#I refuse to cut out parts of my identity for your comfort

[theaawalker]

I Will [Finnick Odair x Reader]

Pairing: Finnick Odair x Reader Song Inspo: Meet Me At Our Spot by The Anxiety Word Count: 2,713 Series: 1 | 2 | ? Summary: it's been years since Finnick was reaped. He came out victorious, as you'd prayed he would, but then disappeared from the public eye. It wasn't long before the Capital revisited District 4 for its next competitor. Fast-forward, you're the winner of the 75th Hunger Games, and can barely sleep. When the Capitol unveils its next phase for the Games, you're thrusted back into survival as old habits return... as do old friends. Warnings: cuts, use of blades, surveillance, depression, female rage, mentions of prostitution, mentions of murder, making out, mentions of sex Masterlist: see fandoms (pc-friendly)

You've been back for three weeks now. It feels like three years. You are the victor of the 75th Hunger Games. Your life is even worse than it was before your games, which was not meant to be part of the deal. Your entire family was dead. When you refused Snow's offer to make you a prostitute he killed them all. You thought he was bluffing. You thought he was bluffing. You thought he was bluffing. Now, you spend your days perched on your windowsill looking down onto the bottom floor, watching the other victors live. It provides minimal comfort knowing just because your life has taken a giant halt no one else's has. The only time you move from this spot is to go to the bathroom. Your legs are so stiff from minimal movement that you must hang onto the wall to steady yourself. You haven't showered. You've barely eaten, discounting canned foods. You're still in the clothes you wore when you arrived back. The only difference was a massive woolly blanket, providing some warmth in your cold, depressing room.

Someone comes over twice a day. You don't know who it is because you never actually look at them, eyes glued on the window. It's not because you're purposely ignoring them, but because you're lost in your own empty nothingness. And, as hard as you try, you can't fight your way back to reality. Whoever it is delivers your food.

Today was different though.

You hear them come in and remove their shoes. You hear them ramble through the kitchen for omething. After a while, their footsteps come towards you. You feel them put a hand on your slump, left shoulder. This is unusual but the difference is that you feel the urge to see who it is. You want to know who has been taking care of me. You want to know. So you find out.

"Welcome back to Earth, my dear." They say seductively with, face blurred by your unused vision.

"Finnick?" My voice all scratchy from no use.

"Wow," the blonde man said, "way to thank your mentor. But, fawn away, my dear!"

A wipe of the eyes reveals their true identity. A blonde man, indeed, but not yours. You've seen him on television during the 74th Hunger Games, often at the hip of its victors Katniss and Peeta.

"I know you."

"I'd sure hope so." Haymitch chuckles, stepping away to some stuff on your bed, his back to you.

"You... you've been helping me?"

"Of course. I couldn't let a pretty, little trainee like yourself starve, now could I?"

"Train for what?"

Haymitch paused. "You didn't see the news, did you?" You slowly shook your head, clutching your blanket. "Oh, jeez." The older man sighed. He grasped his mouth and stood silently, contemplating his next words. Having found them, he knelt in front of you as if you were a goner. "I'm sorry, kid... you're up next."

[ time skip - an hour later ]

An hour. That's how long Haymitch gave you to have a meltdown. You exploded with the pain, anger, and power of a thousand nukes. You obliterated your room - never careing for it anyways. You would've destroyed the building had physics not failed you. While you finished off your rampage with a primal scream, Haymitch waited outside the door and checked his watch.

Then he knocked. "Uh, kid. Time to go." You flung your door open and glared at him, eyes low and insides dead. "Hope you saved some of that rage for your combat."

The two of you head to the bottom floor. The elevator ride is quiet, and anyone who hops on ogles at you. Your hair sticks to your sweaty face. Your eyes are sunken and baggy. Your adrenaline is falling but you're still shivering. You look like a wild cat in captivity; tired, bitter, and vengeful. But worst of all, trapped.

You get to the ground floor and follow Haymitch to god-knows-where. Passing by training victors and their mentors doesn't faze you. You've played this game before. You won. You weren't confident you'd do it again, you just didn't care.

"Let's test out that fire on a target." Haymitch brought you to an assortment table of knives, spears, swords, and blades. He waved a finger across them. "Take your pick."

You grabbed the mezzaluna knife and peeked at your reflection. Your eyes... you'd be scared of you too.

You used to be so sweet and naive. You cared about others, maybe too much. You were selfless, self-conscious, and spineless. Killing people in an arena will take that from you. In a way, one of those victims was the old you.

'Rest in peace,' you thought.

"O-kaaay." Haymitch side-eyed you. "You ough to warm up before-" Your knife hit the bullseye with a sharp thud. "...Or not."

You threw the knife over, and over, and over until your palm sliced open. By Haymitch's advice, you took a breather and sought bandage. First aid wasn't a priority in the training hall, so you had to wander to find some proper wrappings. You didn't care if looking around made you appear clueness, or crazy, or weak.

A permanent "vacation" didn't sound so bad.

On your search, you saw Katniss Everdeen talking to someone by the rope stand. All you could see was his back and blonde hair. 'Peeta looks taller than on tv.' You thought to yourself.

Katniss looked over his shoulder, straight at you. You nodded, and she nodded back, a semblance of respect established. Her boyfriend watched her stare for a moment before turning around. By then you'd already looked away.

As you think about heading back, something within you begs you to stay. To look again, for whatever reason. Having nothing to lose or gain, you turn your head, which takes a lot of energy, and actually look and see who it is. You nearly faint as it's the person you never expected to see.

Finnick Odair.

He's squinting as if to make sure it's you. Then his eyes widen. At the same time, you both start for each other. The announcement feedback rings out, stopping you and him in your tracks. You step back and idle by, moving eye contact to the cement ground.

"Attention, victors. Let me be the first to welcome you," you didn't care to listen to the rest. All your mind could think about was Finnick. You hadn't seen him in almost 6 years, when he was torn from you and reaped. Just when he'd learned you two shared a soul mark. You pulled your sleeve down to hide it, paranoid a councilperson will see and tie you to Finnick. "but most of all, make your districts proud. Happy training! And may the odds be ever in your favor."

You try not to cry as the speaker ceases. Biting your lip, you peek back at Finnick's spot. His chest rises as he's huffing and staring at you, begging to be reunited. He looks so much older and buffer. His tan only complimented his gorgeousness. You had to have him.

But you couldn't, breaking your gaze. Not without drawing suspicion. So you bury alive your longing, conjure the numb beast born in your Hunger Game, and march over.

"Either of you know where to find wrappings?" You said, indirectly talking to Finnick but looking at Katniss. This was your way of tricking the cameras.

"I wouldn't, no." Katniss replied, scanning your body for the injury.

"I would." The man of your dreams said. Katniss looked at him, but you kept staring at her. "There's a kit cabinet, corner-east of the elevator. Should hold you down till the day's over."

You swallow the frog in your throat. It would be the first time you'd spoken to him since the day you lost him... You'd pictured that very moment countless times. The worst of circumstances had delivered. You couldn't even look into his eyes. Those beautiful, sea-foam eyes. You couldn't feel his eyes on you either. President Snow had control of you both, despite being nowhere nearby. It was no secret that man loved two things: using people as pawns and tearing people apart. You'd die before you let him do that to you and Finnick. Not again.

"And what if..." you cleared your throat, "what if I need another wrapping later on today?"

Finnick got quiet, picking up your breadcrumb. "There's a storage closet on the second floor. End of the hallway on the left. No one goes up there. Shouldn't be any eyes on you."

Eyes being cameras or guards, you understood. "Thanks."

Finnick started to say something else, but you walked away. Had you'd stayed any longer, you surely would've broken character and gotten the two of you killed.

[ time skip - later that night ]

Night fell and you were longing for Finnick's touch. Haymitch had finally fallen asleep, proved by his obnoxious snoring across the hall. You threw off your covers, revealing your blue, silk pajamas, and creaked open the door. Left, no one. Right no one. Empty hall. 'Thank God,' you sighed and tiptoed down it. The elevator button dinged and you jumped. You checked behind you, expecting your mentor or a guard. Empty hall still.

The elevator ride felt slower than usual. You lived on the 8th floor, so the 2nd floor shouldn't have taken that long. Then you remembered, making your face freeze and heart stop. There were cameras in the elevators. You curse yourself but evade looking at it. You should've taken the stairs. You hoped Finnick had.

'Finnick...'

The doors opened on the second floor. You walked out, almost robotically, and turned to the hall's end. 'End of the hallway on the left. Storage closet.' Finnick's words echoed in your head. You repeated it like a mantra as you headed that way. You finally got the storage closet door, no sign of entry. You reached for the handle when a dangerous feeling invaded you. You hadn't seen this man in nearly 6 years. You weren't the same, and perhaps so was he.

What if Finnick was deceiving you? 'No.'

What if guards are waiting behind the door?' No, he'd-'

What if Finnick was working with Snow? 'No, he'd never.'

How could you be sure? 'I'll prove it.'

You threw open the door and dove inside. Had you Finnick not caught you, you would've crashed into him. It was dark and dimly lit by a dying lightbulb. You saw illuminated Finnick's outline - his shape, really - but that was all. Not ideal circumstances, but they'd do.

"Y/N..." He was still holding you by the forearms. "Were you followed?" His voice read as serious, edging on emotionless.

"No." You said, hiding your dismay. For a moment, you regretted not bringing your knife. He had a hold of you, ambushed in a dark, small closet, in the middle of the night, and towered over you like Goliath.

Then a flashlight turned on under you. Once you saw his face, all the fear and paranoia dissolved.

"Good." He said charmingly with a sweet, gentle smile resting on his tan, god-like face. Suddenly he drops his Capitol self and you see another person not Finnick Odair but just Finnick. "I missed you s-"

You hugged him like you've never hugged anyone before. He rocked you side-to-side and you squeezed him tighter. You both chuckle as you break apart and look at each other.

"Gosh, Finn. You look so different." You gawked at his, well, everything.

"So do you, Y/NN." Finnick observed you with a sweet smile of disbelief. "Guess running for your life will do that to you." He joked, making you giggle.

Then it grew quiet as cruel reality set in.

You were both murderers. Both slaves to the Capitol. Both stuck inside a world you hate. Both surrounded by people you don't like. Even if he hadn't said it, his face told you. It had affected him too.

Your hands caress his cheeks as you mutter, "I wish things were different."

"I know what you're going through. I understand. And I felt terrible that I left without telling what," he sighed, "what you meant to me. I couldn't help you during your games because the Capitol wanted me to… take care of other business and Mags helped me a lot when I came home. So I should've looked for you, should've helped you, should've tried, because you deserve it."

You were too exhausted to cry. You contemplated aplogizing for not telling him about the soul mark. It happened so long ago that you couldn't recall if you'd said sorry then. When he was reaped and ripped away from you. So, you changed the subject. "You know why he killed my family, right?"

"Yes. Yes, I know why".

"You're a prostitute?"

"...Yes."

"To protect your family?"

"At first like you I refused then he killed my mother. The only family I had that was blood. Then he threatened to kill Mags. So I did it."

"I thought he was bluffing."

"I did too." Then Finnick's eyes fell to the ground, riddled with shame and uncertainty. "So... you don't mind? That I, uh..." his brows furrowed in angered remembrance, "that I'm... what Snow makes me do?"

You finally muster the courage to kiss him. His lips are salty and oh so plump. They mesh with yours perfectly. He grabs your face and deepens the kiss. You pull away to breath, eyes still closed and smiling. You licks your lips, relishing his citrus taste before being pulled into another kiss. Your heads move as your mouths devour each other. Your hands explore his back, sometimes tugging at his tanktop. He slides his tongue across your teeth, begging for permission. You open your mouth wide and let him slip it inside you. You suck on his long tongue and listen to his moans. As you suck and savor his slippery glossa, the idea of sex claws as you. You didn't want to soil the moment by [redacted]-ing Finnick.

Plus, you didn't have any condoms.

You let go of his tongue, which he rolled back into his smirking mouth. He dove in for another kiss but you caught his chest.

"I don't want to do it right away." You told him. You watched his face of arousal disappear, replaced by calm, and an understanding nod.

"I get it." He tucked your hair behind your ear. "We can stop here if you want."

Tears you resented stung your eyes. You bore into his chest, thoughts distant. "I don't think we can."

"Hey, hey," Finnick lifted your face, "what's wrong?"

"We're both victors, Finnick." You sniffled. "Do you really think they're gonna let two victors win again?"

It was true. Peeta and Katniss had gotten lucky. You and Finnick wouldn't be so, not if the Capitol could help it. The love you had would be destroyed, killed in the 76th Hunger Games. Not just the love between you, but one of you... one of you had to die.

"We'll find a way. Listen, listen to me. We will find a way. There's 59 days till the Games. We'll come up with a way to survive. Hide till it's over, fake our deaths, escape - whatever it takes. O-okay?" He plastered a weak yet hopeful smile. He brought your foreheads together. "I'm not losing you again. We just have to have faith. Okay?"

"We can't-"

"Promise me, Y/N. Please." Finnick begged, speaking and breathing softly. "Promise me you'll have faith in me. In us. Promise you will."

Every fiber of your being ignites. Faith didn't exist in the Hunger Games. Precision. Skill. Wit. Violence. Vigilance. Survival. That's what reigned. That's what would get you through the day. You hated doing it that way, but it had worked in the past. What Finnick was asking you was to basically abandon the protocol. To go against logic and defy the future, pretty much ensuring your demise. Could you trust what he was saying, or were your prior suspicions accurate? Could you use that against him, trick him as well? You just knew this wasn't going to end well, whatever happened. But for now, you'd play pretend.

"I will."

• ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ • ♧ •

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[a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all]

Wrong Bat

Winter Whumperland: Day 10. Abducted

Fandom: DC, Batman, Jason Todd, Red Hood, gn!reader

Summary: Someone discovers your boyfriend is part of the Batfamily so you are abducted and tortured for their identities. Too bad they didn't realize which Bat you were dating.

Word Count: 1229

TW: Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Capture, Rescue, Slight Blood, Slight Beating, Shoulder Dislocation, Tied by Wrists to Ceiling, Mentions of Guns

Whack.

Your head snapped to the side as yet another blow slammed into your battered body, this time your face. You tasted blood as your lip split open, just another injury to add to your growing list. The chains that were suspending your arms above your head rattled as your momentum caused you to sway slightly with your bare toes dragging across the floor. Your shoulders were screaming out in pain but you refused to give your captures the satisfaction of crying or groaning. You just had to hold out a little longer….

The lead man, the one who introduced himself as Fisher, grinned as you lifted your head and he saw the blood running down your chin. “You had enough yet? Or do I have to mess that pretty face up even more?”

“Go to hell,” you growled.

Fisher muttered something to his men in a language you didn’t understand, but whatever it was made them all laugh. Turning back to you, he said, “Just one name and we will free you. It doesn’t have to be your bat boyfriend, any one of them will do. Tell us a single one of their true identities and I won’t have to keep hurting you.” 

Glaring daggers at the man before you, you hissed, “You idiots think you’re so smart using me as bait. But just wait until he comes for me. When he’s done, you’ll be lucky if you can even wipe your asses by yourself.”

Fisher pulled a long knife from his belt and twirled it playfully. “Oh yeah? And what’s he gonna do? Bust in here and hit us with his little sticks?”

The other men started to laugh again but the sound died down as they all saw the wide, bloody smile spreading across your lips. Spitting out a large glob of red-tinted saliva, you said, “Wrong bat, asshole. My boyfriend’s the one who uses guns.”

As if on cue, the glass ceiling above you shattered, and a large figure dropped heavily to the floor. Slowly rising up to his full height amongst the dust and debris caused by his entrance, Jason looked like your own personal demon rising from the depths of hell to rescue you. In some ways, it wasn’t a completely inaccurate description. 

“Hey, baby,” you said as he turned towards you. “Welcome to the party.”

Though Jason was wearing his helmet, you could feel his eyes scouring your body, cataloging each and every cut or bruise they had given you. You gave him a small nod to let him know you were okay but the rage emanating off of him was so intense it was almost a visible wave of fury. Giving you his own nod in return, he turned towards the men as he drew his guns.

