡n̨'t ̶h͏a͜v̀é ́contr̀o̧l͝.̶"̀ Anti laughed, grabbing Marvin by his collar. "͠Bu͘ţ ̸n͡ow͡ ̶I̸'̴ḿ ͏g̕oįn͟g̛ ́t҉o̸ ̡h̨a͝ve̵ ̸m͝y ̸fun."̧ The air prickled with static. He glitched Marvin over to the wall, where two pairs of cuffs laid. "̀If͘ ̷y͞óu͜ fu͜c̢k̵ing s͢t̨rugg͏le I'll find ͞yo͏ur ͟fr͝i͡ends ́and̀ ͟kill҉ ͘them ŗi͏ght̷ h̵er͢e.͘" Marvin swallowed, letting Anti put him into the twin cuffs. His arms were stretched high above him, giving no slack, and the ankle cuffs gave him room, but not enough to lash out.

Marvin couldn't stand how it felt to have the glitch touch him. The static invades his veins, violated what little magic he had left. It made him want to bleed himself dry in hopes it would drain him of that toxic static too.

The glitch smelled like acid and bleach. His lips split and revealed a sharp-toothed grin. The knife was raised and cut the mask off of Marvin's face. "Th̡at̷'s b̢ett̛er͞." The mask fell to the floor, white tie flittering behind it. Marvin tried turning his head away, but found a knife on his left cheek, forcing his face back. "̨Y͏ou̕'̸ré ́śo ͝m̧u̸c͝h ̕p̀re͢t̕ti̛er ҉wi̴t́h̷o̵ut͞ it̵,͝" Anti laughed, slicing the knife through the magician's cheek.

"You're disgusting," Marvin breathed, staring the glitch down.

Marvin felt a burning, then heard Anti's echoing laugh, sounding more like static than usual. He held his knife in view, with a piece of skin attached. His smile widened, along with Marvin's eyes. "E͏át̢ i̛t̵,́"̡

Marvin swallowed, staring at his skin on the knife. He felt the blood falling down his cheek, onto his neck and staining his clothes. He kept his breathing calm, the disgust on his face clear. "No. You can't make me." He turned his eyes back to Anti's in a form of defiance.

Anti's eyes turned black, and the tip of the knife shoved against Marvin's lips, spilling new blood. "I'l̛l ̸s͝h҉o͡v҉e̵ ̛this ҉knife͢ ̧do̸wn ̶yo̢u͞r͞ ̛th̴r̴óat ͢a̡n̷d̕ ҉forc͠e͏ fee̡d ̧you," the glitch hissed. He shoved the knife farther, hitting Marvin's gums. "͘O͞p͝en ̸y҉ou͝r̕ fu̡ckin̕g mo̕u̡t͢h̸ ̷ma̧gi͢ci̡an͡."

Marvin's nostrils flared as he thought about all of the ways he could rip Anti apart. He nodded as much as he could without moving the knife lodged in his gums, opening his mouth a bit. Comply to make sure you're not the one getting murdered, he reminded himself.

Anti's grin widened, form glitching out of control. He took the knife away and took Marvin's piece of skin off, shoving it into his bleeding mouth.

Marvin wanted to throw up. His mouth was flooded with blood, and his gums were throbbing. He started chewing, gripping onto the chains to try to stabilize him. He heard Anti laugh, the monster grinning as he watched. The taste of iron and his own raw skin was abhorrent and vile. He tried chewing quicker, wanting this to be over.

He tried swallowing, but it got caught in his throat. He coughed, tears welling in his eyes. He kept coughing, the piece of his skin dislodging itself along with some stomach acid. Anti glitching out of the way just in time. There was a scowl on his face, and a high pitched shriek filled the room without Anti opening his mouth.

Marvin took deep breaths while he could, knowing he was going to be punished. "̛Stop̸ d̡e͟fy҉i̴n̡g͠ me!͞"̡ Anti's voice rumbled far below the shriek, dangerous and deep. He grabbed Marvin's chains, breaking them with his supernatural strength. The magician got tossed across the room, landing on the concrete floor with a thud.

Marvin ignored the aching in his body as he tried to get up. He twisted and inhaled sharply, recognizing the feeling of a fractured rib. He saw the glitch stand over him moments later, with who knew what intentions. His knife was loosely held in his right hand. "You're just a glitch," Marvin gasped. "Glitches aren't supposed to exist."

Anti growled, frame glitching violently. He pinned Marvin down, slicing the knife into him; deep and bloody. "̷The͘n̨ ͡w͜ḩy͝ w̸a̛s ͟I͞ ̕ab͞le t͏o ̶kill̀ ͢J͝ac̨k?͢" He put a hand around Marvin's neck, suffocating him. He leaned down, face inches from Marvin's. "Y̧ou w̧er͞ȩ ͟àl͠w̸a҉ys ͏t̛he̛ st̶r҉ǫn͡ges̵t, ̛but ͜y͟ou̡'re̴ s̶t͜i̸ll͞ ̴w͟ea̷k.," Anti rumbled. His nails turned into claws, starting to puncture Marvin's neck.

Marvin tried fighting, but it was useless against the demon. He was too strong. Then air rushed back into his lungs for the second time that night, leaving him coughing. Anti grinned, teeth still sharp. "̡Di͟d̷ y҉o͜u҉ ̵t͡hink it͜'d̴ be t̕h͠aţ eàs̷y?͠" His laugh sounded through clenched teeth. "̴O̷ḩ, ̶n̢o...I͡'҉m͡ ̨ǹot͠ ҉do̡ne̶ wit͟h y̛ou. Y̨o̧ú'͜re n͜òt͠ ҉br̷oke̛n̡ ͟y̵eţ.̷"

He grabbed Marvin by the throat, glitching them through walls and time. Marvin ended up against a wall again, Anti breathing down his neck, their bodies pressed together. For a corpse, his breath was quite warm. "Now ́i̶s̢ th̀e fun̕ p̀art," Anti whispered in Marvin's ear. "I'm g̛onna҉ ̴r̴ip̛ y̷o͠u ͝l͠i̢m̕b ̧f̡rom l͜i͏mb a̧nd̕ ha͠v͟e̸ ̛t̛h̴é g͡ood̶ d҉o͟cto̷r҉ ̢s̶tit̡ch y͟o̧u͝ ̢b͡acķ ͘to͟geth͘er."͠

Small sparks flew off Marvin's hands when he heard the lust in Anti's glitched voice. Of course he'd enjoy something like this. "Monster..." he breathed. "You're a fucking monster. A fucking corpse. In a body that doesn't belong to you." He spat in Anti's face, blood and spit gleaming in the dim light.

Anti smirked, too-long tongue snaking out to lick at the mixture on his face. Marvin glared, dissatisfied he accidentally gave the fucker something to enjoy. "D͜e̶li̴cìo̕u͠s."͝ His smirk gave way to one of his maniacal smiles. There was something potent about the mixture Anti couldn't quite get a hold on.

He glitched them over to new chains in the center of the room, cuffing the magician. He placed his knife under Marvin's chin, the tip of the blade threatening a shredded throat. "Yo̷u ͟co̕uld ̛h͏ave ̀sto̡pp҉e̵d ̢me. Taugh͘t̵ t̵hé ̶g͞ood ̴doc̵to͠r ḩòẃ ́y̢oư fig͡ht m̷e͘ ͡off̛ só wéļĺ.͟ ́H̸e͢l͡p͢ed̕ ̨Sc͠h͢nȩe͝ple͜s͘t̸e̛in ̛to̷ k̡eȩp ͏h̴is҉ h͠èa̴d w̴h̷ile I ̨kilļe͏d́ ̶h̀ís fr̡ìend." Anti grinned, looking like a rabid dog. "But̵ yo͘u̵ ̀j̶us҉t́ ͝wa̢tch͜ed͞. Ỳou l̡et ̧me͢ ̕t͏ake͜ ͝h͘i͜m̷,͠ ̨m̵àgi͜ciąn,͜"̛ he hissed.

Marvin narrowed his eyes, not daring to speak while the knife was against his throat. Anti's head twitched to the side, and he smirked. He removed the knife, twirling it in his hands. Marvin swallowed the extra blood and spit in his mouth. "You damn well know Henrik would have never listened to me." He tugged at his cuffs, wanting to put them around that damned slit throat. "Stop toying with me." A small flame started on Marvin's hands, then flickered out of existence. "If you're going to try breaking me, fucking break me."

Anti cackled and slashed a mark through Marvin's already cut up arm.  He twisted the knife in his hands, throwing it then catching it. The smell of the magician's blood was filling the room, and it was getting hard for Anti to ignore. The smell of Marvin's blood had always been intoxicating; the fire in his blood made it more potent than other humans. He grabbed a fistful of Marvin's hair and forced his head back and to the right, watching with pure black eyes as blood mixed with saliva slipped out of his lips. "D́o͡n't ̶wo̢r̢ry̶..̧.̀"͟ Anti whispered, the sound of an electronic hum trying to eat his words. "͏I̧ ̨have̷ pla̡n͏s҉ t̕hat́ ̸w͘i̧ll̨ ҉brea̵k ͘you͡ in ͜h͢al͟f.̛" Anti kissed Marvin, long tongue chasing the blood.

Marvin wanted to revolt against the kiss. Anti tasted like battery acid and rotting flesh. Anti's static felt like it was trying to poison him from the inside out. His whole body shook in disgust as he struggled to no avail. And the fucker was moaning. Of course this vile creature would enjoy something so violating. Marvin wanted to bite the thing's tongue, but resisted. He knew how far to push his luck.

Magician blood wasn't just intoxicating, it was addicting. When the first pure drop touched his tongue a burst of pleasure ran through Anti. He pushed farther into the magician's mouth, chasing every last taste of blood he could get. Anti felt a different kind of electricity snap through his veins, leaving him more powerful than he was before.

Marvin was relieved when Anti let go, trying to breathe again. Those horrible tastes lingered in his mouth, making him want to throw up. He glared at the glitch. "We should have killed you." He spat blood and bad tastes onto the floor, staining the concrete shiny crimson.

Anti laughed, walking away to a far corner of the room. The room was completely bare, except for what could only be assumed to be tools up against the walls on metal tables. "I ca͠n't be ͝kil͏lȩd! Į ̡wo̵uld ͞just m͝o͘v͡e ̴on҉ ͡t̢o ͝ańo̴the̡r͢ b̵od҉y͠~" Anti turned, blowtorch in one hand, knife in the other. "͏Ţhe̵n ̸y͟ǫu'̨d͏ s̛p͞e͏ņd t̸h̴e r̵est ̡of͜ y̕o͞ur̕ ̧d͡ays ch͢as̢in҉g͡ ͡m̧e͘ dow̕n, kil͡li͞ńg̀ ̧c͏orp͞s͘e͜s,"̧ he mocked, lighting the flame.

Anti started heating his knife, and Marvin felt his stomach twist in dread. He kept his face straight as he stared at the flame. He knew what was about to happen. Marvin took a breath to steady himself and smirked. "Is this revenge for what I did to you?" Anti's jaw ticked. Marvin snorted. "I’d hoped you wouldn’t forget I'm the one who burned you."  

It wasn't a week since Jameson had been with them. His wounds were still healing, and although he could walk now it still pained him to move too much. The whole household had just finished having a movie night, and Jackie was out on patrol. It worried Jameson that Jack was asleep without the hero being there to protect him. Marvin helped Jameson into the guest room and into bed as everyone called it a night. Jameson heard that sickly familiar laugh, and his heart started racing. Marvin froze in the doorframe, backing into the room a few steps, taking out his wand that never left his person. Jameson felt the prickly static before the demon ever showed in the doorway; intimidating and terrifying.

It smiled with teeth too sharp and eyes too black and too green, body glitching. It caught sight of Marvin, smile widening. "͟It ͝s̀eem͏s ̢we̸ ͡ha͏ven̕'̷t̀ ͘met͝ y̢e҉t̴!̕"͜ The thing noted how Marvin was shaking in its presence and giggled. Marvin took another step back, eyes wide as he stared at Anti for the very first time. This thing...this monster...is what resided in his good friend. This was the demon lurking in Jack's shadow. Marvin felt his fear clogging his heart as he understood why Jack kept this monster a secret. Anti's body glitched, startling the magician. He laughed, head glitching to the side as his eyes snapped to Jameson. His smile fell into a leisure smirk. "͞..̧.͏Da̴pp͏er̴.͢ Ho͞w̴'s̸ ҉y͘ou͟r̕ ̧t̴hrǫat?"

Jameson felt what was left of his throat close up in fear. "Stay away from him!" Marvin yelled, conviction in his eyes as his wand started turning blue. Still shaking, he raised his wand, indecisive about which spell to use. He couldn't look this thing in the eyes. "You're not hurting him again." Marvin knew this monster could kill him. He didn't know if it would and didn't want to find out. But he had to protect Jameson. He protected his family; always.