You couldn’t see a lot of what was going on from your position, but you heard the screaming and gunfire. Cursing silently under your breath, you just hoped that Jason could restrain himself somewhat in his current rage-fueled rampage. The last thing either one of you needed was to deal with Bruce’s outrage over the death of one of these assholes. 

After a few minutes, the sounds began to dwindle until the room was mostly silent save for the occasional low moan of pain. Then you heard the familiar sound of heavy combat boots stalking in your direction and Jason’s helmet suddenly appeared before you. Slipping it off to reveal the small red domino mask underneath, he cupped your battered face in his hand.

“Are you okay?” Jason asked as he gently ran his thumb over the bruise on your cheek.

Leaning into his touch, you murmured, “I am now. Thanks for coming to get me.”

“Every time,” he said, pressing his lips to your forehead. “But let’s not make this a habit, alright?”

You chuckled. “Aww, but I love seeing you in action.”

“Then watch the bodycam footage from the Batcave.” He dropped his hand and turned to examine the bodies strewn around the room. “Which one’s got the keys?”

You nodded your head towards Fisher. “Inside jacket pocket.” 

As Jason bent down and began digging through his pockets, Fisher started to raise his head with a groan. However, a quick punch to the face made him unconscious once more.

“You have no idea how much I’ve been wanting to do that,” you said as Jason returned to your side with the keys.

He didn’t respond as he unlocked your cuffs and you collapsed into his arms. Your legs felt numb after hanging for so long and Jason wrapped his arms around your waist while you regained your footing. Once you were able to take a few steps on your own, he slowly released you.

You tried rolling your shoulders but between the stiffness and pain, you quickly gave up that idea. However, Jason must have seen your expression because he reached out and ran his hand lightly over your shoulder. “Where’s it hurt?”

“Just all over. My shoulders are stiff from hanging like that for so long and I think the left one might be dislocated. Also, my ribs are pretty bruised, but I don’t think they’re broken.” You ran your fingers gently across your midsection and groaned 

Jason stepped closer and brushed his lips against the edge of your ear, “How about I take you home and give you one of my deep tissue massages? I’ll even use that expensive lotion that you like.”

You closed your eyes and hummed, “Mmm, don’t threaten me with a good time, mister. You know what your massages do to me.”

“That’s what I’m hoping for.” He nuzzled his nose deeper into your hair. “A deep massage, followed by a long bath together, and then we’ll see where the night takes us.”

“That sounds like Heave– AH!” you cried out as Jason suddenly grabbed your arm and shoved your shoulder back into place. However, the blinding pain only lasted a few seconds before fading to a dull ache, which was a huge improvement from moments before. “Thanks.”

Jason nodded. Reaching out, he swiped his thumb across your chin and when he removed it, you saw it was covered in blood. Jason stared down at it as he growled, “You have nothing to thank me for. I’m the reason you’re here in the first place.”

Grabbing his chin between your finger and thumb, you forced his head up so he was looking at you. “Hey, this wasn’t your fault, it was mine. I got sloppy and let someone see us together while you were in the suit. Then I wasn’t paying attention and let them grab me. I should’ve been more careful. But I’ll be fine, babe. Because you saved me. Okay?” He nodded softly and you released his face. “Good. Now take me home. I seem to remember you mentioning a back rub? And afterward, maybe I’ll think of some way of repaying you for saving me.”

Jason grinned. “God, I love you.”

“I love you too, babe.” Despite the split in your lip, you pressed your mouth against his. 

As he kissed you back, Jason pulled out his grappling gun with one hand and wrapped his other arm around your waist. Holding you tightly, he fired the gun and the two of you were lifted up out of the warehouse and into the night.

Taglist: @nik2blog, @dumb-fawkin-bitch, @lolzghost, @thefictionalcharacterssimp, @venomsvl, @sugarysweetsandpainfulteeth, @your-friendly-neighborhood-al, @hellfire-fan-club, @blue-aconite

[galaxyedging]

1 am ramblings. Frankie x GN!Autistic reader.

Warnings: none.

People think of Frankie’s Standard Oil cap as ever present. For the most part, it is. After the army, Frankie grew his hair long. It was his own little way of reclaiming himself and trying to reclaim what was lost.

Throw Frankie into the pilot seat of any vehicle, and he'll get where he needs to go. That he's sure of. When it comes to styling his hair, he is completely lost and directionless. His soft, wayward curls are stuffed under his cap. Until you come along.

Time is put aside each week to condition and detangle his curls. You rake your fingers through his tresses distributing product while massaging Frankie’s scalp. It's blissful and Frankie has to admit his hair looks good. His opinion is confirmed by all the admiring glances he gets. It takes about a week for the cap to reappear. He wears it everywhere yet still insists that you look after his hair. The process feels so intimate that you can't deny him. Even if you are confused by him covering up his beautiful curls.

One night, when Frankie asked can you do his hair, you have to refuse. The whirl of the bathroom fan, the harsh glow of the lights, the thought of the products between your fingers and the warm, damp air, it's all too much to think about after a long tiring day.

“Frankie, I…” in that moment it slips, the mask you wear that is just as much a part of your daily wardrobe as Frankie’s cap is part of his. Normally, just as Frankie’s cap is slipped off and hung up as he enters your home, your mask comes off too. Today it still stays in place after you having to keep it in place even more than usual.

As soon as it begins to slip, Frankie sees it, the bone deep exhaustion. The mask you wear is heavier on some days than others. Some days it seems light but the weight of it catches up. Frankie remains silent as he guides you to the sofa. Wordlessly, he lays you down. Lifting your feet, he tucks them up under you. Then he covers your curled up form with a blanket. The TV is put on low with your favourite show playing. Frankie sits in the chair to your left. He does nothing but provide comfort. After a nap, he makes you a simple, hearty meal. Then he waits.

“Apparently I don't look Autistic.” There it is. That's what had you clinging to your mask. It wasn't just there to hide the stims, or the expressions that might seem impolite, or the difficulty in making conversations seem effortless. It was there to hide the pain. The frustration. The disappointment. Having to lay yourself bare to be seen.

Frankie holds you close and tries to sympathise. He thinks of the times he's clean shaven, his curls cut off and his skin hasn't seen the sun for a while. He can pass for white so people make assumptions. They deny his heritage, a part of his identity. Frankie knows it all runs much deeper than that with you but he's trying. You can feel it, you always do.

“Thank you.” You smile against his chest that he has you pulled close to.

“For what?” He kisses the top of your head.

“For trying. For being here. For being my safe space.” You squeeze him just a little bit tighter.

“Always.” He soothes his hand up and down your back.

“Frankie? Why do you still wear your cap, even when we do your hair?” The thought just tumbles out with your guard down.

“I don't like the looks I get. People stare. I feel…” he purses his lips, searching for the right word. “...exposed. I guess. I'm not used to people looking at me like that. The softness in their gaze. I'd rather wear my cap and share my curls with you.”

“So I'm your safe space, too?” you tilt your head up to meet those deep brown eyes.

“You always have been.” His lips find yours in a soft kiss.

It's funny when you see yourself as broken. You don't realise that even when you don't feel like you can fix yourself, you can mend someone else.

[nevereverthem]

HP one-shot : partners / friends

🫱 [Mattheo Riddle × Draco Malfoy] 🫲

Warnings : none.

Length : 2k

We need to talk...

It's your decision

Imagine if Mattheo Riddle, the son of Voldemort, was studying at Hogwarts as a young ‘spy’. Nobody knew about his real identity, except from the insiders. Draco, being a newbie death-eater, was now aware of his classmate’s status. He already respected the guy, but it got ‘worse’ when he learned who he was.

Today, Mattheo sent him a note to meet in an abandoned part of the castle. When the clock ticked, Draco was exactly where he was asked to be, anxiety crippling in his chest. He knew the dark lord had a mission waiting for him, and he feared the time had come, that he had sent his son to deliver the message.

Mattheo was standing right next to a window, gazing outside, observing the night sky. “You came.”

Draco kept a fair distance from him. “Of course I did!” He sounded way too scared for his own liking. He cleared his throat. “I mean… Why am I here?”

“I would like you to help me.” His monotone voice prevented the blonde from guessing his intention.

“Anything!” Again, a bit too loud. “Hum… whatever he wants me to do.” Deep down, he wished it was just some stupid teenager drama that he honestly missed. It was all so trivial and comforting compared to the shit tone of terror it was to live with a mad man creeping around in his house.

Mattheo continued. “The request is not from my father. It’s from me.”

Draco’s brows furrowed in confusion. He hesitated a second. “I… what’s the matter?”

“I’m in a relationship.”

The blond let out a slight huff, relieved and intrigued by his declaration. “And..?” When Mattheo revealed the name of his lover, Draco could not believe it. His eyes grew wide. “But she’s-”

“Muggle-born?” His eyes finally met Draco’s. They were dark, filled with a dozen feelings that the blonde couldn't distinguish. “Don't you dare give me the mud-blood speech, or I'll rip your tongue out!”

Draco pressed his lips together, shutting his mouth. He gulped loudly, freezing in place.

“You’re not allowed to judge me for something you don't even believe in yourself.”

Draco tried to argue but he was cut short. “Oh please, quit your shit! I noticed how you look at Granger when you think no one's watching. You’re like a child fighting the urge to eat the snack his parents forbade him to.”

The boy looked utterly offended, a false expression of disgust tore his face “I don't like HER! She’s-”

“What!? Smart, pretty, sassy and powerful? The last time I checked, it sounded like your type of girl!” Draco was silent. “She’s also reasonably wealthy for a muggle. If her parents were born with magic you would already be dating her.” The blond opened his mouth to intervene. “Maybe not… but you’d be a bit nicer to her.”

“That’s not-”

“It’s easier to destroy the things you want, rather than admit it hurts to know you can never have them, right?”

Draco held his gaze but he just couldn't speak. Memories of the few past years appeared in his mind. He saw the day Potter refused his handshake. When he first mocked Weasley, and picked on Granger… He felt powerful. That got him allies to mess with other students, laughing at them and causing trouble. Now that he was in all this… he couldn't even tell them… It wasn't fun, it wasn't what he wanted anymore… Did he ever want it? Yes, he did… but it didn't feel right anymore…

As if Mattheo could hear his thoughts, he continued. “I ignore people. It doesn't mean I do them wrong. You, on the other hand, did a pretty great job at being a jackass. I heard bullies are just bastards who want attention. That may be the case for you. Although, I’m sure witnessing a bunch of murders cured you. Am I right? It doesn't feel as right to pick on the weaker as it did before?”

Draco looked away. His body itself refused the discussion.

The dark-haired continued his monologue as if he was by himself. “Muggles aren't that bad. You may think I'm crazy or brainwashed by ‘love’, but don't get mistaken. It's not because you’ve been told to hate some kind of people your whole life that it’s right to do so. They're okay. Some are kind, others are egotistical assholes. It’s just like our own world! I must say, you wonder how they manage to live this old without magic, knowing how clumsy they can be. It's pretty impressive.” He seemed lost in his thoughts, info-dumping about an interesting subject of his. “You’re one of the best students here, right? You enjoy learning.” The blonde looked back at him, frowning in confusion. “If you just took the time to learn a few things about them, you’d realise how mistaken we all are…”

Draco huffed, faking exasperation. “Are you trying to recruit me on Potter’s side, or is it a way to test my loyalty? If that’s the case I-”

“Maybe I'm like him. I’m hateful and cruel… but I won't fight for the same shit as my father does!” Draco was lost at this point, lost between fear, disbelief and incredulity. “You think I enjoy watching him kill innocent people? Never have, never will.” Draco’s nails digged in his palm. “I know you don't either. I saw the expression on your face. You tried hard to be a total jerk. You definitely succeeded, no problem with that. But I know you're not a murderer.”

Draco tried to remain composed. “If I have to-”

“Could you kill her? The muggle-born you supposedly hate!”

Picturing Hermione, badly injured, struggling in a pool of her own blood… He felt his throat close on itself, restricting the oxygen’s entry…

Mattheo didn't stop. He had to make his point, had to make him understand. “Could you even kill Potter, or the Weasley? Could you look them in the eyes and tear the life out of them? Could you actually cast the spell and end their life with your own wand?”

That sole idea made panic increase his breathing. A strangled sound slipped out of his lips “I-”

“It’s no use lying to me. I'm not asking you if you have to, or if you sometimes want to. Could you actually do it?” He needed an answer.

Draco held his gaze again. He didn’t want to be perceived as weak. He was not. But he knew Matt was right. As much as he grew to hate the trio and their little lot… he couldn't go that far… he probably went already too far… but there was a line he would be incapable of crossing… mur- just the thought of the word made him sick to his stomach. Tears gathered in his eyes when images of professor Burbage being executed right before his face passed in his mind… He shook his head the slightest that he could, a subtle movement that Mattheo caught.

He nodded in return, noticing the reflection in the boy’s shining eyes. “You can call me weak if you please, but I do think the girl I'm with makes me stronger every day. She makes me so strong that I'm ready to turn against my own father for the first time…” Draco was thoroughly listening. “We’ve shared a whole lot of things, but she's never seen me cry.” At that remark, the blonde tried his best to blink his own tears away. “I can tell or hear the most heart-wrenching thing in the wizarding world, and I wouldn’t shed a single tear. I physically can't.” Draco wished he had the same ability. It would have saved him a lot of sleepless nights. “I know you do. You’re not as discreet as you think when you sneak into the bathroom at night. Some may think you’re going for a midnight wank or something, but we both know that what we’re in suppresses this kind of fancy from our body.”

Draco raised his eyebrows, nodding in agreement.

“So, please do. Do cry all you can. You're feeling something important and I don't want you to push it away.”

Draco received the advice and didn't add anything. No response. No comment. He wasn't planning on crying more than he already was, but maybe this would help him feel a little less ashamed the next time he did. Strangely enough, Mattheo also went mute. Maybe his mouth felt dry from all the talking. The boy just went on a full monologue about rights and wrongs…

After a moment, it was Draco who broke the silence. “You… your girl, she doesn't fear for her life?”

Mattheo was pulled out of his thoughts. “About?”

The blonde sighed heavily. “I’m sorry to remind you but… you're the dark lord’s son.”

Mattheo looked away. “She doesn't know…”

“But-”

“I know. I’ll have to tell her. She's gonna know anyway. It’d be better if I'm the one breaking the info…”

“I wouldn't say ‘better’. It’s a shock when you find out.” Draco reminisced about the day he first saw Mattheo at a death-eater meeting. He was across the table, sitting right next to his father, Volde-...

“Yes… I just hope not to sound like a manipulative muggle-hunter traitor if I tell her myself…”

The mutual understanding floated in the air…

“What will you do if she… rejects you when she knows?” Draco asked.

The boy responded with no hesitation. “I’ll leave her alone.” Draco felt the need to object but Mattheo was faster. “Wouldn't you have doubts about your partner if you just learned they were actually related to a dangerous association led by a genocidal monster who’s actually their own father?”

The blonde’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. He couldn't deny it. Then he asked. “...What are you gonna do?”

“I don't know. I’ll prove myself to her. I’ll stop him. Whatever I have to do…” He sounded determined and sure of himself. He had nothing planned for now, but the sheer resolution that emanated from him was enough to believe he would never go back. “Will you help me?”

Draco was shocked when he heard the question. That was his request then… the reason they were standing in a dark corridor in the middle of the night…. Was he ready to switch sides? Was Matt asking him to join Potter’s little group or what? Absolutely not! The implications were making him nauseous, but… Was he actually gonna make it on this side? Would he be able to do whatever the dark lord was to ask him?... He already knew the answer… His parents? His dad was far long lost when Draco was just a child… When he learned about all of this… he remembered conversations he eavesdropped that didn't make any sense at the time… now everything was perfectly clear. His mom… She was sucked into the same beliefs and probably was doomed to the same path… though he was certain he had noticed something… He wished he could know… know what to do… know they were all gonna make it safe and sound… One particular moment lit up in his mind. It was a Christmas Eve night, when he was only 9. He remembered it perfectly as if it was yesterday. His mom was actually baking, the muggle way, now that he thought about it, while his dad was casting spells away to decorate the manor… He knew things could never be this way again… but he would do anything to feel this relaxed and carefree just for one second. He had to try… He would also prove stupid Potter that he was no better than Draco Malfoy! And that detail was non-negligible.

Mattheo was waiting for his answer. They were not going to dethrone his father, just the two of them, that was for sure. However, he knew that Draco could have sensitive information. The boy was the embodiment of ‘walls have ears’. Plus, obsessed with Potter as he was, he would be able to gather information on the other side’s intentions.

Draco lifted his head, staring into Mattheo's eyes with the same determination he displayed a moment ago, a hopeful glint in his eyes. “Where do we start?”

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

Hi,

This is a little idea that I had and wanted to share. ~

I never expected it to be this long, but here I am with a 2k random idea. 😌

I hope you enjoyed it. ~

Feel free to drop likes and comments. ~

XO

Update : Do you want a sequel?

Harry Potter Masterlist

[a-reader-and-a-writer]

Wrong Bat

Winter Whumperland: Day 10. Abducted

Fandom: DC, Batman, Jason Todd, Red Hood, gn!reader

Summary: Someone discovers your boyfriend is part of the Batfamily so you are abducted and tortured for their identities. Too bad they didn't realize which Bat you were dating.

Word Count: 1229

TW: Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Capture, Rescue, Slight Blood, Slight Beating, Shoulder Dislocation, Tied by Wrists to Ceiling, Mentions of Guns

Whack.

Your head snapped to the side as yet another blow slammed into your battered body, this time your face. You tasted blood as your lip split open, just another injury to add to your growing list. The chains that were suspending your arms above your head rattled as your momentum caused you to sway slightly with your bare toes dragging across the floor. Your shoulders were screaming out in pain but you refused to give your captures the satisfaction of crying or groaning. You just had to hold out a little longer….

The lead man, the one who introduced himself as Fisher, grinned as you lifted your head and he saw the blood running down your chin. “You had enough yet? Or do I have to mess that pretty face up even more?”

“Go to hell,” you growled.

Fisher muttered something to his men in a language you didn’t understand, but whatever it was made them all laugh. Turning back to you, he said, “Just one name and we will free you. It doesn’t have to be your bat boyfriend, any one of them will do. Tell us a single one of their true identities and I won’t have to keep hurting you.” 

Glaring daggers at the man before you, you hissed, “You idiots think you’re so smart using me as bait. But just wait until he comes for me. When he’s done, you’ll be lucky if you can even wipe your asses by yourself.”

Fisher pulled a long knife from his belt and twirled it playfully. “Oh yeah? And what’s he gonna do? Bust in here and hit us with his little sticks?”

The other men started to laugh again but the sound died down as they all saw the wide, bloody smile spreading across your lips. Spitting out a large glob of red-tinted saliva, you said, “Wrong bat, asshole. My boyfriend’s the one who uses guns.”

As if on cue, the glass ceiling above you shattered, and a large figure dropped heavily to the floor. Slowly rising up to his full height amongst the dust and debris caused by his entrance, Jason looked like your own personal demon rising from the depths of hell to rescue you. In some ways, it wasn’t a completely inaccurate description. 

“Hey, baby,” you said as he turned towards you. “Welcome to the party.”

Though Jason was wearing his helmet, you could feel his eyes scouring your body, cataloging each and every cut or bruise they had given you. You gave him a small nod to let him know you were okay but the rage emanating off of him was so intense it was almost a visible wave of fury. Giving you his own nod in return, he turned towards the men as he drew his guns.

You couldn’t see a lot of what was going on from your position, but you heard the screaming and gunfire. Cursing silently under your breath, you just hoped that Jason could restrain himself somewhat in his current rage-fueled rampage. The last thing either one of you needed was to deal with Bruce’s outrage over the death of one of these assholes. 

After a few minutes, the sounds began to dwindle until the room was mostly silent save for the occasional low moan of pain. Then you heard the familiar sound of heavy combat boots stalking in your direction and Jason’s helmet suddenly appeared before you. Slipping it off to reveal the small red domino mask underneath, he cupped your battered face in his hand.

“Are you okay?” Jason asked as he gently ran his thumb over the bruise on your cheek.

Leaning into his touch, you murmured, “I am now. Thanks for coming to get me.”

“Every time,” he said, pressing his lips to your forehead. “But let’s not make this a habit, alright?”

You chuckled. “Aww, but I love seeing you in action.”

“Then watch the bodycam footage from the Batcave.” He dropped his hand and turned to examine the bodies strewn around the room. “Which one’s got the keys?”

You nodded your head towards Fisher. “Inside jacket pocket.” 

As Jason bent down and began digging through his pockets, Fisher started to raise his head with a groan. However, a quick punch to the face made him unconscious once more.

“You have no idea how much I’ve been wanting to do that,” you said as Jason returned to your side with the keys.

He didn’t respond as he unlocked your cuffs and you collapsed into his arms. Your legs felt numb after hanging for so long and Jason wrapped his arms around your waist while you regained your footing. Once you were able to take a few steps on your own, he slowly released you.

You tried rolling your shoulders but between the stiffness and pain, you quickly gave up that idea. However, Jason must have seen your expression because he reached out and ran his hand lightly over your shoulder. “Where’s it hurt?”

“Just all over. My shoulders are stiff from hanging like that for so long and I think the left one might be dislocated. Also, my ribs are pretty bruised, but I don’t think they’re broken.” You ran your fingers gently across your midsection and groaned 

Jason stepped closer and brushed his lips against the edge of your ear, “How about I take you home and give you one of my deep tissue massages? I’ll even use that expensive lotion that you like.”

You closed your eyes and hummed, “Mmm, don’t threaten me with a good time, mister. You know what your massages do to me.”

“That’s what I’m hoping for.” He nuzzled his nose deeper into your hair. “A deep massage, followed by a long bath together, and then we’ll see where the night takes us.”

“That sounds like Heave– AH!” you cried out as Jason suddenly grabbed your arm and shoved your shoulder back into place. However, the blinding pain only lasted a few seconds before fading to a dull ache, which was a huge improvement from moments before. “Thanks.”

Jason nodded. Reaching out, he swiped his thumb across your chin and when he removed it, you saw it was covered in blood. Jason stared down at it as he growled, “You have nothing to thank me for. I’m the reason you’re here in the first place.”

Grabbing his chin between your finger and thumb, you forced his head up so he was looking at you. “Hey, this wasn’t your fault, it was mine. I got sloppy and let someone see us together while you were in the suit. Then I wasn’t paying attention and let them grab me. I should’ve been more careful. But I’ll be fine, babe. Because you saved me. Okay?” He nodded softly and you released his face. “Good. Now take me home. I seem to remember you mentioning a back rub? And afterward, maybe I’ll think of some way of repaying you for saving me.”

Jason grinned. “God, I love you.”

“I love you too, babe.” Despite the split in your lip, you pressed your mouth against his. 

As he kissed you back, Jason pulled out his grappling gun with one hand and wrapped his other arm around your waist. Holding you tightly, he fired the gun and the two of you were lifted up out of the warehouse and into the night.

Taglist: @loverhymeswith, @babblydrabbly, @11thstreetvigilante, @merlehs,@mayhem24-7forever, @sunshineflowerchild789, @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy, @schaarfyx, @happinessricardotapia

[kalgalen]

Open letter to my mother

(or, a rebuttal to the 1k email my mom sent me about my upcoming transition. Tw: transphobia, self-harm)

First, and I say this will all the love in the word (and an healthy dose of disbelief): what the fuck is wrong with cis people?

I'm gonna skip right over the fact that you had the gall to call this a "text analysis" when you actually dedicated only one paragraph to actually describing the text I got published and used the rest to utterly dismiss my community and I. That disappointment, though, is nothing compared to the anger and grief that the rest of your email has awaken in me.

You talk about respect, but you refuse to respect my decision to make my own body more comfortable to me. Worse than that, you disrespect my friends by deciding you get to be the judge determining who conforms to your outdated ideas on gender enough to be allowed to transition. How dare you?

Speaking of daring, how dare you imply that we, the LGBTQIA community, need to be more tolerant and inclusive of people who don't understand us? Do you realize that in many cases it means they want our death? You're a white woman. You've never had to deal with a huge portion of the population wanting you to stop existing, or at least to stop "putting your identity in everyone's faces" - aka, essentially, to (hope you guessed it) stop existing. I'm not asking for understanding from every single old crusty conservative guy, just that they leave us the fuck alone.

You make wild assumptions about me in your email. Do you really think my therapist helped me accept myself? I only came out to her last year when I decided to medically transition, because I was finally confident in my ability to make that choice. We had never talked about gender before. Why would you want to take that away from me? Why would that "self-respect" you're talking about entail me going back on my steps? Why can't it be about me embracing my identity, making my body mine in a way that doesn't involve self-harming?

On that subject, you've never shown concern when I was cutting into my arms on the daily. You acknowledged it, sure, but what did you do except demand that I stop? You have no right to criticize my choice of changing my body. You lost it long ago.

You encouraged me to get a breast reduction last year when I started the process of wanting to transition. You still thought I was cis then, but since it was a surgery for cis people, it was fine and dandy. Now that I want to cut it all off so I don't have to deal with binders anymore (which are indeed quite dangerous for the person wearing them, not to mention uncomfortable) you believe you can go against that. You have to see how irrational that is.

You talk about detransitioners but I'm willing to bet you haven't done more research past "some people regret transitioning." Do you know most people stop transitioning because of transphobia? You, cis people, are killing us one way or another.

Why do you fucking think you can explain gender to me. "We all have a part of masculinity and femininity inside of us" yeah no kidding?? You're telling that to a nonbinary person, that's the whole concept (although not only - but I won't get into it since it'll just confuse you more.) You dare "explaining" to me what androgynity is and why it would "fit me more". You think your couple of hours of half-assed research are enough to compare with my lived experience? With my discussions with like-minded people? With decades of self-determination by a community that is older than you? Also fuck you for implying I've only decided to call myself nonbinary because it's "fun". You don't know anything.

You ask me if sexuality is involved in choosing a gender - and it might be for some but newsflash, trans gay people exist. Additionally, I am asexual - not that you bothered to do research about that. "Before loving a sex we love a way to be, a philosophy, a way to think" fuck off I've known that since I was old enough to fall in love.

Anyways. You'll never read this, because you would only think I'm throwing a tantrum - because you're so sure you're right, and not ready to listen. Whatever, I don't give a shit. I will try and answer your concerns later when I'm not so pissed off, but for the moment I cannot help you.

Lovingly, your child.

[makshu]

Ok so this is going to be another analyze about Osomatsu (because yes and because I have it in mind and I need to write it down before I forget)

I'll talk about Osomatsu's relationship with crying and sad moments in general, long post after cut

(Oh and- at some point I got lost so none of this probably makes sense- read at your own risk)

I think by this point everyone knows that Osomatsu is a somewhat a complicated person- and if you can please try to remember a time when you saw him crying... hard right? I know-

Off the top of my head I remember three times he cried (maybe I'll remember more later), two of those times were with a comedy proposal so they won't count here, and the last one was a time when he was really sad (was panicked better saying-)

So I have a vision of Osomatsu that I'd like to share (even though I'm not sure if it's 100% right) ok so- He never cries, it's hard to find a moment where he cries for whatever reason, and like- not like Jyushi, Jyushimatsu also has few crying moments, but that's because he is almost never shown being sad, but when these sad moments occur he allow himself to be sad and cry, and I know that there are people who are simply less cry than others and I strongly believe that Osomatsu and Jyushimatsu are two of those cases, but still, they remain human and still cry, but Osomatsu seems to refuse to do that sometimes-

I'll take as an example a situation where he appeared (or in this case really) to be sad which is ep 24 S1. We know that whole situation shook Oso, and as a gift they didn't show his face almost once, he has his back turned the whole time making it difficult to see his full face, only from the nose down was visible and since eyes are a very expressive part of our body we ended up missing a lot of his real emotions, but I'm sure he didn't cried there (he doesn't cry normally, in front of others so it's a complete no for him) but what about when he was off screen? I'm sure he shed a few tears at those times, or worse- had a panic attack (as he's shown himself to be prone to having them), the point is- he looks like he doesn't want to cry, he seems to have a little trouble expressing that kind of emotion and crying must be something he represses.

Osomatsu is the type of person who will laugh at a bad situation and make fun of his problems, but deep down he is agonizing over them. He doesn't want to cry. But why? Perhaps to be an example of a strong older brother? Or because it doesn't suit his character? Oso has already shown that he has problems with his identity, and if he tries so hard to remain in the comfort zone and with the personality he always had, crying is not something that suits the little troublemaker, the older brother, the leader. Not being ok is a horrible situation for him, he doesn't want to feel bad and doesn't know how to react to this type of situation, so he just "stops working" and stands there with its blank face, he won't cry even if sometimes he wants to.

Crying is good and it's a way to let out everything you've been holding back, and Osomatsu has been holding back a lot over these three seasons (+ the movie), after he had a panic attack at the beginning of S3 I think it's an indication that something is not right (I assume crying in a panic attack is normal, so yeah-) I don't think there's a confirmed reason why this happened to him but we can speculate on some things (which I won't do in this post), but anyway he needs help ASAP

I think that's it. I missed this post several times so it sucked to write it all down and at some point (at the beginning) I got lost so if you got something wow congrats (seriously- congrats because even I didn't get it) if anyone wants to add feel free to reblog this thing

[metamorphosisff]

|Six| Can I Be Your Best Friend?

“Who’s this man Papi says you all smiles for? Te ‘ta dando muela.”

Mari is wearing a smirk identical to her sons as she recants how Papi told her how Xavier was smiling and talking way too much for his liking. I roll my eyes at the sight of it and of Papi’s dramatized version of my conversation with Xavier from the night of the meeting. We’re side by side, folding clothes in the laundromat, as we wait for the last of our bedding to be done drying. Half of our morning has been spent between these faded gray walls and the rest of it will be spent doing household chores to get ready for the upcoming week.Weekends don’t mean rest for people like us. They are an exchange of labor, the labor we are paid for is replaced by the labor we need to maintain some level of comfort.

“Your son has a creative imagination. Xavier is barely a friend let alone my man,” I said, picking up two socks to match and roll together. 

“So his name is Xavier,” Mari sings out, exaggerating his name and making me gag in the process.

“And yours is annoying,” I reply, plucking a shirt from the pile to fold next.

“Yeah, yeah, snarky reply, snarky reply. Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, tell me about this Xavier,” Mari said, grabbing another pair of work pants to fold carefully so she wouldn’t have to iron them later.

Using my t-shirt to wipe at the sweat on my brow, my shoulders shrug to which she sucks her teeth at. “Look there isn’t much to tell. He’s the supervisor for my community service and invited me and a few others to a group that talks about their day. It’s supposed to be therapeutic or some shit.”

“Sounds like some shit you should be a part of. You need more than me and Papi because I know you keep stuff from us,” Mari says, in a way that is not accusatory. It’s more so takes on an air of disappointment because while she never considered me or my problems burdensome, I did. As soon as Papi came into the mix I decided that I would never add too much to her plate. I couldn’t have her worrying about me when she had a whole kid to raise. Though I see now that Mari will worry about me whether I give her reason to or not.

“I don’t keep away anything important and while I didn’t hate the meeting, I don’t know if I’ll go back,” I said, despite the fact that I had picked Xavier’s brain about it the other day. It was hard enough opening up to my best friend. How could I do that in a room full of strangers? Unbiased feedback aside. I did not know how to pluck the words from my brain regarding my deepest thoughts and make them spill from my lips.

“Why? ‘I didn’t hate it’ means that you liked it. Don’t run from a good thing,” Mari said.

“How do you know it’s good for me?” I asked.

Mari raises a threaded eyebrow in my direction before saying, “Because you have yet to give me a list of why it’s not. Go back one more time at least.”

“I will consider it,” I sighed, which earned me a side hug that I reluctantly leaned into. “Consider Mari. I’ve resumed my job hunt now that I only have a month left of this. Hopefully, it won’t take me too long to find something. I miss making corporate money.”

“Listen I need to finish school so I can start because these regular degular nine to fives are not cutting it,” Mari said. She worked as a manager for two retail stores but couldn’t move on to the administrative side of things until she earned her bachelor's degree.

“No they are not,” I agreed.

The call center I was an agent at was with one of the biggest cell phone companies and had great benefits. Now, I had to hope to find a position that good though I never wanted to work at any place like that again. The call center was too busy for me. I wanted to be of service without all of the drama. My degree was in communications but I wasn’t using it to its full potential.