The demon growled. "I͞ ̶c҉an̕ ͠d̷o w̢ha̧tev̵er̕ I wa͞n̕t̕ wi̸th ̸my ҉t͏oys.̸" Anti stepped closer to Marvin, the blue energy covering the wand an inconvenience at most. He narrowed his eyes and glitched into Marvin's personal space, grabbing his wrist and hitting him in the stomach. Marvin gasped, eyes wide as his shaky grip on his wand loosened. Anti took the piece of wood and threw it across the room, eyes turning black. "͡You͏ ca͝n̷'t̀ ͢b͏eat̡ me͢,̷ m̀a̵g̢içia͡n҉. Yǫu're̕ ̶too ̸weak." Anti's voice glitched lower as he bared his sharp teeth.

Marvin struggled to keep his balance as the demon kept a tight hold on his wrist and clawed at his shirt. He took hold of Anti's shirt and balled his other hand into a fist, hearing Jackie's words in his head. "You're stronger than you could ever think you are." Blue fire licked at his hands, coming from his wrists like a glove. He forced himself to look the demon into those pitch black eyes as he felt the warmth of his fire consuming his hands. "Go back to hell," Marvin murmured. His fire grew to a soft roar around his hands and arms as it wisped farther up. The smell of gasoline Marvin was far too familiar with came back. He also smelled burned metal and heard a crackle in the air. Green lighting caught the corner of his eye. Marvin swallowed and concentrated on the fire in his veins, forcing it to the surface and beyond. He pushed on the demon, making it let go of his wrist. Marvin used both hands and shoved at Anti as hard as he could, blue fire and green lighting clashing, an explosion of bright blue lightning erupting between them as they were launched in opposite directions. The demon landed with a loud thud in the hallway, shirt ruined and burned.

Marvin landed back against the bed frame, the impact shooting pain up his spine. He knew he couldn't do that again; he'd used too much power. "Motherfucker," he gasped.

Henrik's steps sounded, stopping when he saw the demon against the wall. "What happened??" He looked between Anti lying on the ground, glitching in his semi-conscious state, and the scene in the bedroom.

Marvin tried regaining his breath. He dragged himself into a semi-standing position, leaning heavily on the footboard.  "Anti...lock him up somewhere, anywhere. Away from here. I can't do that again," he breathed. He leaned even heavier against the bed, body giving out on him. He tried to conjure up more magic, but there was only a single spark and then nothing. Henrik didn't waste time, hauling the momentarily incapacitated demon out and into a different room. Marvin flung himself onto the bed, his very bones feeling weak. He'd used every bit of fire he had to save his new brother. Before he passed out, Marvin noticed the smoking, burnt hole in the floor where they had been standing.

The blowtorch was turned off and dropped, Anti staying silent as he approached his puppet. He sliced the glowing knife through Marvin's shoulder, reveling in the choked off scream. Marvin threw his head back as involuntary tears sprung to his eyes. "͞R̨eveǹg͜e͘ ís͏n't͝ ̷on th͞e t̕a̸b͜l̕e͞ y͝et,̧ p͏u͢pp̡eţ."̷ He laughed as Marvin's frame shook and tensed, his shoulder spasming.

Marvin fought the screams and the pain as hard as he could. He squeezed his eyes shut as the knife left his skin. He kept his jaw locked closed so Anti wouldn't have the satisfaction of hearing him scream. His worst fucking nightmare.

Anti giggled. "Yǫu͏ ͠ca̕n͞'̷t be̕ ̧str͝o̢n̴g ҉fo̶rever̀, m̛a̸gi͢ci͞àn.̷ I wi̡ll̨ ̡b̶rea͏k̴ ̨yo̸u, a҉n̵d ̵I̸ w̨il҉l ͞e͏nj͞oy e͝v̷er͠y̷ la̢s̷t dr̶op̨ ̕o̸f ̡yo̢ùr͠ s̸lipp̧i͞n̶g hu̶m̕anit̀y."͏ He took the knife and sliced through his magician's chest, slow and agonizing. Anti was ecstatic. His magician was cracking. All it took was a little bit of fire.

Marvin pressed his lips together, trembling. Anti wanted him to scream. He wanted him to break. Marvin did his best to be strong, but it hurt. Tears spilled down his face as another cut was made. He shook, barely breathing in an attempt to keep from screaming. He shook his head as the pain and fear started to overwhelm him.

He heard Anti growl, then the knife plunged into his cut-up cheek. The pain exploded in Marvin's face, and he screamed. The pain in his cut off skin was too much. The smell of burnt flesh invaded his senses, and tears and slow rivulets of blood filled his face. Anti grinned. "G͞ood͠ ̷puppet͘,̸" he purred. "́S͏̵c͢r̀e͏a̵͟m̶͞ ̵fǫ̷r͠҉̡ ̛́͠m̛͞͠e̷.̵͢"̴̶̀ He took the cooling knife out of Marvin's cheek and stabbed it into his clean shoulder, making him scream again.

Anti relished in his trembling body, in the tears and blood covering his face. He laughed and left to pick up the blowtorch, smirking.

"No...please..." The open flame turned on, making Marvin's guts twist. He didn't want to beg. He hated begging for anyone. But as the blowtorch was turned on and came closer, something inside him cracked. His heart was beating 100 miles per hour and his guts were twisting themselves inside out. Of course this bastard would learn his fear. "Anti, please!" He started sobbing, head filled with fear and static. The open flame flickered with every movement Anti made and burned white hot. "Please! Not that...anything but that...please Anti...I'm begging you, please. Stop, please...Anti..." Words and pleas tumbled out of his mouth faster than he could register them. He couldn't take it. The fear was too high and his heart was pounding so hard it hurt.

It was a special kind of pleasure to hear someone so level-headed start begging. To hear his name fall from those lips like a prayer. He giggled and forced Marvin's head up by his hair. "́B̡ȩgg͘ing͞ ͝looks ҉g̛oo͘d o̸n yo̴u,̛" he growled, lust and power sounding like a stuttering video. He forced open a cauterized cut on Marvin's chest and stuck the end of the blowtorch inside, another scream filling the air. Anti basked in the scream, licking a stream of blood off his puppet's face. He let himself get covered in the sickly sweet pleasure of harming the one who couldn't be harmed.

He pulled the torch out and let go, watching his magician pant and cry and shake. "P-Please...don't do that again...please." Anti smiled lazily; his magician was making this seem easier than it was.

He brushed Marvin's hair out of his face and held his untouched cheek, smiling gently before licking more blood from his face. He leaned in close to his ear, "I͢ ̸h͏a͝ve ̛a̵ ͡lo͠t lef͠t̷ ͡I͏ wan̶n̸a̷ d̵ó,́ m̵ag̕įc̶i̷a̛n. ͏Y͏òu͏'̕ŕe ͘no͟t̀ ͞gonn͢a̶ ͝g̴et ͏of̕f so͢ e̴asy," he whispered. Marvin whimpered through clenched teeth.

"You're toxic," he breathed.

Anti didn't respond. He slipped away, grabbing a pack of cigarettes off of the table. Sean hadn't smoked, and they didn't do anything for Anti, but they would be a lot of fun to use on Marvin. The glitch smirked, using the blowtorch to light one. Marvin lifted his head enough to see what Anti was doing, watching with tears running down his face.

The end of the cigarette glowed bright orange as it hung between Anti's fingers. Marvin watched him, biting his lip to refrain from saying anything stupid. The glitch made no move to smoke it. "Get it over with. Stop your fucking games."

Anti cackled, sauntering up to the magician. He pulled Marvin's head back by his hair again, cigarette in his free hand. He grinned and pressed the burning tobacco into Marvin's neck. He gasped, trying to crane his neck away from the burning nicotine. Ash fell and burned his chest, and he heard his flesh give in under the cigarette.

"Intermission?" Marvin swallowed, lowering his head. "Not very like you, glitch." He couldn't recover from the fire in his cuts and the static in his veins.

Anti was silent for a moment, merely staring at his puppet. Then he let go of Marvin's hair and walked away. He looked at the tools on his tables. He could torture Marvin all damn day. He was so much fun to play with. Anti giggled. "Y̢ou're̷ ̛n͏o͏t͟ d̡o̴ne ̶br̢eáḱi̴n̕g̸ ̕ye̸t."͏ He turned, spinning the knife in his hands. He approached the magician, lifting his head with the knife under his chin. ̕"̷S̡o͜ ̕I͘'̀m ͝g͟o̵ing ͘to ̛l̕ea̕ve ͠y͢o͘u ͡h̶ere͘ f͘or͏ ̡a͡ wh͟il̵e.̡ ̛L͘e̸t ͢th͞e ̕goòd͞ dòct͠o̡r̶ ̧s͘t͟itch ýou ̴up̶.͏" He grinned, the slit on his neck seeming to smile with him.

Marvin took a shuddery breath, anger lacing itself in with the pain and fear. "You don't have anyone else to torture. They'll be gone by now." He strung up what was left of his dignity to look Anti in the eye.

Anti screeched with laughter, spinning in a circle. "Oh̀? ̸Did͠ I ̢fo̢r҉gét ͏to téll͠ you?"̵ His tongue licked his bloodstained teeth. ̧͡"́No ti̡me ͘has͟ ̨p͘asse̸d̀,̛ ̧m͟agic̕ia̡n̸. ͜They͘ ha͝ven̶'t moved̵.̢"

Marvin swallowed, staring the glitch down. "You're lying."

Anti giggled, playing with his knife. "̸I ca͝n't̸ lie."͡

Anti let Marvin digest the information, noticing how the fury inside his puppet lit again. "I'm going to destroy you."

The glitch smirked. "H͘ave f҉ųn̢,̕ mag̨ìci̴a͝n. ͘I̸'m̵ súr̀e ̨Sc̵h͏n҉ȩeple̛s̛te͝in ̛w͡i̧ll b̶e ͡qu͏i̸t͞e gent̶le." He giggled, pulling Marvin's head up to lick his open cheek wound one last time. "Į'͟m gòn͝n̢a fuc̨kin̴' ̧m̨i̕ss ̀ỳou̧r t̡asţe͜,̷" he murmured, traces of an Irish accent coming through. "̢Bu͞t d̸on͟'͢t҉ ẁo̴r̷ry͏. ̶I̡'̕ll ̸b҉e b͠a͜ck." Marvin heard that echoing laugh before Anti glitched away, leaving the room pitch black.

#jacksepticeye #antisepticeye #jse fanfiction #marvin the magnificent #jse egos #this is where you start seeing how ugly Anti gets #heed the warnings #also: yes i feel slightly bad for what happens here #alternative title to this chapter: where i use too many fucking italics #self preservation #ashes writing corner

[hyu-ck]

*You were on your way to visit your cousin for Christmas break when a truck slammed into your driver door. He was an emergency responder, you had lost your filter in the crash, and no one told you that it wasn’t right to flirt with the E.M.T. currently saving your life.

Characters: Taeyong, Reader

Pairing: Taeyong/Reader

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 2.2K

You weren’t sure how it happened.

There had been only a second of comprehension before the truck had slid into the driver’s side of your Buick, crushing the door with its grate like metal claws, chewing and spitting you out in a red haze. You were still humming to Wouldn’t It Be Nice by the Beach Boys when you heard the sirens, your brain not catching up to the fact that your radio wasn’t playing anymore (it was pushed to the left side of the car like an old candy wrapper) and that you were soaked through your back with something sticky and red. You weren’t sure what that was.

You had been driving to your cousin’s to visit with family, and you remembered that you had been upset that morning for… why where you upset that morning? You didn’t remember.

Your back hurts. And your tongue felt dry.

You decided to try and do something about the second problem, vaguely realizing the snow drifting on the frozen tarmac around you. You stuck out your tongue, letting it loll on your chin like a dog hopped on pain killers and too much kibble. You let a few snowflakes fall into your mouth, feeling them melt and slide, but you eventually pulled back disappointed. They tasted metallic, and the flavor was becoming a permanent fixation in your tonsils and gums. It was a heated flavor, exuding a dribble of liquid around your mouth as you stared to the sky. It was strange though, because why was something flowing in your mouth if your mouth was closed?

You didn’t think much about it.

It was strange to see snow from this angle. You thought about that. You also thought for a moment that it was funny you weren’t cold because if it was snowing then you should be cold.

You weren’t wearing many layers.

How long had you been out there?

You gave up on your inquiries eventually, settling that you were where you were until you weren’t and only then would you care. You didn’t really feel like moving. You also weren’t sure that you could.

It could have been seconds or even hours before you saw somebody, and you really weren’t sure if it was somebody or something. You would bet money on the second, if you were being honest with yourself, because what you say was too perfect to be human. Too beautiful to be mortal.

You thought briefly that you might be dead.

For some reason, you weren’t truly bothered.

The man was leant over you, his large, dark eyes pouring concern across your damaged frame as he fumbled with your hat- he was trying to remove it without moving you, so he could check for a busted and broken skull. You stared at him, wondering why this stranger (as repulsively gorgeous a he was) was trying to mess with your clothes.