“Wait, you're not off the hook about this Xavier character. Tell me, what he look like? He cute?” Mari asks, refusing to let me switch the subject. I curse her attention for detail while I fold up the last of the shirts in my pile.

“Yeah, he’s cute, in a wholesome way. Like you look at him and know he was raised underneath his grandma. Has these really expressive eyes,” I said.

“You can’t be mean with those types. You’ll actually hurt his feelings and before you start, yes men have feelings too,” she says, holding up her hand to cut off my usual rant. 

It’s not that I don’t know that men have feelings, it’s that I do not have room for theirs and mine. Feelings were heavy and the ones I carried were wearing my shoulders thin as is. To make space for more seems burdensome and overall unappealing. 

“Give him a chance. He made your mean ass smile, that’s worth something.”

Between her and Jazz, I can not escape advocacy to let this man into my life. Did I really come across that mean and lonely? The pleading look in Mari’s eyes gives me the answer immediately.

“Fine,” I say, pulling out my phone. In it is a text from Xavier from almost two hours ago asking if I’m free to hang out later. I ignored it when I woke up but my fingers tapped across the screen to reply now: Depends, what did you have in mind? “Look I’ve texted him back. Don’t ask me anything else about him for the rest of the day.”

She squeals as she reads over our thread since I’ve shoved the screen in her face. “Good. Good. I can move onto the next matter on the agenda, how is Lonso?”

I roll my eyes so hard that for two seconds I almost think they will get stuck. Turning my head I give her my best ‘really’ face. She should know better than to ask me about my half brother. We barely got along and whenever he did bother to remember my existence it was to tell me what I “should” be doing. Like him being seven months older than me really made a difference.

“What? Besides us, he’s the only family you have got,” Mari says, not phased by my screw face at all.

“Family is doing a lot of heavy lifting when it comes to that one. As far as I know, he still thinks I’m an idiot for staying in this neighborhood and that I’ve wasted my potential by not enlisting in the military like he did. So he remains a dickhead,” I said.

“A well meaning dickhead,” Mari amends, walking towards one of our dryers that has just gone off. Within seconds she’s pulling out my lavender bedding and shoving it on a cart.

“Marissa,” I said, lifting a hand to pinch the bridge of my nose. “We don’t get along. He only calls out of some false sense of obligation.”

“He calls because he loves you and he doesn’t know any other way to show it. Just like you don’t know how to accept the fact that he loves you and you love him too. Because if you didn’t you wouldn’t answer the phone and listen to him nag like a housewife. So how is he for real?” Mari asks, passing me the cart.

I sigh and drop my shoulder as I start folding my sheets. “Just got a house in Virginia with his fiancé Jules. Wants me to visit.”

“That’s amazing. When are you going to go? Fourth of July might be nice with him being military and all,” Mari says.

“I’ve been summoned for Thanksgiving. He already sent me my flight information,” I said, pretending to gag.

“You're going to have a good time. Stop that,” Mari said, smacking my hand down. 

“Twenty bucks, I don’t,” I said, placing my newly folded bed set into my laundry back in the shopping cart I brought myself. Today was a big laundry day and there was no way I was carrying this without support. 

“The easiest dub I’ll ever make. Now move your ass, we still have to go shopping,” Mari said, snapping her fingers like she did with Papi.

Shaking my head, I stuffed the last of my laundry into the cart. While I waited as she did the same, my phone vibrated drawing my attention. Xavier has found something for us to do: Bryant Park Food Truck Fair, 7pm?

See you then.

I slid my phone into my back pocket unsure whether or not I have made a mistake but like Jazz said, there was only one way for me to find out.

Xavier might be corny but he has a style outside of his usual work clothes. I see him before he notices me, waiting on the corner of the 6th Ave entrance by Wafels & Dinges where we agreed to meet. He’s wearing camo shorts, a fitted beige t-shirt that ironically matches the flowy bohemian styled skirt I wear, and a pair of Mocha 1’s. The gold chain he normally wears tucked is out and shines in the catches of descending sunlight. Taking a deep breath I decide to stop watching him like a creep and speed up the last few steps separating us. When he notices me he smiles wide as his eyes sweep over my frame. With the skirt is a cropped white tube top that leaves my midriff bare. My hair in the front is French braided into a messy bun while the rest cascades down my shoulders in gel encased curls.

“Hey, you look beautiful Jamila,” he compliments.

“You telling me this looks better than my snazzy orange vest,” I joke, causing him to chuckle.

“I think you look good in anything,” he says.

“Nice save,” I chuckle, as we fall into step entering the park. 

It’s truly summertime in the city, people occupy every inch of the park due to all of the food vendors out and about. I discover quickly that he is a big foodie and he makes us try something from almost every truck. We post up on the stairs of the New York Public library sharing a humongous dulce de leche funnel cake with two scoops of vanilla ice cream on top. A group of emo teens sit not too far from us playing Fall Out Boy songs from before they were born. Oddly enough, it provides the perfect soundtrack to this indulgence. 

“I’m surprised you came to kick it with me,” he says, taking another scoop of ice cream. So far our conversation has been surface level but I can see in his eyes that will be changing now that we’ve gotten settled. 

“To be honest? So am I, I almost didn’t but I wanted to ask you what do you want from me without Jazz lurking and possibly swaying your answer,” I said.

“I guess I have to make us friendship bracelets for you to get that’s all I want,” he chuckled, taking another scoop of ice cream. I roll my eyes and he shakes his head before continuing. “I think you're interesting, smart, and funny. That’s hard to come by these days.”

“I wouldn’t know but I do know that I’m not in the mood for games. Don’t say you want to be my friend then turn around and try to kiss me,” I said, going for a piece of funnel cake.

“That’s happened before huh?” he sighed, shaking his head. 

“Too many times to count back when I was naive enough to fall for it but now? I’m too grown. Too tired. I’m here because a part of me, a tiny part, thinks you're genuine,” I said.

“Believe that part or try to. I uh, just got out of a three year relationship that ended badly so I’m not looking for anything in the romance department until I finish figuring out what I’m supposed to be learning from that situation,” he says, the hurt from that relationship displayed briefly. Long enough to let me see it but quick enough for me to wonder if I saw it at all. 

That was a more honest answer than I had been expecting. He meant it when he said he was an open book but I want to test how open. “When you say badly…what do you mean? Only asking because I don’t need anyone coming up to me as a woman over my friend.”

At that he laughed, the kind of laughter that caused his shoulders to bounce as he looked at me. “Ha! Nah man, that won’t be happening, she lives in Texas. We were long distance towards the end of our relationship because she wanted to live there and I didn’t. She cheated and is embarrassed by all our friends knowing so she won’t be up here for multiple reasons.”

“Damn, that sucks,” I said, chewing on another piece of funnel cake.

“It does and it hurts me still but one day it won’t,” he says with a shrug, dipping his spoon for more ice cream.

I nod my head in agreement as I use a new piece of funnel cake to dip into the extra caramel sauce that pools at the bottom. It’s better if I eat then try to offer empty platitudes. Luckily, I don’t have to because a few seconds later Thnks fr th Mmrs starts playing, and we lock eyes before bursting out into laughter. It’s sitcom-y and corny but it’s fitting. “Man them kids tryna’ set me up,” he smiles.

“Talk about timing,” I cracked, as I let my eyes meet his. 

“True but back to the subject. I, Xavier Wilson, swear that I will be the bestest friend you ever have,” he said, raising his right hand. 

“And I, Jamila Brooks, swear that I will be kinda decent, some of the time, as possibly the worst friend you ever have,” I said, raising my right hand as well.

We share another round of laughter as he shakes his head at me. “Yo, you something else.”

“So I’ve been told,” I said, grabbing a napkin to wrap my spoon in. I’m officially stuffed with no room for anything else and happily pass him the plate so he can finish devouring it.

“Now that we’ve gotten that understood once and for all, what do you do bestie?” he asked, scooping up the last of the ice cream that hasn’t melted.

I roll my eyes at the extra title he tacked on which earns me the sound of his snort and another round of soft laughter. 

“I’ve done it all really. I’m currently working at a warehouse until I can get another administrative or customer service position. I’m hoping for the former but I’ll take whoever will have me,” I said, toying with the edges of my skirt. “Well no, that’s not true. I want a good job with good benefits. I think once I have at least a year of that, I can think about what career I want.”

“That’s real, it’s hard to focus when you feel like you can’t catch your breath. It took me a while to get my shit together,” he said.

“You?” I asked. 

He was Mr. Clipboard, always cool, calm and collected or so I thought. It never crossed my mind that he had his own burdens to bear. I never had a reason to care until recently. 

“Yeah me,” he chuckles, dropping his spoon as well. “I was a knucklehead growing up. A three month stint in the hell hole that is Rikers when I was nineteen changed all of that though. I realized very quickly that was not the life I wanted.”

I squint my eyes at him trying to see the young hellion that ended up on Rikers Island of all places but I can’t see it. 

“Would you quit looking at me like that?” he chuckles, as he rolls up our trash.

“Sorry but I just can’t picture it. You as a knucklehead or on Rikers,” I said.

“Good, that shit was a long time ago. Ten years to be exact,” he said. Quick math lets me know that he is thirty one years old. Four years older than my twenty-seven.  

“I respect that, you evolved. It’s not the easiest to change but you did it while you were young which was smart,” I said.

It was hell trying to change when you got older. Bad habits had a way of embedding themselves into the core of a person's being. Trying to extract them after twenty five became something like an exorcism. I had long chosen to let my demons ride but lately I’ve had the itch to send them on their way.

“Appreciate that. Change can happen at any age though. I’m always changing. You either change and grow or stay stagnant and wither away. That’s what my Pops always says,” he said.

“Pops sounds like a wise man,” I said, fleeing his gaze and looking out towards the park. The crowd only increases due to the aroma of the food drawing in pa. Our spot on the steps grows more cramped as he has to inch closer to me as people plop down to sit. This new proximity allows me to smell his cologne, it’s clean and fresh, and reminds me of the beach.

“He is, when he isn’t doing too much,” he says with a fondness in his tone that makes my heart ache. I wonder what it’s like to have a real father, one that passes off wisdom instead of spending all day getting high. “My folks are good people though. They could have given up on me but they didn’t and I’m eternally grateful.”

“Make sure you let them know that,” I said, feeling his eyes on the side of my face. I’m not ready to meet his gaze yet. I feel too raw, unexpectedly at that, and so I defiantly keep my eyes forward.

“I do, trust. What about your parents? They all over protective too?” he asked.

At that I snort and shake my head. “Nah, not at all. My parents got swept up in the opioid epidemic which turned into them getting swept up in the crack epidemic,” I said.

My parents hadn’t always been complete and total failures. At least not for the first ten years of my life. They both worked stand up jobs with my father in construction and my mother as an LPN. Unfortunately for them, they both got injured at their jobs about a year and a half apart. Back in the mid aughts doctors were pushing oxycodone like candy to anyone with the slightest of aches. Their recovery process turned into a full blown addiction and we were barely above being low class as is which meant they could not keep up with the cost of oxy. Once crack became a replacement it was pretty much downhill from there. 

The only reason I got to keep the apartment was because my mother had been smart enough to put my name on the lease as well. My grandmother ended up moving in, providing financial assistance from her pension as a retired teacher, and the babysitting jobs she took on the side. I did my part as well. From the age of thirteen I had worked in salons sweeping up hair, at the grocery store, coffee shop, you name it. All so that I could help pay rent and have something to eat. As we struggled to survive my parents drifted further and further away not wanting their addictions to affect me more than it already had. I saw them every few years, always by happenstance, and those fleeting moments were never enough but they were all I had.

“I’m sorry to hear that Jamila, for real, addiction is a beast,” he said.

“Yeah but it is what it is. Besides, their realities gave me this charming personality you want to be around so much,” I said, finally letting my eyes swing towards him. His eyes crinkle in the tell tale sign that laughter will follow.

“Mannn, whatever yo,” he chuckles.

We sit shoulder to shoulder and let our gazes swing out towards the park. I thought I might regret coming to see him but I didn't. I’m enjoying myself for the first time in recent memory. I sink into the moment and let it get deep inside so that I can have something to hold onto the next time my life gets off track. I need reminders that days like this exist. As my eyes close and head tilts back to let the ever elusive breeze wash over my face, I feel him follow suit. It seems that he needs the reminder too.

Taglist:

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[xxrainshadowsxx]

Interpersonal Chapter 19

This wasn't my original plan for this chapter, but once again Onceler decided to take a few left turns. But the important thing is still here. He gets to meet his kid.

TW: Onceler is a sad boy, and there's a tiny bit of suicidal ideation from him if you squint.

For a few minutes the only sounds in the car are the thrum of the tires on the road and a Queen CD playing in the background. Once again, he’s the one to break the almost unbearable silence.

“So, tell me about Jack. What’s he like?” he asks eagerly, clearly desperate for more information about the son you shared with him.

“That’s a big topic,” you say, though you can’t help but smile. “I can give you a broad overview, but it’ll be better when you actually start spending time with him.” You take a couple of turns as you mull over what words you want. “As I’ve said, he’s a lot like you,” you start. “Not identical though. Jack’s a lot… quieter.”

“What do you mean by that?” 

“I mean that even though a lot of it was just a show, you’ve always been able to put on a lot of bravado,” you state bluntly. “Just the ability to put on a show is a skill in and of itself. Jack’s still figuring himself and the world out, so he doesn’t have that level of confidence quite yet, but I’m working on–LEARN TO DRIVE BEFORE YOU GET BEHIND A WHEEL, DUMBASS!” you shout in the middle of your sentence as some idiot cuts you off. Onceler laughs quietly, making you stare at him for a moment. “What?”

“Nothing,” he smiles to himself. “You’re just cute is all.”

You stare at him until you remember you’re driving and have to actually focus on the road. He needed to absolutely not say those kinds of things to you. Not when your resolve to put Jack first was crumbling the longer you spent with him. Every time you looked at him, the urge to throw yourself in his arms and kiss him got stronger and stronger.

God, what was wrong with you? Yes, you still loved him, but your love for your son superseded everything else. Jack needed to be comfortable before you decided what you wanted to do about any kind of relationship with his father. You didn’t even know what Onceler felt for you at this point, and you were terrified of what the answer could be. He could very well hate you for turning down his marriage proposal the last time you saw each other. You saw in his eyes how deep you had twisted the knife when you’d refused him.

You force yourself to go the rest of the drive to your apartment in relative silence. In fact, it’s not until you’re parking in front of the cluster of buildings and grabbing the wheel lock from the backseat that either one of you speaks, and once more it’s him.

“So… why do you need that?” he asks, gesturing to the wheel lock as you fit it in place over your steering wheel.

“I live in a shitty part of town,” you say in a very matter-of-fact voice. “I don’t need some idiot teenager thinking it’s a good idea to try and steal my car.”

“But why are you here?” he asks, sounding genuinely confused. “I left that house so that you could use it, among other reasons. You don’t need to stay here.”

Your gaze softens as he speaks, and you have to physically restrain yourself from reaching up and caressing his face. “I didn’t know,” you say gently. “I’m here because this is what Aurora and I can afford.”

He frowns as he starts to follow you to your building. “I still own the other house,” he mutters. “Do you want to move back in? There’s more room and it’s a much less shitty area.”

God, this is part of the reason you fell for him. It’s so much in his nature, even now, to take care of people. Whatever his feelings were towards you, there was a sort of family that you still were in together and always would be. You still knew each other all too well. His offer was so tempting. And yet… “I think there’s too many memories for me to live in that house comfortably,” you whisper, hating yourself just a little for it.

To your surprise, he nods a bit. “No, you’re right. It’s not a good fit if we’re trying to start over,” he muses. “I’ll buy you a new house then.”

You stop as you get to the foot of your building, staring incredulously at him. “And how the fuck are you going to do that when you haven’t worked in ten years?” you ask suspiciously. “Come to think of it, what happened with all of your money? You had millions, if not billions. What did you do with it?”

Now he just looks uncomfortable. “So, technically I still have it,” he evades. You raise your eyebrow at his word choice.

“Just come out with it,” you press. “If it’s gone, it’s gone. I don’t know how you could have spent that much money in just ten years, but still.”

“It’s not gone,” he mutters. “I never declared bankruptcy for the company. I just ceased operations. So I was able to keep all the money. I put it in a bank account and it’s been growing interest ever since.”

You blink once, then twice. That was the last thing you’d been expecting. “So what you’re saying is–”

“I have more money than ever, yes,” he finishes your sentence with a sigh. “More money than I know what to do with, and now all I want is to give Jack what I can to at least attempt to make up for not being there for the past nine years.” He’s got a dark look of regret on his face that you recognize a little too well. You also, at least, know how to fix it.

“You’re here. That’s going to do more for him than money,” you say quickly. “And I’m not destitute, I’m not accepting money from you. I can’t.”

“Oh, can you please put away your pride and let me do this?” he huffs in a low tone, and there’s a resolve there that you’ve never seen before. “This is not me asking to buy you a house. This is me telling you I have more money than I could ever need for myself, so I’m buying you a house whether you like it or not. All my money was going to go to you anyway.”

That makes you pause. “Wait, what?”

“I had left everything to you in my will,” he shrugs. “I didn’t know how much longer I’d be alive after I gave the seed. I thought that was the only thing I had left to do. Of course, immediately after Jack gave me another reason to keep living, but for ten years I didn’t think I was going to be around long after that seed was gone. I had no reason to keep anything, so I figured I’d give it to you.”

You feel tears pricking at your eyes again. Damn emotions. You usually weren’t this weepy, but he was fucking with everything so thoroughly. His almost emotionless talk of a world without him nearly destroyed you to hear. You couldn’t imagine such a thing. You didn’t want to know a world that he didn’t inhabit. “I never want to hear you talking like that again, understand?”

“Like I said, I have you and Jack to live for now,” he promises softly. “I’m not going anywhere. You’re going to be stuck with me for a very long time.”

“Good.” You start walking up the stairs, away from the feelings that he’s stirring up in you again. Your apartment is on the third floor, and you’d rather be inside anyway if you’re going to continue having heavy conversations.

You shove your key into the lock and push the door open. As you expected, the place is empty. Aurora is at work and Jack is still at school. Onceler follows you inside, drinking in every detail of the place.

You immediately go to Jack’s room and check that the seed is still safe in his dresser, and you find it right where you left it. That was by far the most precious thing in your house, and you needed to keep it safe until Saturday so Jack could plant it. After you confirm it’s alright, you head back to your small living room.

Onceler’s sitting on the couch, and he’s picked up a photo album you’d left out on the coffee table. You’d gotten it out last night after Jack had told you who he’d seen. “Those are mostly of Jack,” you murmur. “Do you want to go through them?”

Without waiting for an answer, you take a seat next to him and gently pry the book from his grasp, keeping it between the two of you as you open it to peruse its contents.

The first few pictures chronicle you during your pregnancy. You start out with a small bump before ballooning into a giant one. There was also a copy of Jack’s ultrasound pictures. Onceler stays quiet and pensieve, but pauses when he comes to a certain photo.

It’s of you in the hospital, utterly exhausted after nearly three days of labor. Your hair was a mess, there were tear tracks staining your face, and you were covered with blood and bits of your own insides. There was also a screaming baby on your chest, still with the umbilical cord attached. It was the first time you’d ever held your son. It had been the first time you had ever seen your son.

Onceler has a very strange expression on his face, and you remember that he’s not fond of this kind of stuff; he’s very squeamish. “Not pretty, is it?” you comment, attempting to lighten the mood.

“I didn’t realize it was so… messy,” he mutters, still transfixed by the image. You just snort.

“I’d just pushed an entire human out of me, of course it was messy,” you huff. “And he took a long time to get here. I had to get induced, and even then it took three days.”

“Three days?! It can take that long?”

“Yup. And he was a big baby, he was over nine pounds,” you inform. “That picture is not nearly as graphic as it could have been. A couple minutes later I was getting stitches.”

“Why did you need stitches?” he asks, looking horrified. You just raise an eyebrow at him. “Oh. Right,” he mutters as he puts it together with a wince. “Fuck, I’m sorry.”

Out of instinct, you almost tell him it isn’t his fault, but in this case, it kind of was. “I was expecting it,” you say instead. “You’re six and a half feet tall, and I was having regular ultrasounds. I knew he wasn’t going to be small. At least I had an epidural. That helped.

Onceler’s face blanches at the mention of the epidural, his hatred of needles kicking in. He quickly turns the page to a much more tame set of pictures of Jack as a baby, and immediately zeroes in on one.

You were laying on your bed, just a small smile on your face. Your left arm was extended, and Jack, who was only a few weeks old then, was asleep under that arm next to you. Onceler can’t seem to stop staring at that particular picture. “I should have been the one to take this,” he whispers after a moment. 

“It’s not your fault,” you reiterate. “You didn’t know–”

“That doesn’t mean I should have stayed away,” he says, finally tearing his eyes away from the picture and turning to face you now. “I should have given you some time to calm down, and then I should have gone after you, regardless of Jack’s existence or not. I should have apologized and begged for your forgiveness.”

“What are you saying?” you whisper. You think you know where his head is at, but you refuse to make assumptions in case you’re wrong. Oh God, if you’re wrong…

Your name floats off his lips like a prayer. “I’ve thought about you every day since you left. I wanted to marry you darling. Those feelings don’t go away overnight.” His eyes darken just slightly, awakening a desire in you that you haven’t known in years. It’s so foreign and so intense that it’s all you can do to bite back a moan right then and there. “Those feelings never went away at all,” he confesses. 

He brings his hand up to your face, and anything you might have said back to him vanishes from the tip of your tongue as your brain short circuits. His fingertips trail down your face until he’s holding your chin, tilting it up just slightly.

Whatever might have happened next is abruptly cut short as you hear a key turning the lock of the front door, causing you to jump away from him. Aurora shouldn’t be home yet…

But sure enough, your sister walks through the door a moment later, and she’s got Jack with her. Your eyes widen as you quickly glance at the clock, but you didn’t lose track of time like you’d feared; he’s still supposed to be in school. “Mom? Aunt Aurora said–” his sentence is cut short as he sees Onceler sitting next to you on the couch.

You see the exact second when he puts together who Onceler is. His mouth falls open and more emotions than a nine-year-old should have to be put through flicker through his eyes all at once. Hurt, anger, sadness, hope; they’re all there before he desperately turns to you for comfort. “Is that my dad?” he whispers.

You sigh heavily. You’re going to kill Aurora. “Okay,” you say in your best mom voice. “Jack, come here.” You pat the spot on the couch next to you, making sure to keep yourself as a buffer between father and son, at least for now. “I need you both to be quiet while I explain some things. Got it? And you,” you direct at Aurora. “Why didn’t you let me get him? I was going to brace him instead of just throwing him into this.”

“This is more important than school,” Aurora says without a hint of remorse before disappearing into her room. You roll your eyes at her before turning to your son. 

“Okay, baby,” you murmur. “You know that guy out beyond the wall you saw yesterday?” It’s a rhetorical question, but Jack nods anyway. “This is him. And yes. He’s your father.”

You pause to let the words hang there, much heavier than gravity. Jack looks around you to stare at his father, identical blue eyes recognizing each other for the first time.

You can already see the question in Jack’s face, and you know he deserves an answer. “He was not not around because he didn’t want you,” you stress. “He didn’t know you existed. We… well, we hit a rough patch before I knew I was pregnant.” Now you look at Onceler for help. You didn’t know how much of the story he’d told Jack before giving him the seed.

“And I immediately left town after that,” he says quietly, speaking to Jack now. “Your mother didn’t know how to find me.”

Jack’s looking between the two of you now. “So, when you mentioned a girl yesterday,” he starts slowly. “That was you?” Both of you nod in unison.

You take Jack’s hands now. “If I could do it over again, I would have found him earlier,” you murmur. “I never wanted you to grow up without a dad, and he’s not a bad guy. It’s not a situation where I was keeping you from him for your own protection.”

“And I never would have stayed away if I had known,” Onceler adds.

“But you found out yesterday, didn’t you?” Jack asks, and try as he might, there is a slight note of accusation coloring his tone. “That’s why you asked how old I was and who my mom was. You figured it out. Why didn’t you tell me then?”

Now it’s Onceler’s turn to sigh heavily. “Well, first because I was in shock,” he says. “I wasn’t expecting to learn I had a son. And second, you’d just heard how horrible of a person I had been. I didn’t know if you’d want someone like me as your dad. I’m probably not what you expected. I’ve made countless mistakes. I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted someone better than me.”

You shrink back into the couch a bit. You want them to be able to talk to each other, but also want to be there for support if either of them need it.

“No! I mean, you made a mistake but… everyone makes mistakes, right?” Jack glances at you, as if he’s worried he’s saying the wrong things. You nod encouragingly at him. “I mean. You apologized. You want to do better, right?”

“More than anything,” Onceler whispers, and it’s impossible to doubt the sincerity behind the words.

Jack hesitates for a moment. “And… you’re not gonna disappear again?” he asks, suddenly sounding even younger than he already is. 

“As long as you want me around, I’ll be here,” Onceler promises. “You’re my son, and I want nothing more than to be your father. I love you.”

Jack’s upper lip quivers, and you can tell he’s doing his best to keep his composure. This is where your mom instincts step in. “Baby, come here,” you tell him. And even though he’s already getting close to you in height, you pull him into your lap just as the first tears start to fall from his eyes. Another moment later he’s crying into your shoulder. Onceler hesitates, but you give him a brief nod over Jack’s head, and he wraps his arms around the both of you, his own eyes misty as well.

You stay like this for a long time. The emotional maelstrom of finally meeting his dad was clearly a lot for Jack, and it takes a while for his tears to stop. Even when they do, the three of you seem very content to stay where you are.

Eventually, it’s Jack who breaks the moment. He shifts back onto his own spot on the couch. “How come you never came back?” he asks Onceler, his voice still a bit thick.

“I thought your mom hated me,” he murmurs, looking a little surprised by the question. “I didn’t want to hurt her more than I already had.” But instead of accepting that answer, Jack just seems more confused.

“Did she ever actually tell you she hated you?’

Now Onceler squirms uncomfortably. “Well, no but–”

“Then why did you never come back to check?”

“Because your parents are supreme dumbasses when it comes to how they feel about each other.” Aurora’s voice comes from behind you, making you jump; you hadn’t realized she was there. “And because of that, you and I are going to go out to dinner, okay kid? And meanwhile,” she turns to you and Onceler, fixing both of you with a hard stare. “You two get your shit together. I’m too old to deal with the pining looks you’ll inevitably give each other over the next few months if you don’t sort things out now.”

“Aurora,” you warn, but she doesn’t back off at all.

“No, I know you kept saying yesterday that your own feelings didn’t matter and that this was about Jack, and I get it. That’s what’s made you such a good mom. But you still need to take care of yourself. You’ve done absolutely right by Jack for now. Let me take him to dinner to help him process this, while you actually take care of yourself for once,” she implores before turning to Onceler. “And you,” she growls. “I’m not like these two, I don’t give second chances often, especially not with how spectacularly you messed up the first one. You’re not getting a third. So for the love of God don’t fuck this one up.”

You wish she was wrong more often. But she so frequently hits the nail on the head that it’s difficult to argue with her. After you confirm with Jack that he’s okay with the plan, you let her take him, and then you’re alone with Onceler again.

“Sorry. I know she’s a menace to society,” you mutter, not able to look at him, settling instead for twisting your hands in your lap again.

“It’s fine. She’s right,” he sighs. “And we probably should talk about us, I guess.”

You huff out a quick, annoyed breath of air. “Do we have to? It’s easier to ignore feelings,” you say, only half joking. “That’s how I’ve gotten by these past ten years.” He nods in total understanding. “But on the other hand, if we don’t talk and decide anything, Aurora actually will kill us,” you sigh again. “So let’s do this."

[pendulumstar]

first post in a while, and it's negative. sorry y'all 😔

at least having the decency to put it under the cut

not sure if they're ever gonna see this, but i'm in so much fucking pain right now. i thought we were on good terms. and everything was just torn away from us in seconds. if you're keeping tabs on my blog, this message is for you. i'm not naming names- that's rude and uncalled for- but you know who you are.

the entire spicy patch group worried sick about you for a MONTH STRAIGHT. i lost sleep, i had nightmares, we all were awaiting your return. only reason i commented on your yt posts was because of that impression we were on good terms! we mourned your absence every day. everyone genuinely missed you and were worried sick. and now i've been told we hurt you, yet don't know what any of us did. you mention walking on eggshells around the group, i can understand a couple incidents, absolutely! i won't deny them at all. yet nothing else immediately comes to mind. as far as i'm aware, everyone did their best to fix their part of the problem, and wanted to grow from their mistakes. and i'll admit: i'm not a perfect person, im no saint. but you never communicated these problems to anyone, which has me baffled since i thought i at least kept my end pretty open.

still, i understand you're in an abusive situation, stuck with your abusive and neglectful mother and grandma, but this isn't the way to go about it. abandoning your friends who tried to help you out of an abusive situation with your ex isn't it. going BACK to the ex that sexually and emotionally manipulated and abused you isn't it, or at least i'm under that impression you've gone back because of a comment they left when i went to wish you well on your journey and new life.

if you are back together, again assuming you are: you're just putting yourself back into a vicious cycle of abuse. but i also get it. when you're abused, you get used to that normal, and you sometimes go back because it's all you know. and in a fucked up way, it's comforting to you. but it's a horrible situation to put yourself back into, and i don't know why you'd do that to yourself. it hurts me seeing you do this to yourself.

but now- admittedly- you've pissed everyone off. you talked about us- although vague like i'm being- like shit when nobody had even the vaguest idea that we hurt you so severely. if you'd told me that, i would've dropped everything to stop any negative behaviors. but hey, i guess this can be considered bad/toxic behavior, vagueing you on social media. but i absolutely refuse to drop your name or your identity at all for respect of your reputation. we're both artists and use it to support us financially. and even then, this is the only avenue of communication i have with you, since you've gotten rid of all your socials. it's the only shot i have to send this message to you.

you abandoned the people who genuinely loved and cared about you, put yourself into a willingly abusive situation again, and expect everyone- especially me- to be fine with it? several of us put our necks out for you, and you stomped on them. you [again, assumedly] went back to a known manipulator when YOU YOURSELF admitted you're easily influenced/manipulated. so why make such an impulsive, rash decision? especially since you've actively shunned other people for the same fucking behavior. but hey, you've burned the bridges already. don't bother trying to come back, you've wounded everyone in that friend group, and nobody wants to see your face ever again.

so maybe be smart and don't bite the hand that feeds next time. because now the doors are closed.

[darklydeliciousdesires]

The Thief of your Heart - Chapter Two.

WORDS CANNOT DESCRIBE how thrilled I was, reading your lovely comments, some of you even leaving the writer’s dream of a full blown review. I am beyond touched, thank you so much! To express my gratitude, I have decided to give the next update a few days early. Do you want to meet Abi? You do? Good, here she is! 

I can’t wait to read what you think! 

Previous chapters - One

Tag list - In the comments, please reply below to be added/removed

Words - 3,924

Warnings - 18+ content throughout. Minors DNI!

She lifted her chin in defiance, her eyes, burning blue, never leaving the dark irises of the man who had foolishly dared to lowball her. “That wasn’t what we agreed, Yousef.” Her tone was biting, colder than a Siberian winter, steeped in all the quiet menace she handled herself with.  

“I grow sick of fucking IRA demanding more all of the time. More, more, more!”

She sniffed, her eyebrows fluttering. “More risk attracts a higher price. You know that, you’re fighting that. Our guns are what you’re using to hold that down, are they not? Two mil was our agreement. I am not leaving without my money.”  

He was resolute. “One point five.”

The disrespect for her status, and more so, her name, incensed her. Abi drew her gun from its holster, pointing it at Aftab, pulling the trigger, the young man screaming at having a hole blown in his foot. Immediately, all guns were drawn from the other side, her own men following suit. “Tell me, how much is it worth for me not to keep on blowing holes in your son? Because every time you refuse to comply, I pick another part of his anatomy to introduce a bullet to.”  

“You shoot him again and I will blow your head off, you fucking Irish bitch!”