You hadn’t tried speaking yet, but you hadn’t had a reason to.

One of your eyes started stinging. You closed it, ignoring the cool contrast as you felt a liquid pool into your eye socket.

“I’m not sure what’s going on,” you started, glad that your voice box was working as compared to the fact that you couldn’t feel your right leg very well, “but most guys try to take my clothes off after the date.”

He looked startled to you at the sound of your voice, his lines all sharp and jutting. He furrowed his eyebrows at your sentence, opening and closing his mouth as he worked his hand along your body (checking for injuries). Then he grinned, and you felt nothing but syrup pouring into your hands at the softness of it. It felt sticky… or was that something else?

“I don’t think we have time for dinner right now, ma'am,” his low, throaty voice replied. You swear you would’ve swooned if you weren’t so dizzy. Why were you so dizzy?

“Did you really just call me ma'am?” you asked, ignoring the drifting nausea like a passing wave.

He seemed flustered, but his hands were still and steady on your leg- then the feeling went away. (He was busy staring at the protruding white stick out of your calf muscle). He looked back towards you as he waved more guys over, they came from someplace with smoke. You wondered if there was a fire.

The man above you didn’t look like a fireman. He had soft brown hair and a dancer’s body, two things you typically didn’t associate with your local volunteer firemen. You peered closer at him, catching a pair of words on the pocket of his shirt, stitched in orange detail.

You strained your one-eyed blurry vision as far as it could go, making out the bold letters E.M.T. You laughed a bit at that, because why would doctors bother you for lying on the pavement?

“Alright,” the pretty E.M.T. guy grunted, his hand rising to wave to other people.

It wasn’t as warm anymore. Your back was sore in a few spots, though.

“Okay, ma’am,” the man started again and you couldn’t help but laugh as his formality, “We are going to lift you onto this gurney, please try not to move.”

“I wouldn’t move away from you if I was asked,” you giggled, feeling pairs of hands grasp onto your body in various places as they prepared to lift you. The man’s face went as pink as the snow around you, his eyes flicking down and up in a nervous dance.

You weren’t exactly sure where your filter had run off to, but by his expression you weren’t sure if you minded that it was gone. He was cute. Your back was really hurting, now.

“Can you give me a name, ma’am?” the man asked as you felt yourself being pushed towards flashing lights. They were a pretty red, even if they danced in a blurred line like bass waves as you tried to look at them.

“Can I give you my number, sir?” you flirted, trying your best to wink through your pained delusion.

“Okay,” the man sighed, now climbing into the vehicle they had put you in, coming to crouch beside you, “As flattered as I am right now, you were just in a car accident, and I need you to be serious, miss.”

“Oh…” you trailed off. So that’s what happened? Where was your car?

“Was it bad?” you asked the emergency responder, your voice changing from a flirtatious loudness to a quiet shock. His harsh brown gaze faded into a softness you weren’t familiar with, his lips smiling sadly.

“It’s not good.”

“Ah…” you couldn’t seem to form words, your head’s pounding fogging your articulation process.

“Yeah, but we’re taking you to a hospital right now,” the man tried to bring hope into your stuttering heart, his hands fidgeting with a morphine drip, “so you’ll be all fixed up in no time.”

A thought suddenly struck you. “How’s my hair?”

“Your what?”-he asked, dumfounded.

“My hair.”

“What about it?”

“How does it look, right now?” you reiterated, and if you didn’t feel like a thousand bees were buzzing behind your eyelids- you would’ve rolled your eyes.

The man furrowed his eyebrows together, construing the sharp lines of his face. “Why does that matter, right now?”

“Because I am sincerely trying to flirt with you and it usually works better if my hair doesn’t look bad,” you deadpanned, trying to convey the message through your eyes, but your words were slurred and your pain was making you squint.

“I mean,” he began, his eyes scrutinizing your hair with a seriousness you hadn’t expected, “it’s pretty matted because of the blood, and your curls are kind of falling out because the moisture of the snow, but your face makes up for it.”

“Was that a compliment?” you gasped (which you immediately regretted because you were sure you just lost a part of your skull from the jolt it sent through you).

“I can flirt, too,” he retorted, “I’m not completely unable to catch onto these kinds of cues, you know.”

“Really?” you said, “because five minutes ago I would disagree.”

“I was trying to be professional.”

“Professionals aren’t usually this pretty,” you replied, “so I think you already failed at that end.”

He laughed- his mouth open and grinning widely, and it took all your willpower to not join in out of the risk of dislocating your brain to your spine (or feeling like it). You settled for a small smile in return, your hands fisting into the sheets of the raised gurney you were lying in. The sheets were a little damp. You hands were still so very red.

“Will you give me your name now?” he prompted, his pen still resting in his hand as he balanced a clipboard on his thigh.

“Depends,” you quipped, “will you give me your number now?”

“If I give you my number,” he thought aloud, “then that means you will 100% give me your name, correct?”

“Correct.”

“Then it’s a deal, Ms…”

“Y/N Y/L/N,” you answered, glad you were getting something out of this situation.

A very pretty something.

A pang of electricity shot through your right leg, causing you to grimace slightly. A needle was in your arm, but you couldn’t remember how it got there.

“What exactly are you going to do with my number, Y/N?” the man asked.

“Probably ask you out to dinner,” you said, “but seeing as I don’t think I’ll be able to get reservations somewhere nice at the moment, I hope you don’t mind hospital food.”

“Not the slightest,” he smiled softly again before the car jolted to a stop.

You didn’t remember much after that. A large building that you were quickly pushed towards, more flashing lights, more beeping tools. Sharp knives, the masked faces of rich men, the muttering of the words “blood transfusion” and “she might not make it”. You didn’t think too much about either of those.

You think you might have forgotten to feed your dog that morning. You think that you never really hated hospital food. You think that you never got that man’s name or number. You hope he thinks about your name.

You wake up in a stark white room some indefinable time later with bandages tightly wrapped around your stomach and back, a cast pushed into your right calf and the man sitting in a chair next to your bed. He looked thoughtful here; no more panic flung around the pupils of his eyes, instead a complacent murmur of privacy slipping into his smile when he looked at you, awake.

“I’m Taeyong,” he told you, his lithe fingers playing with the edge of the sheet. You grinned, happy to put a face to a name. When-

“You didn’t give me your number,” you pouted, suddenly remembering that he had taken your name without the fair exchange.

He laughed, lines forming around his eyes as they curved upwards. “You didn’t forget.”

“Why would I forget that an extremely attractive male promised me his number?” you retorted, “I would more easily forget my own birthday.”

Taeyong hummed, his hand running through his dark hair as he settled farther into his chair, pulling back away from your sheets. He seemed tired, the bags of his eyes a light purple- the brightness of his skin now mellowed and easy. He gazed at you carefully for a moment, his black eyes burning into your sickly skin.

“Your hair looks pretty, now,” he pointed towards your head.

“Really?”

“I think your cousin came in and did it for you,” he said off-handedly, changing the subject completely from his elusive phone number. You let it slide for the moment.

Your hand reached up to your head slowly, feeling the smooth curves of careful braids as you moved your fingers against your head and down until you had no more hair between your hands. You smiled- of course she did.

“Does that mean the flirting is working this time?” you asked hopefully, folding your hands into your lap as you quirked a brow at him.

Taeyong nodded gently. “I was serious when I told you I didn’t mind hospital food.”

“Great,” you laughed, “Because I’m starving.”

You ate together as the snow piled up outside, his hand resting beside your legs as he pushed his chair right next to your bed. The room was empty except your laughter, and you were warm- the sting of the cuts in your back didn’t hurt as much when you talked. The fluorescent lights didn’t seem as intrusive when he threw his head back at one of your sarcastic comments, the shadows of his dark hair flicking upwards. You were content, wrapped in the nightlights of the city around you.

Taeyong’s phone number was saved in your cell within the hour next to a tiny smiley face (he had added it afterwards, a prideful grin on his face when he handed your phone back to you- your hands brushing together slowly).

You were glad the doctors were wrong. Besides, the pain that was sure to climb up your back in the next months after your discharge felt strangely worth the price of Taeyong’s gentle smile and cold hands.

FIN.

#nct #nct taeyong #nct u #nct 127 #nct 2018 #nct dream #nct scenarios #nct imagines #nct fic #taeyong #taeyong scenarios #taeyong fic #taeyong imagines #sol-peaches #nct 127 scenarios #nct 127 imagines #nct 127 fic #nct u imagines #nct u fic #nct u scenarios #fluff #writing

[agrestenoir]

first sight (we love without reason)

 Summary: Marinette knows she’s meant to be with Adrien Agreste because their timers say so. But that doesn’t mean she loves him.

Their shared zeroes blink in unison, but there’s no click that all soulmates are supposed to feel. Their relationship is a learning curve where she forces herself to fall, even though she’s desperately in love with her partner, Chat Noir.

(Or: the Soulmate Timers say Marinette and Adrien are soulmates, but Marinette isn’t in love with Adrien. It makes sense though: you can’t love half a person. But she doesn’t know that. Neither of them do.)

Dark clouds hang heavy in the sky outside, a thick sheet of raining pouring down hard as thunder and lightning shake the world like an explosion. Marinette places a hand on the cold metal of the door, eyes tracing the path of rain droplets down the glass until they fall on her wrist. The 0000 d 00 h 00 m 00 s blinks steadily against the pale backdrop of her skin in the dim hallway of the school.

Another hand rests atop hers, breaking her silent musings to pull her attention elsewhere. Beside her, Adrien simply smiles and squeezes her fingers tightly between his own. “Forget your umbrella again?” he asks, even though he knows full well she did.

It’s not the first time this has happened.

Cocking her head, Marinette smiles sheepishly. “I was running late this morning.” She throws in a shrug for good measure, not that she has anyone to convince.

“Don’t you mean every morning? Why are you even late all the time, anyways?” Adrien retorts as he slips a black umbrella from his bag, pressing it into her open hand. Marinette can only smile sheepishly; he doesn’t need to know why she’s always late. “But don’t worry, that’s what you got me for.”

With a quick peck on his cheek, Marinette takes the umbrella. “Thanks. I’ve gotta head home, so I can’t come over tonight. Homework and all that, you know how it is.”

Adrien laughs in response, and it feels like a rock has sunk into her stomach. She hates lying to him. “I understand. I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

“Of course.” Soft eyes settle on him as she smiles. “I love you.” The words feel like paper on her tongue though. There’s no substance to them, just a forced and familiar phrase that falls like a dead leaf from a tree. She doesn’t mean them, and she wonders if she ever will.

“I love you too,” Adrien says. It’s as lackluster as the first time he said it.

He raises his hand in a small wave, and she sees his timer, his own 0000 d 00 h 00 m 00 s looking innocently back. If he notices her stare, he doesn’t care. Marinette turns back to the door, pushing it open where the cool afternoon breeze kisses her cheeks, but she stops suddenly when she catches sight of her wrist again.

0000 d 00 h 00 m 00 s

Pressing her umbrella into her other hand, Marinette slowly pulls the sleeve of her jacket over the timer.

It doesn’t do well to dwell on things you can’t change.

Outside, the rain pours harder.

Marinette walks home, footsteps slow and sluggish. The heavy pitter-patter against her umbrella has turned into a mindless drone in the back of her head, distracting her from every thought she doesn’t want to have. They’re the hard ones, the things she doesn’t dare touch as doing so might wreck everything. Might force her to accept some truths that are better off being believable lies.

She tightens her grip on the umbrella handle, and her jacket sleeve slips down, revealing her blinking timer.

0000 d 00 h 00 m 00 s is her bible, a book of truth she can’t burn.

Running a thumb over the black numbers, she tries to remember the excitement that brewed when they first zeroed out, but the feeling has long ago run tepid. Now, in a time of shared umbrellas and quick kisses, emotions are fleeting things that must be smoked out before they gather any real substance. If she forces herself to feel even a little, she knows she’ll do something she’ll regrets.

Overhead, there’s a flash of back against the gray sky as Chat Noir leaps across the Paris rooftops.

Marinette itches to join him.

  *

  Their first meeting isn’t like what you’d find in the movies.

Most people recall the slow burn that bubbles in your chest when you first set eyes on your soulmate. It feels like fate click s into place, a puzzle piece you didn’t even know was missing, and then suddenly it’s you and them, and you’re together, and now you can be happy.

“We were head over heels from the first moment,” Marinette likes to tell people, and while yes Marinette and Adrien’s first moment did involve some head over heels, it wasn’t in the way that most expect.

It’s the first day of school, and Marinette is running late per usual, a box of macarons held tight against her side as she bolts down the street. Heart pounding out of her chest, she turns a corner, trying to keep up with her feet when she collides with a stranger. The box of macarons slips out of her hand, tumbling across the sidewalk as she falls in a heap against the nearest building.