She laughed, entertained. “Oh, come now, Yousef. We both know you’re too smart for that, not unless you want the full weight of the army to come and clout the bejesus out of you and your guys here! My death will incite a fuckin’ war, and you’ll lose your arms supply. Where else are you gonna buy from then, ay? The Russians? They’ll charge you a third more. The Americans? I wouldn’t even try. Saudi? Doubtful, their supply now runs through us too, so where does that leave you? It leaves you with your pants pulled down, about to let me slide my metaphorical dick straight up your arsehole, so it does.”  

She walked towards him, she and him gesturing for their men to lower their guns, Aftab still howling in pain on the floor. “I want my fucking money.” She stared unflinchingly, her eyes holding every last drop of identical menace that he remembered from her father. The apple hadn’t fallen far from the tree whatsoever. She was a Maguire through and through. He uttered the correct words her ears wished to hear, one of his men heading for their Jeep and unloading the bags full of cash. “Bren, count it.” she called over her shoulder, her eyes still locked on Yousef’s. 

“Aye, boss.” Brendan confirmed, taking the bags, he and the other three men quickly counting the piles of crisp notes. The necessary time passed in order to check that the full two million was there, Brendan confirming it. “Your shipment will port on the sixteenth. Until next time, gentleman.” Turning, she walked over to the Range Rover they’d arrived in, climbing in with a feeling of triumph. She always felt elated when people realised that she categorically was not to be trifled with. Sexism ran rampant in her world, though, and sometimes she did find men trying their luck, even though the very name Abi Maguire struck just as much terror into the hearts of the wise as her father's once had. Still, they tried. Always, they failed.  

She was glad of the air con hitting her, going a long way to cool the forty-degree heat currently stifling the population of Tripoli.  What made her even gladder was arriving back at her hotel, changing into more comfortable attire of denim cut off shorts and a grey vest, heading down to the bar to be furnished with a cold pint of beer, which she took outside to drink.  

Lighting a cigarette, she stretched her legs out, checking the messages on her burner phone first, and then her actual phone, which most of the time was switched off.  

‘Looking forward to seeing you when you arrive home, sweetheart. God bless x’  

Bridie, her mother. She hadn’t returned to Ireland for three months, brokering deals out in Saudi Arabia too while she was away, before making Libya her last stop on her way home. Usually, Abi was only gone for two weeks out of every month, but Jimmy had been putting her to further work in order to seal more connections, the IRA’s reach furthering once more thanks to her endeavours.  

She was just about to switch her personal mobile off when it began to ring, the number not one she recognised, but knew the country code of. 001. America.  

“Hello?”

“Abi, it’s me.”

Her heart jolted so hard at hearing that smooth, Scottish lilt, Abi felt like she was about to pass out. A million images flashed through her mind, them in the ruins of the church, laughing in front of the fires she’d lit in the name of freedom, swinging her around in his arms, love through a hail of gunfire, just them together in her old flat, in her bed, him in her, the forehead kisses he’d give. ‘I love you so much, CB.’

“Are you there?”  

His voice brought her back to the present, Abi gulping. “Aye, Fil. I’m here.” She paused, her heart thundering in her ears, her palms sweating, her mouth dryer than the Libyan terrain beneath her, insides blazing with light. “It’s been a long time, ay?”

He laughed softly through his nose. “It has, hen. How’ve you been?”

How had she been? Shit without him. That’s how she’d been, even almost fifteen years on. Filip Telford was the love of her life, after all. Even the mere memory of him eclipsed any other man she’d been with since. “Good, yeah. I've been good. And you?”

Swallowing back a mouthful of scotch, he fought the urge to tell her the truth, that living without her was, when he let himself contemplate it for too long, hell on earth. “Can’t complain. Listen, there’s something specific I’m calling you for.” He went on to detail all that had happened, Cameron’s kidnapping of Abel, Jimmy’s assurance that neither he or the child had arrived in Belfast, lamenting of course his distrust in Jimmy. “So, do you know of anything?”

Snatching babies, a son for a son. She supposed she couldn’t blame Cameron for it, wrongly thinking it had been Gemma to murder Edmond, but a baby? Abi’s morals swung upon a pendulum in whichever direction suited her favourably, but even she drew a line there, with a little infant who belonged with his family, not being used as whatever bargaining chip Cameron intended him for. “I haven’t seen Cammie for, god, six months or more now, and if Jimmy is secretly behind this then Christ knows, he wouldn’t tell me. He keeps me entrenched in our African and Middle Eastern dealings, I have nothing to do with any Irish-American ructions, unfortunately in this case. And you know I’d tell you, if I did know.”

He did. She'd never lied to him, and never would. He knew that deep down in his soul, no matter how long it had been since they’d seen one another. “Aye, pet. I know.” His voice softened, and it took her right back to when she was seventeen, the hardened arms dealer, the IRA soldier, the tenacious iron lady she was, crumbling as she felt tears prickle her eyes. God, she missed him. “Look, I’ve gotta go. You’ve got my number now, so if you do hear anything, keep me in the loop?”

“Aye, I will.” She almost couldn’t breathe. It was awkward, it wasn’t them, and they both knew it. They weren’t them any longer, though.  

“Alright. Bye, Abi.”

“See ya.”

She almost couldn’t put one foot in front of the other as she strode back inside to the bar, her breathing unsteady, pulse racing wildly. “Treble Jameson, straight up.” She needed hard liquor, to take the edge off of everything hearing his voice again had stirred within her. Once she was furnished with her required alcohol, she took it back outside, sitting down again and sinking it in one. Adjusting her bra, she grumbled when her nipple piercing got caught on the lace, discreetly unhooking the bead fastening on the same gold bar that had been put in the day they were both pierced.  

Piercings, Jameson whiskey and flickering candlelight. It took her back, Abi staring at the candle placed upon the table, illuminating the rapidly darkening space around her. Even certain songs could transport her back in time, closing her eyes, being able to hear Golgotha Tenement Blues by Machines of Loving Grace swirl through her head as she remembered, sitting on her bed with him, the light from many, many candles all around, sipping whiskey...

Belfast, 1994.

“Are you absolutely sure?” Chibs asked her, continuing to circle her nipple with the piece of ice that had previously been chilling his whiskey, Abi sipping hers with a nod.

“I am.”  

He tested her confirmation, moving the ice cube and biting onto her nipple, the action sending a little shiver through her. “Alright. Could you feel that?”

“Kind of, but not as much as I would have, without the ice.”  

He winked at her, circling the erect bud with his tongue, reaching for the needle and cork. “You ready?”

“Aye. I think.” Knocking her drink back, she nodded, setting the glass down. “Okay, do it.”

Making sure he had the needle straight, he lined up the cork and like lightning, punctured her nipple. Her entire body tensed, a small groan emanating her throat, followed by a hiss of pain, his fingers working quickly to slide the bar in and fasten it up. “Christ on a bike, that had to hurt! Sorry, CB. Here, lemme kiss it better.”

His lips pressed against it, a little drip of blood wetting his mouth, Abi softly exclaiming in pain. “Yeah, just a bit! Still, not as bad as getting shot, so it isn’t.”  

“You still want me to do the other, too?” he asked, moving to kiss her lips a few times, their tongues swirling. He had to admit, there was something very sexy about it, giving his lover such intimate piercings.  

“Yes, I have to match.”

He grinned, kissing her again. “Aye, cannae be lopsided.” Gesturing between her breasts, he made her giggle, kissing her neck softly. He then gave the ice treatment to her right nipple, moving his kisses back to her mouth as he did. “I love you.”

“I love you more,” she hummed, Chibs frowning, shaking his head.

“Nae possible, lass.”  

“But it is.”

“Uh-uh, nah.” God, he was such a good kisser, her sex feeling prickled by arousal as they continued to devour one another at the mouth, the ice melting, a cold trickle dampening her breast. He took another cube from his glass, Abi reaching to top up each tumbler once more as her stiffened nipple began to numb, once again being tested with his teeth. A deep breath, a sip of whiskey for courage, and the needle went in. “Well, I have to give myself a pat on the back, there. I done good. They’re not wonky, at least.” He spoke after putting the bar in, sitting back to admire his handiwork.  

“They fucking throb, though,” she lamented, Chibs tutting, leaning to kiss her.  

“Want me to give you a distraction?”  

Her face was a picture of curiosity, sipping her drink, placing it back on the bedside table. “What did you have in mind?”

He raised his eyebrows with a smirk, grasping her underwear, pulling them off, hands stroking her thighs as he began to lay kisses descending from her knee, down her inner thigh, finally stopping on her...

“Ohhh.” The very first time they’d had sex, he hadn’t attended to her with his mouth, a regret that had led to him arriving at her flat two days later, ready to rectify. And when he had, lord, he’d made up for it. Having someone lick an orgasm from her was a sensation she had been in no rush to cease feeling, so much so, he’d done it twice more and then fucked her three times before finally leaving her sleeping and very satisfied.  

“Why do you like it so much, going down on me?” she asked, Chibs a little perplexed at her question, but answering all the same.

“Because your pussy tastes fucking amazing,” he began, dipping his tongue inside of her, looking up and winking as she watched him do it. “It’s pretty,” he continued, rubbing her folds with his fingers as he gazed upon her. “And I love how you react, the fuckin’ noises you make, when I do things like this.” Flattening his tongue against her, he swiped her folds with a long, firm drag, her clit sparking, her hips rising off the bed as she exclaimed the softest of cries. She’d had three boyfriends in the past who had attempted to get her off with their mouths, but they hadn’t really had much of a clue. That was because of what they were; boys. Now, in the capable hands, or rather mouth, of a man, she was kept extremely satisfied. He knew exactly how to please her.  

Her hands fisted his silky, dark hair, panting hard at the repetitive circles he drew over her clit with the tip of his tongue, pausing to suck on her every so often, Abi crying out as she shook against his mouth. Fire licked her veins, his tongue working her in a firm, hard beat, his dark brown eyes watching her, winking before closing, his middle finger sliding within the soaking velvet grip of her cunt, stroking her with the kind of precision that sent her stupefied with arousal.

“Fuck, you taste so beautiful.” He praised her, Abi wailing as he literally ate her alive. Tingles skittered through her at each firm lick, his finger joined by another, pressing her sweet spots, fucking her with them until she became utterly saturated, her silky wetness bathing his fingers and trickling over the back of his hand. Her thighs skimmed his face, her feet rested up on his shoulders, the suck of his lips around her clit sending her straight into bliss, shattering for him, Chibs sitting up, removing his last items of clothes. “I’d keep going, but I can’t. My cock’s getting envious of my mouth.”

She bit her lower lip, looking impossibly cute. “Well, we can’t have that, can we?”  

“Oh, no.” He grabbed her at the ankles, holding her legs against his chest, her feet only just touching his shoulders, he was so much taller than her. She was, as he’d coined her in the past, a five-feet five pocket rocket, him towering over her at his six-feet two stature. She reached for his cock, guiding him to her dewy opening, gasping as he sank into her fully, stroking her legs, turning his head to kiss her ankle. Bottoming out, he dragged back again, his cock utterly slick with her, entranced by the sight of her split around him, being very careful as he leaned to kiss her, so he didn’t touch her fresh piercings.  

“Fuck, you feel so amazing,” she gasped, nails raking his chest, their kisses magmatic and messy.

“Yeah, is that what you needed, darlin’? A nice, big cock right up in ye?”

She purred against his tongue, stroking his neck. “I’ll never not need it. Especially the way you give it, fuck, you lay that pipe entirely too well, BDT.” BDT stood for big dick Telford, as she’d decided, wanting her own special abbreviated name for him just as he had one for her. He winked at her, pushing a little deeper, watching her abdomen bulge as he filled her. His thumb moved to stroke rhythmic, tight circles at her clit, Abi gasping, her eyes fluttering, moaning so softly and helplessly, the sound making his insides burn caustically.  

He had to concentrate hard in trying to both give her the kind of strokes she craved, but prevent himself from slipping out, she was so ridiculously wet, her aqueous little cunt clenching on him, but still, not quite managing it. “Shit! Fucking hell, it’s like trying to fuck a goddamned waterwall!” he cursed, pushing back in again, Abi giggling.  

“It’s your fault, you and your sexy face and your gorgeous body, and that big ole’ cock of yours. What’s a woman to do other than absolutely cream herself for you, huh?”

He shook his head, growling, grasping her neck and leaning to kiss her. “You’ll be the fuckin’ death of me, CB.”  

She kissed him, hot and dirty, grasping his nipples and squeezing hard, making him grunt. “Just make me cum first, before you expire.” He laughed, loud and booming, continuing to fuck her hard until she came, howling, her hands held back to prevent her scratches marking him up in ways he definitely wouldn’t be able to explain to his wife.  

She’d believed him when spotting some on his chest, when he’d claimed Maureen Ashby’s cantankerous cat, Boots, had taken poorly to being picked up and petted, since she’d been on the receiving end herself in the past. However, Boots couldn’t be blamed for the state he knew Abi would leave his back in, should he actually let her.  

Afterwards, she lay against his chest, sipping whiskey and sharing a joint with him, content he didn’t have to go anywhere. She hated when he left her to go home to Fiona, but that night, he’d told his ole’ lady he had club business to attend to, Fiona not questioning it. He felt bad, all until he saw Abi smile at him upon answering her door. Any guilt faded as he sank into her arms, receiving her sweet kisses, her scent flooding his nose, hands stroking her soft, blonde hair. God, he was so in love with her, and she him.  

Abi knew right from the start that she’d never love another man the way she loved Filip. They had the kind of connection she’d never found in a single over person. She knew that night, lying there feeling the buzz of whiskey and the heady cloudiness of good weed that she’d found her soulmate.  

“Aye, but you were wrong, little girl. If he was your soulmate, you’d still have him now.” She muttered to herself, sipping her beer and lighting a cigarette straight off the end of her current one, stubbing out the butt in the ashtray and sighing. All she wanted was to call him back and scream her love for him down the line, but knew such was pointless. They could never be.  

For all she knew, he had a woman, it wouldn’t surprise her if he did. He could have remarried, had kids, she wouldn’t know if Fiona had divorced him, such was the bitter nature of the former Mrs Telford’s hatred towards her. Jimmy certainly wouldn’t make her privy to such, and she didn’t ask any of the SAMBEL guys he was still in touch with about him. It was too painful.  

Fourteen years and nine months on, and her heart still ached for him. It’d never cease, either. Much like it never wouldn’t for the man who lay back on a couch in the SAMCRO clubhouse almost seven thousand miles away, too drunk to ride home, deciding to sleep where he lay. When his brain let him, that was. Until then, it replayed memories of his time with Abi, his beautiful little CB, Chibs lighting a cigarette and smiling thinly, remembering.

Hearing her voice again after so long, he’d felt sick for a minute, to hear what he’d yearned for at long last. His heart had palpitated in his chest, his body tingling all over, such was the effect she still had on him. He smiled as he thought of her, betting she had taken to her role as an arms dealer like a duck to water. “Aye, the African lads will have’nae seen anything like you before, princess.” He spoke, holding the battered photograph he kept in his wallet of them together, taken after a night of clashes in Belfast he’d never forget...

Franklin Street, Belfast, 1995.

Smoke and fire covered the street, loyalists up against the clout of the republicans, Chibs scanning through the crowd, guns primed, searching for her. Police wagons roared down the street, windows shattered by bricks, rifle fire peppering the sides, and then, a Molotov cocktail hurled straight through the windscreen, the vehicle exploding into flames.  

“Fuckin’ have some of that, you dirty, loyalist cunts!”

There she was.

Her opposition came for her, street fighters from the opposing side charging, Abi holding her ground, dodging the brick thrown at her, swinging her fist at the man’s face, breaking his nose, her hand tearing her knife from her belt to slash at her next opponent, round kicking a third, hitting a fourth with a spinning backfist and a stab wound to the gut before grasping her gun and taking aim. She blew holes in three, her face a picture of delight even beneath the bandana covering her face, her eyes smiling, relishing in it.  

Fighting or fucking; it was where Abi Maguire truly came alive. However, when she became that gripped by it, her usual quick-thinking brain slowed, the adrenaline taking over, putting herself in danger she needn’t face. Chibs gave her a few moments, watching her, his tiny little war machine thriving as he fought on himself, the heat of the fires roaring in front of them as the loyalists moved back, further IRA soldiers hurling explosives at the police barricade, shield wielding riot coppers running around the flames, tear gas deployed.  