“I’m so sorry!” the stranger, and Marinette glances up, seeing his furrowed brow and kind eyes. There’s a soft beeping that flits through the air, but she just sees the pastries on the sidewalk and a ticking clock in her head.

She pushes herself up on trembling knees, gathering up the box and her bag. “It’s fine, I’m fine. Don’t worry about it. Sorry!” She takes off with her cargo, eager to beat the tardy bell, and gives the stranger no room to speak.

“ Wait —!” he calls out, but Marinette is already gone.

Something tugs at the back of her mind, screaming at her to turn around and look back . Instead, she keeps on running.

If she’d look down, just for a split second, at the timer on her wrist, she’d see the flashing zeroes—the same ones that are mirrored on the pale skin of the stranger she’d collided with.

Marinette just keeps running.

The stranger, Adrien Agreste, tries to follow because he, unlike her, has noticed that his timer has zeroed out. Eventually, he loses sight of her and spots Nathalie and Gorilla further down the street, so he gives up the chase and darts through the park to beat them to the school.

Marinette finally notices later that day after her first time in the Ladybug mask, when she throws the earrings back in the box and shoves it in her dresser drawer, trying to pretend the Miraculous never existed. The blinking zeroes on her wrist startle her. For the rest of the night, she buries herself under a mound of blankets and cries herself to sleep because of her failure—to her city, to Tikki, and to her soulmate.

When she thinks through the events of her day, the only remarkable new thing in her life is Chat Noir. A part of her wonders if he’s her soulmate. Someone strong and confident, a protector and partner— the perfect soulmate , she thinks, I could get used to that —and now she regrets denying the Miraculous. But then Adrien Agreste comes to school the next day where she finds him hunched over her seat with wet chewing gum.

“Hey, what’re you doing?” she asks, stalking into the classroom with Alya at her heels, as the blonde boy is startled and left sputtering to form a proper response. Behind her, Chloe and Sabrina’s laughter echoes like a siren, and anger bubbles in the pit of her stomach. “Okay, I get it. Good job, you three. Very funny.”

She’s already let down Paris. She’s already lost her soulmate. She’s not going to let this petty, prissy blonde model ruin what dignity she has left.

“No, no.” The blonde pushes himself to his feet, green eyes wide in panic and frustration. “I was just trying to take this off—” And then he stops, mouth open in surprise.

She elects to ignore him. “Oh really?” she snaps instead, putting a handkerchief over the gum, too messy and sticky to try to peel off. “You’re friends with Chloe, right?”

When she turns back to face him, he’s still staring at her.

“It’s you ,” he says in a breathless whisper. “It’s you .”

Suddenly, the world turns quiet, still in its orbit.

He thrusts his hand out wards her, palm facing up with his timer bared to the world. Shaky fingers cover a zeroed wrist, tracing the skin around the numbers, before he starts tapping the timer face urgently. “You collided with me… o-on the street corner, remember?”

The timer reads 0000 d 00 h 00 m 00 s —zeroes all the way down to the seconds.

Suddenly, Marinette’s world has changed.

All there is him and her and their zeroed timers.

“I-I thought I lost you.” Adrien’s voice is raw. “I thought I’d never see you again, but it’s you.”

Marinette studies his bared wrist and takes in her own, before she inhales deeply, heart throbbing painfully in her chest. Across the room, Chloe is growling lowly, the rest of the class silent as they watch the first meeting of two supposed soulmates, Alya waiting with baited breath. In front of her, Adrien’s wide green eyes stare at her as his smile grows.

Her ears burn where the Miraculous once hung, and it’s heavy with their ghost. The weight of what she’s given up, what she’s lost, what she’s gained settles heavy on her shoulders. She’s not a good hero, she’s not a good partner, and the person she thought could fix everything never belonged to her in the first place. Chat Noir was never hers.

But here is Adrien Agreste, a boy who is looking at her like she hangs the stars, like she’s the one he’s been waiting for—the same boy who put gum on her seat, who’s probably just like Chloe Bourgeois, who’s only goal in life is to make other people miserable.

“I thought I lost you,” Adrien says again, and his face is glowing. “I can’t believe I found you. You’re my soulmate.”

“Yeah,” she whispers softly, keeping her eyes trained on her feet as the reality crashes down.

“I…” Adrien is speechless. Raising a hand, he reaches towards her—desperate for a touch, anything at all—but she flinches back.

Brows furrowed, nose wrinkled in distaste, Marinette’s eyes burn with unshed tears as she fixes Adrien with a burning glare.

“Lucky me,” she spits, “That my soulmate’s a jerk .”

  *

  It’s raining outside, and Marinette’s forgotten her umbrella.

She holds a hand up to the stormy sky, water droplets dripping from her cold fingers. The sigh that escapes her is long and tired. Though that’s mainly because it really has been a long and tiring day. Becoming Ladybug, accepting the mantle of becoming Paris’s superhero, meeting her soulmate, finding out said soulmate was a massive jerk … It’s almost too much for her to handle.

Marinette leans against the brick entrance of the school, wondering how long it would take her to dash home in the rain, when the sound of the front door opening startles her. She goes to greet the person, a warm smile already stretching across her face, but it freezes when she catches sight of Adrien Agreste.

Her timer burns against her skin. She ignores it.

Turning back to the rain, she hopes the storm will wash him away. Instead, he shifts his weight and opens his black umbrella. “Hey,” he says with a small wave.

Ducking her head, Marinette lets out a loud hurrumph! .

“I just wanted you to know that I was only trying to take the chewing gum off your seat, I swear.” A small smile curls the corners of his lips, something so soft and fragile that if Marinette reached out, she could probably break it without any real effort at all. “I’ve never been to school before. I’ve never had friends. It’s all sort of… new to me.”

There’s a short moment of silence between them, the span a single heartbeat, and then Adrien is handing his umbrella to her. “What’s this?” she can’t help but ask.

“An apology,” he offers. “Look, you’re… my soulmate, and we’ve already gotten off on the foot, and… I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m really, really sorry.”

Marinette stares at him, blue and green eyes locked, and for a moment, time stands still. “I…” Hesitantly, she reaches out and grasps the handle of the umbrella as Adrien presses it into her hand, the warmth of his skin lighting a buzz against hers. “…Thank you.”

( He looks so much like Chat Noir, her mind whispers.)

“I… I’d love a second chance,” he says. “We’re soulmates, and we’re not supposed to hate each other, and I’ll do anything I can to change—”

“I don’t hate you,” Marinette interrupts. “And… I’d love… a second chance with you.” After all, Chat Noir and Paris gave her a second chance today, why can’t she do the same for her soulmate?

“So… a second chance then?” Adrien asks.

Marinette nods with a soft smile. “Yeah.”

“Well, then, my lady. My name is Adrien Agreste, I’m fifteen years old, and I’m your soulmate.”

Marinette laughs helplessly. “My name’s Marinette Dupain-Cheng, I’m fifteen, and I’m your soulmate.”

(They’re meant to be.)

(They just don’t know it yet.)

  *

  So Adrien Agreste is her soulmate.

But sometimes, she still hopes—that the boy in the faux-leather cat suit with the kind green eyes is her soulmate.

It makes the most sense for why she’s in love with him.

  *

  Ladybug has some preconceived notions for what being a hero entails.

In the beginning, the mission is what’s most important. The people you save, defeating Hawkmoth, protecting the city—it’s all that matters in the grand scheme of things. Nothing else will ever come close.

After that first day, when she denied the Ladybug mask, Marinette has determined that failure will never even be an option again and tries long and hard to make sure it stays that way. Some Parisians call her cold in the beginning, but after a while, she melts under the public eye because being a hero means being approachable, being welcoming, being an inspiration—a hope.

In battle, she’s still calculating and confident, doing everything in her power to succeed, and to turn things around when Chat Noir is messy. Her battle strategies are strict and professional, leaving no time to gamble or take risks like her partner has a flare for doing. Sometimes she yells at him, snipes on the bad days. She never said she was a perfect partner, but Chat Noir never tells her she’s being hard on him, even though she knows it to be true. Nonetheless, she tries to put distance between them, but like everything else, he changes too.

Somehow, he worms his way past her defenses. He’s full of bad puns, a blinding charisma, and a textbook of smiles that settles over her like a soft blanket, comfortable and familiar. Her partner’s presence soothes an ache she doesn’t know she has. They wear masks for the world and for each other, and while it’s her decision to keep their identities a secret (and he accepts that), it doesn’t mean she’s happy with the outcome.

Safety isn’t always the first thing on her mind anymore.

There are days she wants nothing more than to know who he is underneath the leather cat suit, know his name and his story, know everything about him and be a part of his life. Chat Noir isn’t just her superhero partner. He’s become her friend, and it hurts to hide from the one person who means the world to her.

She wants to be a part of his world.

She doesn’t say the same about Adrien.

(A part of her wishes Adrien was more like Chat Noir.)

  *

  It’s not always bad.

Adrien isn’t a bad guy at all —his second chance proves that. He treats her right, which is something her Papa has always wanted for her, and he’s charming and kind, which is something important for her Mama. But he isn’t someone she’s interested in spending her forever with, even if the timers say they’re meant to be.

Adrien is too effacing.

In the months since they started their relationship, since they’ve grown close, Marinette still feels like she’s talking to Adrien Agreste, world-famous model, instead of her soulmate. It doesn’t matter what they’re doing or talking about, perfection leaks—practically oozes —from every pore.

Perfection is a key ingredient in the recipe of Adrien Agreste, a habit he can’t seem to break (even though she tries to pierce the shell). His words are precise and clinical, lacking any real substance, and sometimes Marinette feels like she’s talking to a marble statue than an actual human being. His appearance is always pristine with not a wrinkle in his shirt or a hair out of place, shoes never scuffed or worn. Napkins remain unstained, plates in a café after eating as clean as before the food came. He has a clean image to portray, even to her.

Adrien has a systematic way of doing things—how to talk and socialize, how to eat and sleep, how to be a soulmate.

Every morning he greets her with a kiss on the cheek, gives her a ride to school, and they clasp hands before walking to class. During the day, he offers her notes if she misses them, they study together in the library between periods, share lunch together in the quad. After school, he gives her a ride home, and some days they’ll camp out at one another’s houses, doing homework or playing video games to pass the time.

Most people would say they have the perfect relationship, but that’s the problem for Marinette. Things are perfect, and it’s too much.

Any error in appearance is a trick of light, a hallucination she’s desperately imagined, because she searches for a crack in his façade every moment she can, but it’s been four months, and she still knows next to nothing about what makes her soulmate tick. Basically, she doesn’t know who her soulmate is .

In the four months since they’ve been soulmates, Marinette still hasn’t fallen in love with Adrien. You can’t fall in love with a stranger, after all.

(Instead, she’s fallen in love with Chat Noir.)

  *

  As Ladybug, Marinette knows Paris like the back of her hand.

On her solo patrols, she ventures into the night with a plan in mind. She knows where the Seine twists and turns, knows that the Eiffel Tower has the best vantage points, knows Hawkmoth sticks to the heart of the city (because she’s never seen an akuma farther south than the Le Mauritius café on Rue Ernest Cresson, and it makes since he needs to be where the heroes are).

Her patrol route is strictly routine, a straight shot down the Seine before she shoots towards the Notre Dame, coming around the Eiffel Tower and sweeping up to the Arc de Triomphe, before she circles back towards the south. The whole route takes all night on foot—a few hours by yo-yo. Like a waltz without music she dances to by memory, she can slip out and into the late evening without a second thought, the route becoming habit, everything around her becoming familiar.

Somewhere along the line, being Ladybug teaches her how to fall in love with her city.

The Paris night settles around her, and she’s immersed in the feeling of home . The hum and buzz of traffic in the streets and the creaking of metal balconies as civilians meander about under the moonlight. The taste of the boulangeries on the tip of her tongue and the cool breeze that brings the faint scent of flowers from the florist across the block. The cracked cement of rooftop foundation beneath her gloved fingertips and the touch of brick from the chimneys she sometimes rests upon.

Everything is peaceful, beautiful, perfect—it’s just her and the city lights, with no soulmate or real life to bother her. This is the time when she throws herself to the wind and tries to forget about Adrien Agreste.

Sometimes though, Chat Noir joins her even on his nights off.

Marinette thinks she should be angry. For someone who values her privacy and quiet time, having her partner with her on her solo patrol nights should bother her. But it doesn’t. It never has.

Beside her, Chat Noir makes god awful puns and eggs her on with flirty, witty banter, his smile contagious and bright, eyes sharp and soft at the same time. Metal flashes under streetlights and moonlights as his baton plants and extends, catapulting him over the city, as he follows her like a ghost, a shadow at her heels, her other half.

There’s something about these patrols that changes things for her. Nighttime brings down barriers between them, leaving room for them to get to know one another, to ask questions they’d otherwise be afraid of asking.

It’s where he learns she loves to sketch, how she wants to be a fashion designer someday, and is bisexual. She could live off snickerdoodles if allowed, comes from a small family, and can’t cook at all. It’s how she learns that he’s allergic to feathers, speaks fluent Chinese, and loves Thai food. He adores this family-owned bakery by his school where he always buys strawberry tarts, his shoes smell like Camembert cheese from where he hides food in them for his kwami, and his favorite color is blue.

(It’s everything she wishes she knew about Adrien. It’s everything he probably doesn’t know about her.)

It’s also where Marinette finds out Chat Noir has a zeroed timer.

His claw taps the fabric-covered wrist with a wry smile. “Zeroed out a few months ago, actually.” His shoulders hang heavy, head bowed low.

“You don’t look too happy about it,” she observes from beside him as they sit on the Eiffel Tower. Leaning close, she peers at his wrist as if she could see through his suit, as if she could change the numbers, change fate. “Wasn’t who you wanted or something?”

Chat Noir shrugs half-heartedly and lets out a soft chuckle. “There was a… misunderstanding when we first met. She thought I was a jerk, and I don’t think she’s forgiven me for it yet.”

Marinette’s heart bangs against her ribcage like a wild animal trying to escape. “Well, that doesn’t seem right. Soulmates are supposed to be perfect, right? You meet them, and you get a happy ending and everything. That’s how the timers work.”

“I wish that’s how real life worked, bug.” He shakes his head.

“Don’t be silly, kitty. I’m sure things will work out.”

“Something tells me it’s not gonna be that easy.”

“It should be though,” Ladybug protests. She puts a hand over his wrist, intertwining her fingers with his. “My soulmate…”

Chat Noir’s expression dims. “You got a soulmate too, Ladybug?”

She nods hesitantly. “Yeah, we met a while ago, but…” And suddenly, it strikes her just how cruel the world could be. “He’s not who I thought he’d be.”

“Maybe it just takes time,” Chat Noir says, and his voice trails off, like he’s not even sure if he believes those words himself.

It’s not fair , Marinette thinks to herself, he should be happy . If there’s one thing Chat Noir deserves, it’s a soulmate who loves him. Of all the people she knows—herself included—it’s her partner who is entitled to the fairytale happy ending the most.

She’d give up Adrien if it meant Chat Noir could be happy.

(And this , Marinette suddenly realizes, is what it means to be in love.)

  *

  Maybe Chat Noir is right.

If time is what it takes, then Marinette is going to make the most of it.

As Adrien is nothing but perfect in every way she needs him to be, she decides that perhaps she should show him the same. She can be the perfect soulmate if she tries hard enough.

When he greets her in the morning, she kisses him first, pressing a quick peck to his cheek, his forehead, his jawline—wherever she can reach (because perhaps he's become tired of always taking the lead on their relationship). Some days she brings breakfast to school for him, an assortment of croissants and rolls, whatever she managed to sneak from the bakery that morning. (She still doesn't know what his favorite pastry is.) She always makes sure to ask how his day is going, how his family is, gives him first choice for movies or cafes. Honestly, Marinette is doing all she can to be perfect, but the more she tries, the more Adrien seems to pull away.

(It's like he's wearing a mask, and she can't lift it no matter how hard she's trying. Maybe, much like Chat Noir's, she simply isn't meant to.)

Sometimes, there's mistakes.

For his birthday, she spends weeks knitting him a lovely scarf in a blue, plush fabric that would compliment his complexion, and when she gives it to him, his eyes go soft and his smile grows wide. It's the first time Marinette can honestly say that she's seen a true smile from Adrien Agreste, so similar to the smile he gave her when the first realized they were soulmates. But the next day, he barely says a word, too overcome with some inner turmoil, and it isn't until she pulls the answer out of Nino that she realizes he was having problems with his father. (I'm supposed to be your soulmate, she thinks bitterly, but I had to pull that answer from your best friend instead of you talking to me about it.)

The worst part: she never sees him wear the scarf she painstakingly crafted for him.

When Gabriel Agreste hosts a design competition for a bowler hat, Marinette spends hours between an akuma and Chloe Bourgeois to make the perfect hat, complete with beautiful hand-stitching and feathers, only for Adrien to be absent from school for two days while he tries to combat his feather allergies after modeling her winning design. (Another thing, she tells herself, that he should've told her.)

The more she tries, the worse things become. Their interactions become habits, a dance they've memorized the steps too with none of the passion. Marinette doesn't know what else to do. In the months they've been together, she knows nothing about Adrien Agreste that she couldn't find from a magazine.

What's the point of being a soulmate when your other half won't share their soul with you?

But then there's Chat Noir, and she feels like she knows him better than her closest friends. They’ve mastered the language between them. He can tell from a glance what she's thinking, from the curl of her lips what she's going to do, from the tone of her voice what she means.

Marinette knows Chat Noir has zeroes on his wrist, and she knows that he knows about hers.

...But that doesn't stop her from wanting, wishing, hoping that things will change. Like one day, her timer will blink back into existence, and the numbers will be a countdown until their next shared patrol. There are times they fly through the city streets, and he'll leap ahead, and she'll pause on a street light and just watch him, so carefree and alive, and hold her timer close to her heart, willing it to make a sound.

It never happens though.

Marinette wonders if he wishes the same thing. Chat Noir is a typical teenage boy, edged with flirty one-liners and witty banter, godawful puns, and an Eiffel Tower charisma, but sometimes there's a look in his eyes. Marinette's been around her parents her whole life, and she knows what it looks like when someone's in love.

More than anything, she hopes Chat Noir knows her true feelings and wants to reciprocate them... But they can't . Each has a soulmate already, and things won't change. If there's one thing Marinette's learned in her time as Ladybug, it's that you can't fight fate. Once it's made a decision, it's your best bet to go along with destiny.

She has a duty as Ladybug—to her city, to her partner... and to Adrien, her soulmate. Falling in love with someone other than your soulmate: the idea's impossible to fathom.

So Ladybug and Chat Noir don’t talk about it.

(It doesn't stop the longing in her heart though.

Marinette doesn't think it will ever go away.)

  *

  Adrien and Marinette don’t talk either.

She can’t say she’s disappointed.

  *

Marinette is hurt.

Her parents often joke with family or friends about the infamous Dupain-Cheng temper, one that few will ever survive if faced with its full wrath. In a single glance or with simple words, she can tear a person down and burn the world. At rest, it's a boulder, nearly impossible to move, so it's rare to see Marinette angry. But once lit, it's a dynamite, and you only have a few seconds to take cover before the everything explodes.

Stone and dynamite have one thing in common though: they aren't always strong enough.

Chloe Bourgeois throws a party, and Marinette is invited (or rather Adrien is, and she's his "plus one"). It's a casual get-together with many their classmates and a bunch of others she doesn't know in one of the upper suites of the hotel, where there's punch that has a bitter alcoholic taste, and the music is so loud that she can feel the base deep within her, jarring her cold, damp bones with the beat. It's not exactly a scene she'd frequent, but at this point in her life, she's fifteen, almost sixteen, and has stopped caring.

She almost gets caught in the center of the suite which is full of people bumping and grinding and dancing to the music, but Adrien leads her over to the appetizers on the tables that line the wall and away from the crowd. His hand is on her lower back, leading her to safety, like a knight in shining armor escorting the princess through dangerous territory. Just like she hasn’t learned anything about Adrien in the months they’ve been together, he’s learned nothing about her.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng is no damsel, and she doesn’t need rescuing.

It takes three cups of punch before her heart is racing, the lights are brighter, and the colors are fuzzy and just out of focus. But like most things in their relationship, it’s enough. It’s perfect.

Her words are slippery, dripping from her lips as easy and fluid as a waterfall, as she pushes against Adrien. “I wanna dance,” she tells him, pressing him closer to the crowd. “Come on.”

Adrien goes stiff beside her. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he says instead, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “You’ve had too much to drink.”

He’s pulling at her arms, back to the safety of the wall and meandering couples, but she’s not going anywhere with him. “No,” she says again, tugging at his arms. “Let’s dance and have some fun.”

“No, really. Let’s just stay here… and talk.”

“We never talk,” Marinette snaps. Her eyes are burning, full of the same fire she stares down akumas with. “Don’t start trying now. I want to dance, and if you won’t dance with me, I’ll find someone else who will.”

(It’s everything she wishes she could tell him: if you won’t be my soulmate, I’ll find someone else who wants to be. )

With a sigh, Adrien caves in himself. “Fine, let’s go, but not too close to the center, I don’t like crowds.”

Hands on her hips, her arms slung around his neck, they rock side to side with the music, the sweaty bodies beside them brushing close. Adrien gulps quietly, and she can tell he’s uncomfortable, so she pulls him close with a feather-light kiss on his jawline.

“Eyes on me,” she says, fixing her gaze with his own. “I’m the only one here.”

(She thinks: I’m the only one who should matter .)

“You’re… different,” he says after a while of dancing, when the movement and music had been enough to fill the silence. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so…”

“Tipsy?”

“…Raw,” Adrien supplies instead. “Or flawed.”

Marinette cocks her head in confusion. “What d’you mean?”

Adrien’s nose wrinkles as he searches for the right words. “I mean, it’s always like you’re trying too hard. I’ve never seen you so loose and in the moment, I guess, if that makes sense?”

Something churns in the pit of her stomach, and it’s not excitement or joy, like the bubbly taste of champagne on her tongue, but rather the slow simmer of a boil before it erupts. It starts low, frothing up until it nearly overflows, and suddenly… Marinette’s done.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” she asks, and she wishes she hadn’t.

They’ve stopped dancing by now, standing still in the middle of moving bodies.

Adrien shakes his head. “Nothing.”

He untangles himself from her, stepping away and back towards the tables. Face hot, from the alcohol or the anger, Marinette isn’t sure. “No, no.” She chases after him, one hand gripping his wrist to keep him from leaving, fingers covering his timer. “Tell me what you meant.”

“It’s nothing.”

“It sure didn’t sound like nothing.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Adrien tells her, eyes narrowed in frustration. It’s the first real emotion she’s seen from him, the first crack in the mask. “I didn’t mean to say anything.”

“Well, you did, so let’s talk about it.” Marinette crosses her arms against her chest, refusing to budge.

Beside her, Adrien almost flinches at the words, but then a shadow crosses his face. “I thought you said you didn’t want to talk.”

She’s angry now. Truly, positively angry. “You know what,” she says, hands clasping into tight fists at her side. “I have been trying to get you to talk for months , but you never listen, and I absolutely hate it!” She’s almost screaming by now, but she can’t seem to stop. “I’ve tried everything to get close to you, but no matter what I do, it’s like you’re wearing this… this mask! I don’t know who you are, and I’m your soulmate. We’re supposed to tell each other everything!”

“What more do you want from me? I’m trying so hard to be what you want!” Adrien is pressing closer, but the chasm between them feels bigger than it’s ever been.

“That’s the point!” Marinette spits. “I don’t want what you pretend to be. I want you !”

Adrien is silent. Marinette has nothing else to say.

“I’m leaving,” she says lowly, shaking all over. “We can talk tomorrow if you feel like it.”

She goes home and cries.

(It’s how she spends most of her nights anyway. By now, it’s nothing new.)

  *

  “You don’t look so hot, bug,” comes a voice from behind her. She doesn’t need to turn around to see who it is. Chat Noir lands on the beam beside her, the click of his baton as it snaps to his belt, as he hunkers down on his haunches. “Rough night?”

“Something like that,” she mumbles from her cocoon, legs pulled to her chest and arms wrapped around the tops of her knees. Her face is buried somewhere in the middle. “We had a fight, and I said some things I shouldn’t have.”

Chat Noir chuckles lowly. “I can relate.”

Ladybug manages a wry smile. “Thought you were having a date night with your soulmate?”

“It didn’t exactly… go as planned.”

“You storm off?”

“She did actually.”

There’s silence between them, the kind that doesn’t need to be filled, and Ladybug simply leans against her partner as the tension slowly drains from her body. There’s definitely something ethereal about a Parisian night. Sitting atop the Eiffel Tower, wind blowing her hair back as they stare out over the city, huddled next to the only person who could ever possibly understand her, Ladybug doesn’t know what to do.

“Do you ever wonder,” she begins, voice almost a whisper, “if fate made the wrong choice?”

“With what?” Chat Noir asks.

“Deciding who your soulmate is.”

“…Sounds like you’ve been doing a lot of thinking, bug,” he murmurs against her suit, lifting his head with a soft sigh. “Things really going that badly between you guys?”

“…I can’t love him,” she tells him honestly.

“It just takes time,” he tells her, an echo of what he’s said before, but Ladybug is already shaking her head in denial.

“No, no,” she says. “I have tried to fall in love with him, but nothing has happened.” And Marinette has tried— she really, truly has—but it’s like trying to catch lightning. It always strikes before you can grab it with you in close enough contact to get hurt. “I don’t think I’m capable of loving him… ever.”