“Fuckin’ fight me! Come on, you pricks, fight me!” Abi screamed, picking up a brick and hurling at a policeman once she was out of ammo, Chibs running and grasping her around the waist, lifting her up and continuing as he and the rest of the club all made a run for it, taking his feisty baby with him, Abi laughing against the backdrop of fire and carnage, sticking up her middle fingers.  

They ran through the back streets, Chibs eventually letting her run on her own two feet, weaving through alleyways back out to where the club had parked their bikes, Abi jumping onto Chibs’ Harley behind him, the engines roaring into life and spiriting them away before the police could even see which direction they’d absconded in. When they arrived back at the club house, it was celebration all round, hopped up on adrenaline, Chibs swinging Abi around in his arms, grasping her bum as they shared deep, lustful kisses.

By that point in their affair, his brother’s all knew their secret, that while Fiona was his ole’ lady, Abi was his girlfriend.  

“Right in the fuckin’ centre of the carnage, as I knew you would be,” he exclaimed with pride, passing her a whiskey, kissing her forehead. He thrived on the chaos he found within her, got off on her bloodlust. She was insane, but he adored it. He often thought she was born in the wrong era. Back when the troubles were really kicking off in Northern Ireland, she’d have flourished. That brand of carnage was her calling.  

“Aye. Thanks for coming to pick me up.” Her joke made him roar with laughter, Abi tucking her head under his chin, kissing his chest. “Love you, Filip.”

“Love you more, crazy baby.”  

And he always would.

[tolkien-feels]

Tbh, I just feel like it’s important, that with Elros to emphasize his like mannish-ness and his mannish ancestry, because not only does his choice to be human shows that in some way we can assume that is what he connected more with, just like…frankly? It’s his human ancestry that lends him and his ancestors legitimacy to being kings of the edain/dunedain as he would technically have been born from all three groups. Taking the mannish out of Elros, is really weird to me, like that’s not to say he doesn’t like acknowledge his elvish roots, I just think it’s probably like…more impactful to empathize Elros as a Mortal Man than as a Half Elf since, unlike Elrond, he seemed to have committed to a human persona rather than a half elves one which makes sense considering like, the idea of like, once your mortal, that’s it. You’ve chosen. You have to commit.

Idk, I just really like a much more mannish elros, like he seemingly choose to be mortal bc he wanted too not out of love or duty so like, I feel like it’s nice to have someone want to be human, and it also makes how much later numenoreans didn’t want to be human even sadder? 

That makes sense and is very valid!

I........ ended up writing a fairly long post about this, so here it is under a cut. The tl;dr though is that I agree with you on some points but would like to push back a little on some others.

Personally, I tend to go with Elros, like Elrond, being Very Much Elros Peredhel. Granted, this is probably just me projecting - my family is from China but I'm not, so I tend to want to latch on to characters who have mixed heritage and refuse to pick a side. Which does not mean being "kinda like an elf." It means being something else altogether.

(As a side rant, my blood boils when people take characters like Elrond or Arwen and do math to figure out what race they "really" are. Genealogical math can be fun, but it's irrelevant in terms of how characters identify. People don't... measure parts of their identity to fit their dna. I know that's not what you're doing, anon, I'm just ranting because it's relevant to how I approach the twins.)

Having said all this, I feel like Elros made his choice for a reason. If I had to pick someone (other than Elrond) to compare him to, then maybe I'd go with Aragorn? Aragorn is equally comfortable speaking of himself as one of Elrond's race and as a mortal man. That's how I imagine Elros - holding overlapping identities and seeing no contradiction in that.

Now, of course, he chooses to be one of the Edain, and he's surrounded by them all the time, he's their leader. I very much think being immersed in a culture he already identified with to begin with would very naturally lead to Elros becoming much more Mannish than Elrond is. So in that sense, I definitely agree with you, Elros is much more of a Man than Elrond.

But I also think Elros chose "to abide with Men" and Elrond chose to "be numbered among the Eldar" - I don't think either of them becomes one single race. The way I headcanon it (and again, I'm sure this is me bringing my personal life into the text), they chose whose fate they wanted to share. But they grew up to adulthood being peredhil, and I headcanon they don't really want to be anything besides that, that's who they are. Their choices are extremely important, of course, but I really like to headcanon that it doesn't flip a switch that changes their identity in any way (though of course it informs their choices going forward, which in turn impacts them, but that's just how life works for everyone.)

...unless it's really tragic or really funny in which case I'm ready to throw this under the bus and oversimplify this very nuanced issue, because that's the kind of person I am.

[dendrite-blues]

For a relatively short exchange, this scene is jam packed with characterization for Loki. 

It’s also our first reliable look into what Loki was like before Thor 1. Not as described by others, but first hand and from his own mouth. I think that deserves a closer look, to see what we can learn about Loki and how he thinks.

This scene is significant because it tells us what Loki’s personality is like when he’s not running for his life. It tells us who he was before his trauma and what his core beliefs are underneath those layers of humor and bravado.

Better yet, since he’s alone we can assume that every line in this scene is presumably true, or at least Loki believes it to be true since he has no audience but himself. 

The dialogue centers mostly around the statement “You deserve to be alone, and you always will be.” I’m not going to focus too much on the “alone” motif since I already dedicated an entire meta post to it.

What I think is more interesting about this scene is actually the looping, and the stages Loki goes through in trying to deal with it. There’s a lot of really interesting character traits on display in that progression.

Loop 1: A Warm Bath and Glass of Wine

The first loop entails Sif lecturing Loki about cutting her hair, kicking him in the balls, and storming away. Loki kneels on the floor and he gives us this great line:

“A bad memory prison? How quaint. Some punishment. I remember exactly what I did after that. I went and had a nice, hot bath and a glass of wine, and I never thought about it again. Because it was just a bit of fun.”

So we can take this to be Loki’s default reaction to pain and criticism. When put into an unexpected conflict without any forethought or outside influence, this is what he says/does.

1) Downplay the damage/threat. How quaint. 2) Dispel/soothe the emotion. Nice hot bath. 3) Minimize the impact. Never thought about it again. 4) Deflect responsibility. Just a bit of fun.

Keep those in mind as we move forward, since we’ll be using them to make sense of what else Loki says in this scene.

Loops 2 and 3: Okay, Sif, Hang On

This bit is about Loki realizing just how bad his predicament is.

L: Okay. Okay, Sif. Hang on. S: No, you hear this. You deserve to be alone... And I always will be. L: Alright, I get it. Listen. You are a reconstruction of a past event created by the organization that controls all of time. So you need to trust me and you need to help me escape. Yeah? S: Pathetic. (she kicks him again) L: (winces and groans)

As we all would expect from him, Loki’s first impulse is to try and talk his way out of it. What he says to achieve that goal is pretty revealing though. Because he doesn’t try to ease Sif’s upset by apologizing or explaining or offering to magic her hair back. 

Any of these would have been more likely to save his nads in the given circumstance, right? The present threat is Sif, and she’s mad about what Loki did to her hair. But Loki doesn’t really see that. Rather, he treats her as a means to an end.

“So you need to trust me and you need to help me escape. Yeah?”

To me, that choice reveals something of a blind spot Loki has to the feelings of others. Even if he doesn’t actively like hurting people, he does prioritize their problems below his, and quite shamelessly. And at least on his first impulse, he doesn’t seem to feel much remorse or empathy for them.

Usually in fanon we attribute this callousness to his trauma. He’s learned that no one can be trusted and no one cares, and so he doesn’t allow himself to care for others. 

But between his Loop 1 sentiment of “It was just a bit of fun” for an event which caused real hurt to Sif, and his Loop 2/3 behavior of “you, stop being mad and help ME” I think it’s reasonable to say that selfishness/low empathy are traits Loki possessed pre-trauma.

Loop 4-????: Happens Off Screen

It’s unclear how many times Loki loops while the camera is following Mobius, but the implication is clear that it was been many, many repetitions. Somewhere in this his denial and deflection must break, because we come back to a much humbler, more pleading Loki.

The Final Loop: I Crave Attention

S: You conniving, craven... L: Sif. Sif. S: ...pathetic worm. L: Please, please, no more. Please, I beg you. I'm a horrible person. I get it. I really am. I cut off your hair because I thought it'd be funny. And it's not. Uh... I crave attention... because I'm... a narcissist. And I suppose it's... It's because I'm scared of being alone.

HOOO BOY, so this is quite a tough bit to analyze. There’s a lot of interpretations you could make, and a lot of topics to delve into. For the sake of focus, I’m going to ignore the narcissism question. That one really needs an entire post, and I want to focus on something else here.

That being, Loki’s way of processing conflict/punishment.

I’ve always found it strange how Loki takes such pride in being called a liar and cheat when he simultaneously has this chip on his shoulder about how nobody likes him. 

Those two traits don’t seem to play well together, and I always scratched my head over how they coexist in his character. If he wants people to be nicer to him, maybe he should stop antagonizing them? Yeah?

Well, here we’re finally given a clear reason. Loki craves attention, he hates being alone. So how does he avoid it? Pranks and mischief. 

Fair enough.

But then, if all his pranks lead to this outcome--outrage, retaliation, insult--why doesn’t he ever learn? How is it that after 1000 years of this behavior, he hasn’t found a better way to get the attention he craves? 

Loop 1: Downplay, dispel, minimize, deflect. He accepts zero accountability for the impact of his actions, and doesn’t think at all about how they affect other people. Just a bit of fun. I had a hot bath and a glass of wine, and never thought about it again. 

The only reason he reaches the level of self awareness on display in the Final Loop is because the looping forces him to contemplate his actions and the impulses within him that lead to that behavior.

This is projection on my part, but to me he acts as though this kind of deep reflection is a new thing for him. He sounds like someone sharing a revelation that he’s just had about himself. We’re being shown that Loki is a man of action. He will always move forward if he can, possibly because looking back to so painful that he can’t bring himself to do it.

Circling back around to the pride Loki has for his knavery, let’s suppose that he’s been on this negative reinforcement cycle since childhood. He’s always acted out to get attention, then received retaliation and insults for it, and then pushed the bad feelings out of his mind with creature comforts and mental gymnastics.

What happens over time, when you’re being constantly told that you’re a pain in the ass and no one likes you? Most of us would take it to heart, but Loki doesn’t. He has a big ego, big enough to resist that constant barrage of hate coming at him.

So how does he marry these two conflicting realities? 

He turns it into an identity, the God of Mischief. 

In his head, Loki excuses himself of blame by shifting the culpability to his moniker. It’s not that he’s immature and petty, he’s just a “trickster.” It’s in his nature to cause trouble, so he can’t help it. You wouldn’t dangle a steak in front of a tiger and blame the tiger for striking, would you? And if other people can’t take a “joke” then that’s not his fault, that’s on them for not having a sense of humor. It was just a bit of fun.

Here we see the union of these two halves of Loki, the lonely ice runt and the mischievous scamp. (And a little bit of the original Loki who Thor accused of being incapable of growth!) 

By refusing to think about others, and excusing himself from responsibility, Loki successfully preserves his self worth and insulates himself to most of the negative emotions he experiences.

Pain, embarrassment, and grief aren’t pointless emotions though. They are vital feelings that serve to regulate our behavior, and that push us to conform to the ways of our social circles. Without them, we annoy and upset others. Be annoying for long enough and you will eventually find yourself, well, alone. As Loki is.

Thus “Mischief” is a self-defeating loop, and Loki is just as caught in it as the cell Mobius trapped him in.

In order to be free of both traps, Loki has to stop running. He has to take a deeper look at himself and realize how much he is getting in his own way. The entire scene is one big parallel between these two “loops.” Pretty neat, huh?

Sadly these kinds of thought loops are really difficult to break, they’re buried so deeply in our personalities and habits that we usually don’t notice them until life forces us to address them.

The cell is Loki’s wake up call, and thankfully he does seem to rise to the occasion. He tells Sif quite clearly what his problem is, and he does it with beautiful, painful honesty.

Which is why it’s so fucking awesome for Mobius to acknowledge that, and to finally give Loki a taste of positive attention. 

You don’t deserve to be alone. I believe you can be anything, even something good. Whatever you two did, it was powerful enough to bring this whole place down.

It’s a beautiful scene. Well written, meticulously acted. The clarity of vision in the pacing and shot selection, it’s really something special.

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

A lot of people wanted a part two of #2, so here it is! (Also thank you for all the kind words I really appreciate it!🥺💖)

Request #6

Warning: non-con touching (nothing sexual), slight body horror, abuse, one-sided attraction.

Honestly, I remember that with #2 I really did have some kind of breakthrough or something lmao. It just came out so good! And this continuation? Well, let's just say that as I was writing it, I got my own stomach to twist a little bit. ;]

Enjoy, dearest anons!