“It can’t be that bad.” Chat Noir places a hand on her shoulder to reassure her.

“I can’t even explain it in a way that makes sense, Chat.” Her voice is raw and choked. “It’s like I’m trying to love half a person when they’re supposed to be my other half .”

There’s silence again. Chat Noir tips his head back to look at the sky, at the moon and the stars that guard it. “I understand that… more than you know.”

A single tear drips down her cheek, slow and thick, like candlewax. “Yeah?”

“…Yeah,” he responds.

And then he lowers his gaze, eyes locked on hers, and they pause. There’s warm hands against her skin, cradling her face like it’s the most precious thing in the world. “Can I try something?” he asks her, and she’s already nodding because she knows what he wants to do.

She wants to do it too.

She kisses him then—kisses him hard. It’s wet, messy, and rough, but she knows they’ve both been waiting a long time for it, so nothing else matters. Chat Noir shifts and tilts his head, slotting his lips against hers and begins to move. There’s teeth and tongue, hot touches against wind-blistered skin, and his claw-tipped thumb rubs against the apple of her cheek.

When they finally pull away, she wonders if the press of his lips is visible like a sunburn or scar, evidence that this happened. In the end, it’s still too short, and she wants more, but she knows she can’t have it. Because even though she loves him and he might love her, they still have other people who are their soulmates, and nothing can happen between them.

“I-I’m sorry,” Chat Noir begins, slipping away from her on the beam. “I shouldn’t have done that. You have a soulmate, and I have a soulmate, and I’m sorry—”

“Don’t be,” she tells him honestly, reaching out to grasp both of his hands and pulling him close. “I… needed that. Thank you.”

There’s a smile on his lips and a soft look in his eyes, and suddenly something clicks . At the very sight of him, Marinette’s heart fills with joy, and she can barely speak. Flustered thoughts, half-finished sentences spill from bloodless lips, cheeks warm from Chat Noir’s heavy gaze. She can’t function right.

Her skin burns where her partner’s claw tips etched feather-light words into it. It’s a book of truth on the back of her palms, a tangle of secrets that lock it shut, like her hidden diary no one must know about.

Black against the dark night, eyes shining like the moon, he stares at her like she’s his North Star and can lead him home.

It’s how her father looks at her mother.

It’s how soulmates look at each other.

  *

  “Are you feeling better?”

Morning classes slip slowly by, the clock barely ticking as they settle into their free period, and yet Adrien still feels the need to bring the world to a standstill. Marinette trains her gaze on her notes to avoid Adrien’s quizzical eyes, pencil scratching a random design in the margins of her paper—anything to distract her from the conversation that’s long overdue between them.

“I’m fine.”

Papers shuffle as Adrien shifts in his seat, resting elbows on the table as he props his head up in his hands. “I’m ready to talk now… if you want.”

Around them, the library drones on in a mid-day lullaby to the tune of books sliding off shelves and keyboards clacking on computers. Silver sunlight seeps into the room through the window on the wall, shrouding Adrien in a golden glow like a halo. He looks as perfect as he pretends to be. The library is lively, the light holy, and Adrien’s almost ethereal.

But Marinette longs for the night when she can don a mask, hide in the shadows in the dark city, and be with her partner who is chaos incarnate. Darkness lets her hide, but at the same time, she’s never felt more vulnerable.

“There’s nothing to talk about. I just drank too much and said some stuff I shouldn’t have.” Marinette shrugs, idly turning a page in her notebook. “Sorry, it won’t happen again.”

“Marinette, look at me.” Shifting in his seat, Adrien grabs her by the shoulder. “Please… talk to me.”

“Adrien, I just…” Taking a deep breath, she leans back in her chair and finally looks at him. His eyes are glimmering with emotions she can’t name, can’t understand. She wonders if she looks the same way. “I don’t even know what to say.”

Because her heart is hurting, and she doesn’t understand anything anymore.

Adrien bows, seeming to crumble in on himself. “Okay,” he says, because that’s the kind of boy he is. He won’t press her if she doesn’t want it.

He’s kind, he’s considerate, he’s perfect. Anyone would be lucky to have Adrien Agreste as a soulmate, so why can’t she fall for a boy like him?

There’s silence, and then Adrien slips in: “You know I love you, right?”

It’s him : sweet, short, and simple. It hurts though.

It doesn’t matter to Marinette that their timers zeroed out on a street corner and that fate has decided their meant to be, because fate also made her Ladybug and gave her Chat Noir, so fate obviously has some plans for her that extend beyond the typical soulmate scheme. What matters is that Marinette is even more confused than ever, and she’s hurting two people she cares deeply about, and she just doesn’t know what else to do.

“I know,” she tells Adrien, but she won’t return the sentiment.

She can’t lie anymore.

(She just can’t .)

 *

  “What’s your favorite color?” Marinette asks Adrien two days later. It comes out of the blue, a passing fancy that leapt to the forefront of her mind, and suddenly it’s the single most important thing she knows.

Adrien looks up from his spot on her bed, tousled hair falling into his green eyes, reminding her eerily of Chat Noir for a moment. But then he’s shaking his head, and the moment is gone.

“Blue, I guess?” he says, but it comes out like a question. “Why?”

“Just wondering,” she supplies, turning back to her homework.

There’s silence between them, and then Adrien asks, “What’s yours?”

“Pink.” Gesturing to the room around her, full of pink and cream, she can’t stop the soft smile that stretches across her face. “I don’t know if you can tell.”

Adrien’s rolling his eyes, laughter spilling from his mouth. “I never would’ve guessed.”

She laughs too. It’s the most honest conversation they’ve had with one another.

“Favorite food?” she asks.

Instead of answering, Adrien quirks an eyebrow in confusion. “Why the sudden interest in my favorite things?”

Marinette glances at Adrien, her heart thundering in her chest. “I just want to know. Is that a crime?”

“No,” Adrien replies. Brows furrowed like he can’t understand the situation (and neither can she), he props himself up on his elbows, dropping his pencil against his notebook. “You already know these things though?”

“No, I don’t,” she says to him. I don’t know anything about you , is what she doesn’t say.

“I’ve told you all this before—months ago.” Adrien’s voice is growing louder, eyes growing tired. “Or were you not listening to me?”

And oh .

Her mind goes back a week ago to the night at Chloe’s party, where the alcohol was a truth potion she couldn’t afford to take but did, and words were exchanged on both sides of a war where neither knew they were fighting. Marinette remembers her accusations—how they never talk, how Adrien never listens, how she doesn’t know who he is.

It turns out things weren’t as perfect as Adrien liked to pretend they were.

“Do you really want to do this?” she asks.

“You’re the one who wanted to talk,” he supplies, closing his book. “So I’m just giving you the opportunity, like I’ve trying to do all week.”

Shame bubbles in the pit of her stomach. Avoiding people probably wasn’t the best course of action, but she’d made a pact not to lie. Confronting how she feels about Adrien and Chat Noir isn’t something she’s sure she’s ready to deal with; however, like with most things in her life, fate decides for her.

“I’m sorry,” she starts off, but Adrien is already shaking his head.

“You’re always saying that.” He’s sitting up now, running a hand through his hair in irritation. “Stop it.”

“Well what do you want me to say?” she asks.

“What you meant that night at the party, how you feel like you don’t know who I am.” Adrien stares at her for a long moment, trying to organize his thoughts. “Is that really how you feel? Like you don’t know me?”

Marinette looks at him steadily, eyes dark in the half light of soft twilight. “There’s nothing else to say. I don’t know you.”

“But you do ,” he presses.

“But I really don’t ,” she says. “Everything I know about you is something I can find in the back of a magazine, in some article about you. It’s surface stuff, really. I know you speak Chinese and your favorite color is blue, but I don’t know the things that matter . I know nothing about your family, what you want to be when you grow up, or even that you were allergic to feathers… which, I’m still really, really sorry for.”

His expression softens as he waits for her to continue.

“I know it seems stupid, but those things really matter to me,” she tells him, pressing a hand to her chest, right over her heart. It throbs painfully in reply. “When people talk about soulmates, I think about my parents—who know everything about each other, who’re so incredibly happy together, who can pick up on anything, like when they’re happy or sad or upset… And I don’t have that with you.”

There’s a pause. Adrien shifts so that his legs are dangling off the edge of the bed, bumping the beams of the metal ladder. There’s a faraway look his eyes, emotions she can’t discern swimming in their green pools. Inside, she feels hollow.

“Sorry,” she says again, because what else is there to say? They’re both a mess. “I guess… I’m just tired of trying to figure you out.”

“I’m your soulmate,” Adrien tells her. “Isn’t that enough?”

Marinette shakes her head, huffing softly. “There’s so much more to soulmates than just a name. At least, that’s how it is for me, and I just can’t… I don’t know who you are. You’re too perfect, like you’re constantly wearing a mask, and I can’t see behind it.”

“Maybe you’re not meant too.” His voice is easy, his words evasive.

“And I have a problem with that.”

It hurts that Adrien still isn’t being open with her, even in the face of her confession. Bringing their cracks to light is supposed to allow them a chance to fix things—that’s how these things are supposed to work out. Life, however, as she’s quickly realizing, isn’t like the fairytales she grew up hearing about. Though she’s known this for a while, reality still fucking hurts when it finally hits you.

“Well what’re we supposed to do about it?” His face is blank; she can’t read him.

“I don’t know.” If she did, they wouldn’t have ever reached this point.

“I can try… harder,” he offers weakly. “I can be someone that you’re—”

“Don’t you get it yet?” Marinette snaps, eyes burning holes into his, like she’s trying to see inside him and find what makes him tick—what she’s been trying to do for months. “I want you to be you. I don’t want whatever façade you’re trying to show the media, or for you to feel like you need to hide things. My soulmate isn’t Adrien Agreste, some prestigious model for his father’s fashion company. My soulmate is Adrien, the stupid boy who ran into me on a street corner and tried to take chewing gum off my seat.”

“I…” Adrien’s voice trails off.

“What?”

“I always thought you hated me,” he says, but it comes out soft and distraught. “F-For the chewing gum thing. I’ve been trying to make up for it.”

“What’s there to be mad at?” She cocks her, quirking an eyebrow. “You were trying to help me. You were being nice. You’re…. always nice. It’s kind of annoying sometimes, if I’m going to be totally honest here.”

“I’m… too nice ?” Adrien struggles to understand her words, blinking hard. “That’s your problem with me?”

“No, no, that’s not what I said—”

“Well that’s what it sounded like!”

“Damn it, Adrien, that’s not what I meant, and you know it! ” She slams her hand on her bed rail, the metal shaking and piercing like a siren in the empty room.

“You want me to be a jerk, Marinette?” She can only stare at him in a stunned silence as he whirls around, lips curled into a frown and eyes narrowed like he’s in pain. “You don’t want me to be perfect, you don’t want me to be nice, but you don’t want me to be a jerk. This is my problem with you! I don’t understand you!”

Marinette clenches her hands into tight fists. “I don’t want you to be anything , I just told you—”

“Yes, yes, I heard you,” he says, frustration tinging his voice. “That’s the thing though: you always say words, but none of them ever make sense. It’s like a game I can’t win, trying to figure you out. Sometimes you’re so stiff, like you’re trying too hard and just going through the motions. And other times it’s like I see… a new Marinette, someone who isn’t afraid to be herself and have fun and be… happy .”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she responses heatedly, cheeks flushing.

“It means that you say I wear a mask, but you’re no different.” Adrien’s nearly screaming now, but she can’t stop him. It’s already too late. “I know you have your secrets, and I respect that. We don’t have to tell each other everything. But don’t be a hypocrite and say I’m the only person wearing a mask when you do too!”

Marinette wants to say: I’m trying so hard to be perfect because I want you to feel comfortable with me. I just want to get to know you because, from what little I’ve seen, you’re a pretty incredible person.   

She wants to say: You’re my soulmate, and that means something to me.

She wants to say: I could love you someday.

She says, “I kissed someone else.”

Adrien stares at her. “What?”

Marinette is breathing hard. “I… I kissed someone else.”

“Why?”

“Because…” And does she even have an answer for him? “Because I love them, and they’re someone I really need right now. I don’t have to pretend with them, not like I have to with you.”

“Oh.” His voice is tired and raw, like he’s already accepted it.

…and what else is there to say? She can tell from the look on his face, eyes red-rimmed and lips pursed in a resolute expression that he’s already made his choice. Whatever might have been between them—any spark that they could’ve kindled into something brighter—it’s gone now, snuffed out like a candle’s fragile flame. Marinette’s done the one thing she didn’t want to do—ruined everything.

“…I kissed someone too,” he says after a while.

She flinches at his words. She doesn’t mean to, doesn’t have the right to. It still hurts though because she’s his soulmate, and he’s hers —just like Chat Noir is her partner.

“Why?”

“Because they understand me, and I think…” His voice trails off, but Marinette doesn’t need to hear the rest. I think I love them .

There’s silence between them. Neither want to be the first to break it.

After a while though, the tension is too much, almost unbearable. “Are you mad at me?” she asks.

“What’s there to be mad about?” he says, an echo of her earlier statement. “I did the same thing.”

There’s silence again until she says, “Do you… ever think that timers made a mistake with us?”

Adrien gnaws on his bottom lip, trying to sort through her question. “I think… That the timers told us who we’re meant to be with, but it’s up to us to make it work.” He looks up after a pause, eyes inquiring. “...And it’s not working with us, is it?”

It’s quiet again, just like every meaningless conversation they have, but it doesn’t feel like there’s as much of a distance between them this time. This confession has been a long time coming— this Marinette knows—but it still leaves her feeling hollow inside. Somehow though, they’ve managed to build a bridge between them with the pieces of their broken relationship, and it’s the closest they’ve ever been.

“Adrien,” she finally says in a soft voice. “Has it ever worked with us?”

Her words are the final hit to break everything between them. It rains down in shattered shards, a glass thunderstorm indoors. Adrien doesn’t respond.

And… that’s that .

  *

  The twin spires of Saint Ambroise Church are stark against the black sky when she looks out over the city, the Eiffel Tower glowing further beyond. Ladybug can see for miles from where she stands. She’s on a rooftop miles from the Champ de Mars next to a crumbling brick chimney after a long patrol, the sky dark and dreary above her, clouds hanging heavy on the horizon. It’s something Ladybug never realized she often took for granted. Clear skies are a rarity during the night, but when she’s always needed them most, they’re there —the moon to light the way, the stars to grant wishes.

(She has no more stars to count. No more wishes to cast.)

This time, Ladybug has been avoiding Chat Noir ever since they kissed, ignoring any ping! to her contact, much to Tikki’s frustration. It’s been a few days of peace and quiet, without the usual akumas or other major crime, and Ladybug couldn’t have been more thankful. She doesn’t think she could handle any more stress to her already burdened life right now.

“You’re a hard one to track down when you don’t want to be found,” Chat Noir greets her as he lands on the chimney she’s leaning against. Slipping down so that he’s sitting on the structure, he casts her a wry smile. “And don’t bother lying: I know you’ve been avoiding me.”

Ladybug hunkers lower, shoulders folding forward as if to hide from her partner. It does little though. He’s still here, the warm press of his body against her own, and she can’t run anymore. “Sorry,” is all she can offer.

“Come here, bug.”

There’s hands on her shoulders that turn her around until she’s between his legs in front of the chimney. The tips of his toes bounce against the bones of her hips in tune to her pounding heart, bu-bump bu-bump bu-bump ringing through her ears. Chat Noir loops his arms around her and pull her close, face pressing into the top of her head, and she simply tries to breathe.

“I didn’t mean to,” she murmurs into the crook of his neck.

Chat Noir shakes with low laughter. “I don’t blame you. I’ve been scared too.”

“I just don’t know what to do,” she tells him when he finally releases her, staring up at him with red-rimmed eyes, seeing the same look mirrored back. “Where are we supposed to go from here?”

“I’m not sure, Ladybug.” It’s clear he’s as lost as her.

“Why’d you kiss me?” she suddenly asks, the question striking her out of the blue.

Chat Noir is taken back, mouth falling open as he fumbles for a response. “W-Why’d you kiss back?”

“Because I wanted to know,” Ladybug tells him truthfully. She won’t lie anymore.

His eyes search hers for an answer she’s not willing to part with just quite yet. “What?”

Instead of replying, Ladybug steps closer until their faces are a hair’s breadth away from one another. Her curious hands seek the skin of his throat, fingers slipping through the unzipped-portion of his collar, the street lights glimmering against his gold bell. His eyes dart from her gaze, to her exploring hands, and to her lips. Both linger, a moment of hesitation, poised on a precipice of indecision where neither is ready to take the plunge.

With a sharp breath, Ladybug pulls him towards her, nearly toppling him off the top of the chimney, molding their bodies together until there’s not a breadth of space between them. Lips crash in the middle and they kiss—deeply and fully—until she’s breathing in everything he can give her.

She has a fistful of shirt in one hand, the other sneaking up to tangle in the messy blonde locks at the nape of his neck. It pulls a moan from his mouth, a purr from his chest, and she can’t help but smile into the kiss. Suddenly, though, he’s pulling away, peppering her jawline with short kisses, until she’s shaking her head to disengage.

Both rest their foreheads against each other, harsh breaths tangling between them, visible to the naked eye in the chilly, evening air. It drifts away like smoke to a fire.

“I needed to know…” Ladybug continues, panting against him, “how I felt about you, and… if you… felt the same.”

Chat Noir closes his eyes tightly. “Don’t you know yet, bug?”

She’s shaking her head because how can she? “No, no, how could—”

“Don’t you get it yet?” he asks her. “It’s you . It’s always been you .”

“And your soulmate?”

“It’s hard to be in love with two people,” he tells her. “And I don’t know what to do.” His eyes shimmer under the Paris moonlight. “Please tell me what to do, Ladybug.”

I don’t know how to be in love, she wants to say, but she knows the situation. They’re both lonely and lost and hurting, unsure of what the tremulous feelings inside truly mean. Only acting on what they already know: Ladybug and Chat Noir are partners, and they love each other. Their soulmates are questions they don’t have the answers too yet.

Instead, she kisses him again. Lips press together, hurried and hungry, desperate for a touch that their soulmates can’t give them on their own. It’s confusing and maddening for Ladybug because she still doesn’t understand. How can she love someone the universe has told her isn’t hers?

Nothing makes sense anymore.

Ladybug wonders if maybe she should just stop asking questions.

  *

  Marinette will never admit it, but she’s always dreamt of having a soulmate she could love unconditionally and with ease. She’s held onto that dream for as long as she can remember, ever since she knew what a timer meant. Watching her parents love, she sees how simple it is, how easy.

It’s what she’s always wanted.  

It’s why it hurts to end it the way she does.

Marinette meets Adrien that following Monday and hands him a brown paper bag. Hesitantly, he takes it and opens it, face going pale when he sees what’s inside. It probably answers a lot of questions he had when she removed it.

“It’s my timer,” she tells him, even though he’s already seen it. “I want you to have it.”

His eyes dart to the scar on her left wrist. It’s covered by a cuff now, so he can’t see it.

“No one has to know,” she says, the months of frustration and pain and denial rolling off her back with every word. “We can keep it strictly between us, or we can pretend it never happened. Really, it’s up to you. It’s our business anyways.”

“You got it removed,” is all he can say. “I was wondering why my timer suddenly went blank.”

She flashes him a sheepish grin. “I’m sorry if I worried you.”

Adrien shakes his head. “No, I ran into Nino and asked about you. He’d just come from the bakery and saw you, so I knew you were fine. I just though the timer had malfunctioned or something.”

“I’m sorry,” she says.

“Stop that,” Adrien admonishes, but there’s nothing hard in his voice this time. “You’re always saying that, but you never need too.”

“I do though,” she protests. “I’ve been hurting you, and you didn’t deserve it.”

“I haven’t been any better.”

“Maybe so,” she says. “I guess we’ve both kind of screwed this up.”

Adrien tightens his grasp on his bag and her timer. “I guess we did.”

Marinette still doesn’t understand. Getting rid of her timer seemed like the best idea at the present time, but she’s still full of regrets and questions that she’ll never get answers too. Adrien isn’t the person that can answer them either—only she can.

The final warning bell rings, and students milling around outside flood the school building. Neither of them make a move to walk to their class though. Instead, they stare at Marinette’s timer, her scarred and cuffed wrist, and they wonder what the next step is.

The silence is what pushes Marinette to act. On trembling legs, she sits down on the stone steps and gestured for Adrien to join her. Shaky fingers pluck her timer from his hands and place it beside them, the white device stark against the ugly brown bag. Without it, she feels lighter, as if she could float away, but her heart, full of her feelings and certainty, has grounded her.

Adrien is warm next to her. His presence is tense, shoulders too stiff and straight, and his eyes are dark and heavy. It’s clear that removing her timer has hurt him. Suddenly, Marinette’s skin feels too tight around her bones, which creak! and crack! every time she moves, like she’s too old and worn to give the wherewithal to live. Her actions have aged her.

Her fingers trace the edge of her cuff. “You do mean a lot to me, you know.”

“Really?” he asks her, voice curious. Inside, something breaks because Marinette had never meant for him to feel like her feelings for him were a lie.

“Of course,” she says, tapping the paper bag between them. “The point is, though, I don’t need a timer to tell me that. I don’t care about you just because you’re my soulmate, and I’m not trying to force myself to care either. This is something I am wholeheartedly choosing on my own —fate has nothing to do with it.”

Adrien fixes her with a puzzled stare. “I guess that’s… good?”

“I think that was my biggest problem with us.” Out loud, the confession shakes her, echoing on in her hollow chest. “I felt like I was supposed to love you, and that something was wrong with me when I couldn’t. The truth was staring me in the face the whole time though: I can’t love someone I don’t know. Just because we’re soulmates doesn’t mean we have to be in love.”

At her words, Adrien turns to the empty street in front of them, gaze distant and lost. “So where does that leave us?”

“I don’t think I’m ready to be your soulmate right now,” she tells him honestly. Cocking her head, she fixes him with an intense stare, eyes searching. “Are you okay with that?”

“I have to be, don’t I?” he says bitterly, nudging the bag with the side of his shoe.

“I’m not saying that I don’t want to be your soulmate,” she corrects. “I’m just saying that I’m not ready. There’s things I want to do, questions I have… People who...” Her words trail off, unsure how to finish that sentence.

“That person you kissed,” he says, “you want to see what that’s about?”

“I...” She doesn’t know what to say to make this better, but she knows she should leave him with something . “He’s really good for me, and I need that right now. We can’t keep pretending like things are okay, Adrien, and we’re just hurting ourselves trying to go through the motions. With everything going on in my life right now, I need someone who I know and who knows me.”

“You’re right,” Adrien tells her. “You’re absolutely right.”

Her heart flutters in response. “Thanks.”

“You know I love you though? Like that’s something I’m certain of.” His eyes are imploring her to understand.

“I know,” she says, clasping his forearms. “And you know I care about you too. That’s one thing that’s never going to change. Even though we’re not together right now, who’s to say that we’re not going to be together in the future? You’re still my soulmate, Adrien, even if I’m choosing something different right now.”

“It sort of feels like you’re choosing someone else,” Adrien confesses, voice soft and fragile, and Marinette hopes she won’t break him. “That you don’t want me as a soulmate.”

“That’s not it at all,” she clarifies. “I’m not choosing him over you—I’m choosing me . I’m choosing to take the time to… learn about myself and what I want. And I’m sorry, but I just can’t do that with you right now.”

“Because I’m still learning myself too,” he tells her without prompt.

Marinette smiles softly. “Yeah, exactly.”

“…And this other guy,” he says, “He’ll help you?”

“Yeah.” Cocking her head, she stares at him with an inquiring expression. “And the girl you kissed? Is there anything…? You didn’t say much about her.”

“I love her too,” he says simply. “I don’t know why, but I do.”

Marinette glances up at the stone and steel gate around the school building, at the trees peering over the top, and the blue sky high above. For the first time in a long time, she feels free. “I want you to get that chance to find out. That’s why I’m giving you this.”

“You’re letting me go,” Adrien says.

And who knows , Marinette thinks to herself, maybe, if we’re really meant to be, we’ll come back to each other someday.

“So where does that leave us then?” Adrien asks.

“I don’t know about you, but I’d love to be your friend, Adrien, and get to know you properly.”

He shakes his head, pressing his lips into a thin line. “I guess we did sort of forget that part when we met. Going from strangers to soulmates probably didn’t help.”

Marinette can only laugh. “Yeah, probably.”

“Well, if that’s the case…” He holds out a hand to her, the same one that holds his timer. “My name’s Adrien Agreste, and I’d like to be your friend.”

“God,” she snorts, laughter shaking her body. It’s sudden and explosive—like a firecracker—and suddenly she feels so alive. Adrien’s never made her feel this way, and it’s funny that it occurs after she’s already burning her bridges. “You’re so corny.”

“I prefer cheesy,” is his only response.

“Why?”

“… I promise this is a very good and genius pun if you understood it.”

“God, fine, okay. If this is how you wanna play it…” She clasps his hand with hers, her cuff heavy on her wrist. “My name’s Marinette Dupain-Cheng, and I’d love to be your friend too, Adrien.”

“No strings attached?”

“What the hell? This isn’t a one-night stand, Adrien.”

“One-lifetime then.”

Things are perfect.

(This time, Marinette won’t argue.)

  *

  The evening is quiet.