Part 1 here | Next Part

~~~~

Hero's legs burned as they ran with all their might, turning another corner. The halls of Supervillain's lair were like a maze. Everything looked identical no matter where they went. The hero could take twenty different turns and would still be met with the same dead end.

This was bad, very bad. Hero had to get out. They had to get away. The monster- The monster was after them. They had to find an exit, because if the monster caught them...

Hero shivered at the thought but refused to give up just yet. There had to be an exit somewhere! There just had to be! Because if there wasn't one then Hero- then Hero was as good as dead-

The same dead end again. Except this time, the hall leading up to it was much longer. And... And at the end of it was...

"N-No... no, no, no, NO, NO, NONONONONONONONONONONONONO!" - Hero turned on their heel and ran, tears falling from their eyes as their body shook in terror, lungs burning in need of more air. The corner they had turned just moments ago was gone now. There was only one long hallway. Hero could only run forward and nowhere else. They could not leave the monster's line of sight.

They spared a quick glance behind themself.

A mistake.

The monster's face was millimeters from their own, and Hero looked into one of its many eyes.

Another mistake.

Without warning, the hero's mind screamed in agony. They grabbed their head, forgetting that they were running and falling to the ground with a loud thud. They clawed at their temple, trying to get the abnormal pain out of it. Hero realized they were still looking into the monster's eyes. They tried to look away but couldn't. They- They couldn't move.

Their body refused to cooperate. They continued to stare deep into the monster's dark orbs, and as the beast neared them, they pleaded, they begged, they screamed for it to stop.

But the monster was silent, one of its clawed hands grabbing Hero's head, bringing them closer. The pain only worsened as the distance between them shortened.

Hero was apologizing now. What were they even saying 'sorry' for? They didn't know, but maybe it would help? Maybe that's what the beast wanted to hear from them?

The pain only grew. And Hero-

Hero awoke, gasping for air as their entire body shuddered with leftover terror. Where were they? They opened their eyes, but there was only darkness. W-Why? Why was it so dark-

The blindfold. That's right... Hero's eyes were covered so that they couldn't see. They took in a shaky breath in an attempt to calm themself, but it didn't help much.

They decided to focus on their other senses, feeling what was beneath them with their hands. It was soft and warm. Hero found the feeling rather pleasant. The arms around their waist were also quite comforting.

...

Wait, arms? W-WHAT ARMS-

"Did you have a bad dream, darling?" - a voice softly sounded in Hero's ears. They shivered as one of their captor's clawed hands trailed up and down their side, their hold tightening just a fringe.

"S-Supervillain... W-What are you d-doing..?" - they asked, worried confusion taking over their face. Why was Supervillain back already? Hero couldn't have slept for that long! They- What... What even was that dream just now?

Reading their thoughts, the supervillain answered, "Oh, I just happened to get done with work a bit sooner than planned today." - the monster started, nuzzling their face into the hero's hair, adoring their scent. "And, well... You just looked so cute sleeping in my bed. I simply couldn't resist cuddling you~. "

Hero had to resist another shiver trying to move through them. They were just... sleeping on top of the criminal for.. well, who knows how long! And Supervillain... Had they been watching them sleep? Hero couldn't stop the shiver that time.

The monster's grip suddenly tightened but stopped just short of hurting the small hero in their grasp. Said hero's entire body froze. A pit grew in their stomach as Supervillain pulled them closer and whispered lowly in their ear, "What was your dream about, little hero?"

There was an edge to their voice, Hero noticed. Were they angry? B-But why?! Hero hadn't even done anythi-

The dream.

The hero inhaled sharply as a realization hit them. It wasn't a dream. They- They remembered now- IT- IT WASN'T A-

A clawed hand suddenly gripped Hero's neck. They could only whine, terrified as the supervillain's grip threatened to cut off their air. A deep growl echoed in their ear, the monster's hold tightening even more and becoming painful.

"S-Supervillain, please- I-" - Hero never finished as another hand clamped over their mouth, keeping them quiet. Where did the third hand even come from? They didn't know nor needed to, as they had more pressing matters at hand.

"He̠̋ro... My l̟͊ittl̨̉e ̾͢H̺̾ė͈ro... ͛ͅỶͅoụ̿ tr̺̚ǐ̞e͂ͅd ̪̾t͓͑o r̰͕͊̍ư̥̟͈̝̅̆̓̍͢n̤̩̟͓̯͆̒̀͠͝ a̍ͅw̡̲̫̘̣͚̩̆̈͐̌̋̀͝a̹̜͙̎̿̄y͕͡ ." - Supervillain's voice had grown octaves deeper. It sounded... corrupted as it echoed in Hero's ear. It made their head hurt. They shook once more as a familiar pain brushed against the edges of their mind.

"Y̘̋ou th͚̆o̜͘ug͘͜h̖̽t͕̀ ͍̄y͕̒o̤̕u c̪̐oul̲̿d ̯͆j̮̎ust ̥̀g̙̈et awa̛͖y, ͇̇hm̓͟m?" - Hero could practically feel the other's anger- no, rage filling the room. It felt suffocating, it was making them struggle to breathe. Or was it the hand at their throat squeezing too tightly? They couldn't tell. Everything was starting to hurt. That- That pain from before- It was all coming back-

Hero whimpered against the hand at their lips as more arms came seemingly out of nowhere. They still couldn't see anything. They could only feel them wrapping around their small form, slowly crushing them.

The hero felt the tears flowing down their face, their terror growing as the grip on their neck tightened, just a pinch away from choking them. They could only breathe through their nose, and it hurt. It hurt so much. Everything hurt so, so much. Their heart was hammering against their ribcage, trying to get out. They- They couldn't get out- They couldn't- They-

They screamed as sharp teeth wrapped around their neck, about to bite.

Hero tried to struggle against the monster. They writhed and fought, but their body didn't even budge. Not even their head moved. They screamed out loud but were muffled. So they screamed inside their mind, crying out, begging, making promises the hero knew they would regret making.

But nothing worked. They could feel Supervillain's teeth slowly sinking into them, breaking their skin with ease. They tried to jerk their head away one more time, but it did nothing. Nothing worked, there was nothing they could do.

They grimly realized just how powerless they were, and even though it changed nothing, they squeezed their eyes shut, and went limp in the monster's hold, submitting to them. Only muffled sobs escaped the hero, their head empty of thoughts or pleas. Hero-

Hero-

Hero flinched as a gentle kiss landed on their neck. The razor-sharp teeth from before were now gone. They whined, confused and scared. They didn't understand.

The many arms holding them loosened their grip, the hand around their throat released completely but did not leave. The hero gasped for the precious air their lungs were demanding as the hand on their mouth pulled away. However, once they got a good lungful of oxygen, the hand moved back to cover their mouth. A whimper left Hero as its fingertips brushed against their face, a weak "Please..." managed to slip past their lips, their voice cracking, broken, and petrified.

But Hero's plea was for nothing. They shook as the hand covered their mouth once more but said nothing else. A shiver ran down their spine as a trail of more gentle kisses was left upon their neck, the last one underneath the hero's ear, in which Supervillain whispered, "Do you understand now, little hero?"

The monster's voice was back to normal, but Hero's stomach twisted into knots regardless. Not awaiting an answer, the supervillain continued, "Do you understand that I'm in charge here? That I'm choosing to be nice to you?"

The hand laying on Hero's throat squeezed once more, just the slightest amount, and they froze at the feeling, more sobs threatening to rip out of them. "I could do so many terrible things to you, little hero. And yet, in the three months that you've been here, I've never actually hurt you, now have I?"

Their throat was released a second time, and Hero couldn't deny it. Supervillain could do whatever they wanted with them. They could easily hurt them or- or use them. But they hadn't. The entire time that the hero had been here, the supervillain was always very gentle towards them. Perhaps they scared them every once in a while, but Supervillain never did anything... extreme...

"A smart conclusion as always, Hero~." - the way the supervillain said Hero's name made them shudder. They were still helpless in their grasp, but at least they were no longer on the verge of having a heart attack.

Supervillain chuckled as they read the hero's mind. They left another kiss on their neck, before continuing, "Will you play nice now, little hero~?"

"I-I will." - Hero answered in their mind.

"Good~." - the monster purred. "That means that you'll keep all those promises you made a few minutes ago, right?" - they asked with a grin, and Hero froze once more, their muscles tensing in new fear.

"Mmm, what was it that you promised again..?" - Supervillain mused, pretending not to remember, just so that they could smell their hero's fright in the air. "You promised to... do anything I asked for~?"

Another whine escaped Hero as their body began to shake against the other's. The arms holding them tightening. The hand at their throat squeezing again. A few small, still muffled sobs escaped them as Supervillain's sharp teeth brushed against their ear, "Well, Hero?" - the monster pressed.

"I-I I'll do whatever you w-want, j-j-just... P-Please just don't h-hurt me." - even inside their mind, Hero's voice still broke and quivered. They whimpered as Supervillain relaxed their hold once again, their various hands now caressing and petting the hero's body. "Oh, of course I won't hurt you, Hero..."

The blindfold around Hero's eyes suddenly got torn away, and they opened their eyes out of reflex. At first, they thought nothing had changed, as there was darkness all around them. But then their brain registered all the eyes around them. They noticed the darkness surrounding them moved unlike normal shadows but rather like living flesh. Out of the corner of their eye, they could see that the giant mass around them was connected to Supervillain's body.

Hero tried to close their eyes in their terror but found that they couldn't. They could only stare wide-eyed, breathing growing unsteady as a hand somehow formed in the dark, a terrible sound of wet flesh squelching and bones cracking echoing across the entire room.

They whimpered as the new hand cradled their cheek, thumb wiping away some of their tears, all the eyes focused on them as the monster finished their sentence,

"...No̼͡t̠̾ uṋ̓l̳̔eś̼s̩̽ ̫͋yo̻͞u ̮́ģ͒ive m̙̏e a r̮̂e̾͜a̺̽ṡ͎on̎͢ ̧͂ṱ̾o."

And then, at last, the sweet embrace of slumber overtook Hero's body and mind.

[artzee-bee]

End of all things [1] | Chat Noir x witch!reader

Fandom: Miraculous Ladybug (Adrien Agreste/Chat Noir)

Summary: Y/N had been Chat Noir’s friend and moral support for a long time now. Even though she had magical powers too, she never liked getting involved with akuma attacks, but now, as Hawkmoth’s gotten control of the miraculous of creation, she couldn’t stay indiferent anymore. She had to save her friend and Paris!

Genre: Mostly angst? A little fluff

Warnings: canon typical violence, mentions of death/dying

A/N: This was requested, but as I was writting it, it got very long and I’ve decided to post it in 2 parts. I’m not gonna post the request just now, so as to not spoil the rest of the story but Part 2 will be coming out on friday!!!

Part 2

~~~

Chat was pacing around the room, waiting for you to be done with your potion. You had heard from your parents that there had been a new akuma attack today, but as the news reported, the two parisian heros took care of the problem in no time. For this reason, Chat’s presence at your house felt unusual. Normally he would stop by when he needed to rant, when he was in need of comfort and reassurance but the fight today went well, so what could possibly be bothering him?

“Ok, I’m done” you said, screwing the cap on the little bottle and placing it on your shelf “Wanna talk?” you asked, to which Chat gave you a shy smile

“Yeah, a little”

You made your way to your bed, motioning for him to follow you. You got under your covers and passed him his favorite plushie, a cat to no one’s surprise

“So what’s up? Is it about the fight today?”

“Well no it’s more like a...personal problem?”

“Oh…”

“Claws out” in a rush of light and electricity, the infamous hero vanished before you, transforming into Adrien Agrest

“Well, what is it?” 

Adrien revealed his identity to you months ago. You first met him as Chat, but when you really got to know each other, he decided you needed to know all of him. Well, he needed you to know all of him.

You listened to him rant until way past midnight. Until you were both too tired to stand up straight, so you laid down in your bed, covers up to your necks, muffled stories told in between yawns. You listened carefully, giving him your full attention. He fidgeted with the collar of the stuffed toy and you used your magic to make 2 hot chocolates. Eventually, everything that needed to be said, was said. You offered Adrien to watch a movie, since that always cheered him up, but he refused

“It’s late and I have a photoshoot early in the morning. My makeup team will be angry with my dark circles anyways, better not make it worse” he joked

Adrien transformed back into Chat and you cast a safety spell on him, which you did every time he left your house late at night. He always teased you about being ‘too protective’, but deep down he found it sweet how much you cared and wanted to know that he would get home in one piece.

“Night Chat” you said, wrapping your arms around the hero

“Good night Y/N!”

The next few days went by quietly. You hadn’t run into Adrien at all, but you texted a bit back and forth. Sunday evening however, things took a toll for the worst. You turned on your tv, ready to catch up with your show when you heard Nadja Chamack’s voice doing the news report

“It seems as though Rena Rouge and Chat Noir are struggling to stay on their feet! They have taken shelter under a fallen bus, leaving Ladybug alone to defeat Hawkmoth'' your pulse skyrocketed. As you watched the screen you could see Chat and Rena off to the side, struggling to catch their breath. Rena seemed to be in pain while Chat was trying to help. Ladybug was using her yoyo the best she could in order to protect herself from the supervillain, who was wielding his cane like a sword over her head. The fight was clearly going in Hawkmoth's favour! You grabbed your jacket and ran out the front door and onto the empty streets of Paris, towards the Eiffel Tower, where the fight was taking place. 

People screamed at you from their balconies to go home, warning you about the fight and the danger you were putting your life in but you didn’t care. All you could think about was how they needed you. Chat needed you! Every late night talk and every inside joke shared between you two replaid in your head like a broken record. Behind Chat’s tough mask, his alter ego of hero and protector, was the fragile figure of Adrien Agreste. The young blonde boy who cried during romantic comedies, who liked to have his hair braided and forgot how to speak when someone complimented him. If you didn’t help, the heros would loose and he would most likely die! Alongside Ladybug and Rena who, even though you didn’t know their real identities, were still young girls. As you ran down the street, you heard kids crying inside one of the homes. You ran past but at the last second you heard Nadia’s voice coming from their tv

“Ladybug was akumatized”

You approached the Eiffel tower from the side, where you could see everything going on. In front of the tower, right next to Hawkmoth, stood Marinette Dupain-Cheng, dressed in a tight, dark red suit, darker than Ladybug’s. Black butterflies replaced the dots of the heroine's suit and the purple butterfly mask of Hawkmoth’s control was shining over her face. Marinette was Ladybug! She did, in fact, get akumatized. On the other side, you saw Rena and Chat, struggling to stay up right. They were obviously in a lot of pain and extremely tired, but Hawkmoth was merely mocking them.

“After all this time” Chat spoke up, but his breaths were shallow and rapid “I thought you’d know one thing about us! We don’t give up without a fight. Never will. Especially not against you” and with that, the two ran at each other.

“It doesn’t have to end like this, you know?” he said “We don’t have to fight to death. I wouldn’t want to have that on my conscience. All you have to do is give me your miraculouses willingly. The town will be safe, you will be safe! It’s the most heroic option you’ve got. You won’t be any good to Paris if you are dead”

You knew this was not just another fight between them. This was it. Either the heros won or everything they’ve worked for would be lost. Hawkmoth would win and get his hands on both miraculous and god knows what kind of destruction that would bring not only upon Paris, but the world. You focused all your energy in one spot in the air, right between where Chat and Hawkmoth were supposed to clash but before they could reach each other, you sent a wave of energy that blew both of them apart, like a bomb. Hawkmoth flew back into the Eiffel tower while Chat hit the pavement with a thud. Confused and certainly disturbed, both of them began looking around for an answer as to what happened when, finally, Hawkmoth’s eyes landed on yours.

“Aha, miss Y/L/N. What a spectacular honor to finally meet you!” you didn’t reply, instead you stood tall, maintaining eye contact

“I know a lot about you. Seen a lot. Felt a lot of your emotions. None of them can compare to the powers I’ll have with the two miraculouses. With Ladybug’s earrings and the guardian under my control, I’d say my mission here is almost over’’

“Y/N get back!’’ Chat screamed but you were too involved now to run. This was your fight too.

“It is time you give up Hawkmoth. Paris is not yours, neither are the miraculouses. We will destroy you, no matter what it takes!”

“Listen to yourself, kid! <<Destroy me>>? The most you can do is pull a rabbit out of your hat…” before he could finish his sentence, you snapped your fingers in his direction and instantly, the ground around beneath Hawkmoth and akumatized Marinette, fractured. From within the cracks, many tangled plants came out, encapsulating the 2 villains. You sprinted towards Chat and Rena, ignoring the signs of struggle coming from the prison of weeds.

 Alongside the two superheros, you hid inside a corner coffee shop, which was now empty.

“Y/N, you need to leave!! You are putting yourself in too much danger!” Rena told you, as she collapsed to the ground from exhaustion

“Stop with that already! I am here and I’m not going anywhere!”

“Yes you are!” Chat looked at you. His voice was calm and yet, his eyes were filled with disappointment “You are not a superhero. This is our job!”

“You need help”

“No we don’t!” Chat had never, in all your years of friendship, raised his voice at you, let alone yell “ You need to stay safe! You could die! Hawkmoth doesn’t care about anything if it helps him get what he wants! I am ready to take that risk. Rena is too” you both turned to the red headed hero, only to see her slowly nod “But I can’t allow you to take it”

“You can’t tell me what to do”

“I don’t want you to die!” he screamed again “I love you and I will never forgive myself if you don’t come out of this alive!”

Before you could say anything, you saw Hawkmoth and his minion, through the cafe window, cutting through the last of the plants and escaping your trap. You grabbed Chat’s arm and pulled him to the floor, from where you could not be seen

“We’re in this together now” you said in a stern voice, looking the blonde kid right in his eyes “Whether you like it or not '' this time, he simply nodded.

You stuffed your hands into the pocket of your jacket and pulled out 3 little bottles, containing a mate, green liquid. You had prepared one for each of the heros, now you’d only need two.

“Here, drink this!” You handed each of them one “Regeneration potion. Should put you back on your feet.” as soon as they finished drinking the brew, you could see color coming back to their faces

“Where’s Marinette’s akuma??” 

“Her necklace” replied Rena “It’s a gift from her kwami”

“Got it. You deal with Hawkmoth. I’ll bring Marinette back!”

Chat and Rena exited through the front door, grabbing Hawkmoth’s attention. He called out to Marinette to attack, but before she could take a single step in your direction, you had snuck up behind her. Using a simple invisibility spell, you managed to exit unnoticed behind the two heros. It finally felt like the fight had truly begun. From the corner of your eye you could see Chat and Rena doging Hawkmoth’s attacks while you, were doing your best to get your hands on the stupid necklace! Even though she couldn’t see you, Marinette seemed to almost always know what your next move was. She would expertly block all your attack and would keep you an arm’s length away at all times. Finally, you had enough and in one swift motion, you pinned her back to your chest, ripping the necklace away. A wave of black and purple took over the both of you and when it vanished, all you were left with was a half unconscious Marinette in your arms. You dropped her to the ground slowly as she was coming back to her senses. You wanted to talk to her but your thoughts were driven away as you heard Chat scream bloody murder.

On the opposite side of the platza, you saw Hawkmoth rip Chat’s ring off his finger, forcing him to detransform. The exhausted figure of Adrien Agreste fell to the ground with a thud. Hawkmoth had, indeed, gotten his hand on both the miraculouses.

[bokutoslittlebird]

The Perfect Family

Alpha!Bokuto x Beta!reader x Beta!Akaashi

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The next day, Keiji is home.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How would you know that, unless-“

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

“Fuck you,”

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

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

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

“You’re kidding me,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where’s the camera?”

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

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

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

“Of course. What do you want?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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