They sit next to each other on their favorite rooftop, tucked away in an older neighborhood that they’d found once during their joint patrols. In the distance, they can see the dome of the Pantheon and the twin spires of Saint Ambroise Church, the lights of the Eiffel Tower glowing gold against the burning backdrop of the Paris sky, everything so perfect and wonderful. The scene is some idyllic moment one might find in a romcom movie, right before the two lovers share their first and fated kiss.

This isn’t one of those times, but Marinette can’t help but dream.

Chat Noir pulls her close, and she leans back against his torso. Hands fall to her side, trailing over his abdomen and the long, corded muscle beneath the fabric of his suit. Thighs pressing against her knees, arms looped around her waist, warm breath tickling her cheek—it’s the most comfortable she’s felt in a long time.

( It’s funny , she thinks, I feel at home in his arms .)

His lips press a soft kiss behind her ear, laughter spilling into the space between them. She can barely withhold a shiver. It’s not because of the cold.

This isn’t something she’s ever gotten the chance to experience with Adrien. In all the ways Adrien Agreste is reserved and hesitant, Chat Noir is tactile and expressive, familiar with her body in a way her soulmate can never be. It’s not like she ever truly gave him the chance though. Marinette recalls the fight she had with Adrien when she told him about her parents, how they had developed a language between them after years together, and that’s how her and Chat Noir have always been—since the very beginning.

Perhaps that’s why their relationship is so scary. Why is it so much stronger than what she had with Adrien? Why does their partnership transcend soulmates?

Even though her and Adrien have gone their separate ways, she’s still left with many questions. The separation, though, is giving her a chance to find the answers she desperately seeks, and she’s not stupid enough to turn that down. It’s why she ended things in the first place.

Now she gets to explore things—with Chat Noir.

(She hopes she’s made the right decision.)

Pigeons coo a nameless tune somewhere overhead, in the crevices of buildings, tucked away in stone affairs and hidden from view. Sinking deeper into her partner’s warm embrace, they sit and watch the sunset as soft twilight burns away into night, and Ladybug can’t think of anywhere else she’d like to be.

Chat Noir finally breaks the silence, puffing hot breaths against her cool skin as he speaks, “So what’re we doing here, Ladybug?”

She knows what he’s referring to. She’s be stupid not to.

“Whatever we want to,” she tells him, voice low. “I just know I love you, and I want to be with you. I guess it just depends what you want.”

Thumbs stroking her hip bones, Chat Noir sighs into her hair. “I want to be with you too. I just…”

It’s his soulmate, she knows.

He wasn’t exactly forthcoming with what went on between them, but as far as she knows, his soulmate ended things yesterday. Much like Ladybug and Chat Noir, it appears that his soulmate is having trouble accepting the hand that fate dealt her. Marinette can’t exactly blame the poor girl. Chat Noir only tells her that his soulmate needed time to come to terms with a few things. At fifteen, they have their whole lives ahead of them, so much to do and live through. Sometimes they aren’t prepared to confront their future and forever at such a young age. Things don’t always work out the way they’re fated to, but Marinette is quickly learning that that’s alright too.

Soulmates—whether they’re together or not, whether they’re romantic or platonic, whether they’re close or far apart—they’re still important. They still mean something. They still matter.

“How much do you love her?” Ladybug asks him.

Chat Noir is silent for a moment before he replies, “Enough that it hurts to lose her.”

His answer causes her to stop and run shaky fingers over her wrist. She thinks of Adrien’s face when he saw her bare wrist: pale and lost, like he had no idea what was happening. He can’t understand why she removed it—she supposes, if the time comes that they’re ever together again, she’ll put it back.

It’ll always read 0000 d 00 h 00 m 00 s. It still works—there’s just nothing to count down to anymore.

A claw-tipped finger joins hers, tracing over the spot where her timer used to be. She knows he can’t feel anything beneath it. The cuff disappeared with the Miraculous. “It’s okay to hurt,” he tells her suddenly, squeezing her tighter against him, “if you regret it.”

“I don’t regret anything,” she says. “I know I’m where I need to be right now.”

Silver moonlight peeks through the sparse clouds decorating the evening sky, a sliver of light falling over them in an allayed line, like a compass pointing North—to home, to each other. Ladybug closes her eyes and leans back against her partner, feels his heartbeat through the fabric of her suit, and tries to imagine a world where they’re soulmates. Perhaps it would’ve made things easier, perhaps she’d still be in the same boat.

Either way, what matters now is that she’s happy, they’re together, and this is the story where she learns to fall in love.  

It’s as simple as that.

“I love you,” he says.

Instead of answering, she shifts her weight until she’s facing Chat Noir and presses her lips to his in a tender kiss. They come together like they’ve fallen into each other’s orbit and can only hold fast in the free fall. Her hands loop around his neck as he pulls her closer, and they sit on that rooftop against the hard brick of the chimney and kiss. Lost in each other, lost between soft lips and the wet slide of tongues, the hard clack of teeth as they take in as much as the other has to offer.

They’re just kissing and kissing and kissing.

Pliant and eager, so willing to fall with her, Chat Noir curves himself around the shape of her body, hands trailing down until they settle at her hips. He holds on tight as if he’s afraid she’ll leave, and the thought causes her to smile into the kiss. They’re so close together, not a sliver of space for any fear or doubt or hesitation—by now, they’ve made their choices, and both are living with the blessings and consequences that come with it.

“I love you too,” Ladybug whispers against his lips, and for the first time since she’s said those words to someone, she actually means them.

In her chest, her heart won’t stop crashing against her ribs, but it doesn’t hurt, so swollen with love and joy and happiness. Chat Noir’s pulse races into her fingers as they come around to cradle his face, tracing his jawline, and she knows he feels it too. It’s this new territory they’re paving a path into, exploring what it means to be with someone of your choosing, learning how to fall in love with someone you know and who knows you in return. Nothing can take this feeling away.

Chat Noir finally pulls back, pressing their foreheads together as they both try to catch their breath, which comes out in harsh gaps, visible in the evening chill like a fog. His green eyes are bright, ears stained red from the cold, cheeks rosy with a warm blush. Ladybug knows she looks the same way.

“So this is it?” he asks. “We’re doing this. We’re seeing where this goes.”

Ladybug nods against him, shoulders still heaving forward as she gulps in air for her burning lungs. “Yes, yes. This is what I want, this is where I want to be. I want you, I just want you .” She’s kissing him again—hard—desperate for more.

Marinette has spent too long yearning. It’s her turn to finally have .

By now, the sun has dipped below the horizon, everything dark and quiet. Paris is beautiful and familiar and comfortable and perfect, and their quaint little rooftop is the only place she wants to be.

At her hip, Chat Noir’s timer blinks out a steady zero. Miles away, her own timer blinks in tandem beside Adrien’s bed, laid lovingly in a wooden box that contains his mother’s jewelry, where everything precious and important to him goes.

Her heart pulses in time with both.

Their shared zeroes tell a story about love and heartache, about secrets and magic, about all the things they can’t quite understand yet.

Only time will tell.

Fate has a funny way of working things out.

*

#miraculous ladybug #ladynoir #adrinette #ml fic #miraculous #theoncomingcroat #my writing #my fic

[ninjacat1515]

Mortal Might

(For @capitanarmandosalazar )

His flesh was burning; the skin cracking and searing from the contact of the silver. The chains kept him from moving more than a few feet in any direction. Armando was on his knees, afraid for his life. A fear that had not made itself known for centuries; locked away in his youth. Even the cold, empty chill of the Triangle had not brought the possibility of death to the table.

Some sort of metal device was locked onto his face; as if he was a rabid animal. It stung his gums and tongue; preventing him from speaking. The slayers did not seem to wish to hold a conversation; or even act like Armando was a sentient being. The captain had expected tedious speeches on how evil and wrong vampires were. He had expected screamed threats in his ear and spit on his face.

Nothing came of the sort. The men spoke evenly to each other, occasionally throwing Armando an emotionless glance.

“How much longer will we keep it? I don’t care for this city.”

“Ethan, patience. The job will be done as soon as the weapon is ready. Needs to be tested before we can start circulating it to the others. Don’t want it to fail...”

Salazar felt pure panic, and he made every attempt imaginable to remove the metal gag and chains. But his strength was sapped, and the agony too great. Who would care for Henry? What would become of his beloved? Would the same people seek young Turner out?! He did not wish to die, let alone die and leave Henry behind. Not how things were supposed to be....he was not fragile, he was mighty.

A few tears slipped from his eyes, and Armando curled up, allowing his long hair to shield the slayers from bearing witness. The door opened, and a piece of machinery was wheeled in. It resembled a crude harpoon of sorts, but it was a gleaming silver; bristling with blade like barbs. There was a scent present that was unmistakable. Liquid silver. Lurking inside the monstrous device, was pure poison.

“Time to face the might of mortal ingenuity, captain.”

The slayer known as Ethan, strolled up and patted the brutal collection of metal; bringing forth a touch of emotion in the form of a satisfied smirk.

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

The hideout was close; a clever locale nestled in the back of a market front. Bit of a risky move, and it signaled a growing desperation in the slayer community. Henry Turner gripped the handle of his hunting knife; mind focused on eliminating the men who had snatched Salazar in the night; catching the captain by surprise and overwhelming him. The crew was enraged, but the anger of Armando’s amor, surpassed theirs.

He had braved stormy seas, endured pirate attacks, and tamed a ferocious vampire straight out of a nightmare. Henry could take anything the slayers had up their sleeve. He was going to get Armando back, and an army could not deter him. People saw him, and noticed only a gentle spirit; a kind young man that was to be trusted and coddled.

The first slayer to meet his knife, a fellow who carried two pistols, didn’t even have the time to react as he felt the blade go across his throat; a swift assassin from the shadows. His body was in plain view. Henry wanted them to know exactly what was coming, should anyone stumble across it.

Second slayer was a middle aged woman; a tall and imposing creature who bore a long sword and rifle. Henry demonstrated his fighting prowess, defeating her within a few minutes. Lucky for him, screaming out warnings would draw the ire of sleepy residents, which carried the danger of exposure. The woman fell; blade twisting out of her chest as Turner extracted it. 

Heavy hands seized him from behind, but the young man was ready; dropping his center of gravity and thrusting his knife backwards into the gut of his attacker. He pivoted about, slashing the slayer’s throat as if dancing with the knife. His mother’s lessons in combat carried him through. The days of not harming a soul were over. But he did not enjoy it in the slightest. Simply a grim task that must be completed.

Kicking in the door, he pulled a pistol out; eyes taking in the dimness and hunting for motion of any sort. Room was empty. But voices could be heard, and they were aware of his presence. Henry crept up, bringing his ear to the wall. Two men and a woman. And....someone else...in chains. His heart skipped. Salazar was a mere few rooms over. A second door brought him into a weapons room.

A blacksmith’s shop; much like his father owned. Only without the warmth. Despite the fires, it felt dreary and most unpleasant. Horrible arrows and harpoons lined the walls. Jars liquid silver made his insides churn, and his love for Armando overflow.

Salazar was slumped  in the center of a separate chamber; chains maintaining order and safety for the cowardly slayers. Henry’s eyes carried a stare that made Ethan take a step back.

“Who the hell are you?!”

The corners of Henry’s mouth twitched as he flashed on a memory from a few years ago.

“Death.”

Ethan was shot point blank, the homemade silencer muffling the noise from waking the surrounding residences. A young woman snarled, throwing herself at Henry. She was taken out of the equation a moment later, a bullet between the eyes.

The last one made an attempt to fire the weapon, but only received a knife in his hand. Young Turner wasted no time; shoving his opponent to the floor and wrapping a length of dusty rope around his wrists. Secured to a pillar, Henry left the slayer and flew to Armando’s side; tenderly cupping his face.

“I missed you captain....” he kissed his cheek, going to grab the keys to unlock the hideous metal mask.

It came away with cries from Armando through clenched teeth; some flesh peeling off and sticking to it. But Salazar was a force to be reckoned with, and was already starting to show signs of healing, now that it was off his face. Henry helped his love stand; supporting the vampire as they made their way to where the head slayer was.

“Next time you slayers harm my captain, I will not be as merciful as I was tonight.”

He let Armando take the miserable fellow. The last thing the slayer saw was a proud Salazar, shark’s smile and all before he was drained and left to rot. Letting the body fall, Armando sighed in contentment; injuries gone. Henry had come to his aid; and had conquered his enemies beautifully. Truly the perfect man, and the real mortal might in these parts.

The walk to the hidden cart was a quiet one. Armando was free of the slayers, and free to be with his amor. But the notion he had been captured, taken while off guard, was maddening and mortifying. Henry picked up on his thread of troubling thoughts; reading the discomfort on his stoic face.

“Captain, I don’t want you to worry. You are still a legend....caught off guard or not. The crew are going to be ecstatic. I think a celebration is in order.”

Armando embraced him as they settled into the cart and urged the horse into a gallop towards the port. Their second home was not far.

#captain salazar #henry turner #dmtnt #vampire au #henry x salazar #I imagine Henry could kill if pushed far enough