#ah the good old times when he still waves and smiles to the camera instead of running away or looking down like it doesnt exist

[collecting--stardust]

Ai Ogura before the 2019 Moto3 Assen GP

[broccoliboix5peepeeman]

Midoriya-sensei AU

Part 6: Not-a-date

It seems I've created a pattern where I post every 1st and 15th of the month, so I've decided that's now the official schedule 👉😎👉

Part 5.1 | Part 5.2 | Ao3 | Part 7

Izuku was full of nervous energy.

He rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, mouth twitching from the intensity of his smile. It wasn’t too busy outside of Himura Agency—still early for a Sunday—but the bustle of the heroes and sidekicks inside was evident. Izuku almost felt bad for taking up Shoto’s time, as irrational as that feeling was. The hero had been the one to ask him to meet up, after all—plus it was specifically going to be after his shift had finished.

What if he changes his mind though?

‘You will not dampen my mood, brain.’ He sang quietly to himself. ‘Today is going to be a good day. I refuse to let you overthink and ruin it.’

In one last attempt to check himself over, Izuku glanced down at his attire: a black, fitted t-shirt that said "Tシャツ", with his navy, Shoto-themed jacket wrapped around his waist, matching the colour of his shorts. As usual, his bulky red trainers completed the look, along with the yellow backpack he'd been periodically replacing since he was 14 years old. Everything was in good condition: no dirt, ink or toothpaste stains; no holes that he could see; no weird smells.

Izuku refrained from using his phone's camera to check his face as well, deeming that too embarrassing to do in public, and ran a hand through his hair. He hadn't bothered with product, so he didn't need to worry about the associated repercussions of accidentally fiddling with his curls.

Several more minutes passed, and just after Izuku checked the time—10:02—the door to the agency opened as Shoto stepped out, looking around. His long hair was pulled into a half-up bun, slightly frizzy, but no less captivating, and he'd changed out of his hero costume. Instead, he wore a pair of grey jeans, along with a burgundy henley shirt that had the sleeves rolled up and the buttons undone—the latter of which should quite frankly be illegal, Izuku thought, as he refrained from staring at the top of the hero’s chest, and waved. 

He's so handsome, this really isn't fair.

When Shoto's gaze landed on him, his eyes softened as he walked over, blissfully unaware of Izuku's internal panic.

'Midoriya.' The hero gave him a once-over that Izuku hoped was appreciative. 'It's good to see you.'

'Likewise!' He smiled brightly. 'I still can't believe you asked me here today. I'm honoured!'

Shoto scratched his scar almost bashfully, lips sporadically twitching. Perhaps he didn't know what to say in response.

Another few seconds passed, before Izuku decided to add, 'What do you have planned for us today?'

‘Ah…’ He nodded awkwardly, as if the notion had only just occurred to him. Todoroki had mentioned that he could be an airhead at times. ‘I have a booking for our lunch at twelve, but other than that, I figured I’d let you decide. I’m not very good at organising these sorts of things, I’ve been told.’

‘That’s okay.’ Izuku smiled reassuringly, then held his chin as he thought about activities. There were plenty of museums and parks in the area, plus there was Takoba beach, which wasn’t too far away, but in all honesty, there was one idea playing at Izuku’s mind which he hoped wasn’t too lousy for Shoto. ‘Not to be that person… but could you maybe… give me a tour of your agency?’

Shoto quickly hid his mouth behind his hand and made an indiscernible noise. Izuku gawked, not sure how to react, as the hero shut his eyes and shook his head to compose himself. Once achieved, Shoto then cleared his throat and lowered his hand, exposing his slightly upturned mouth. However, as the seconds went by, it became clear that he had no intention of explaining the sudden behaviour. Instead, he simply reached into his pocket and brandished a lanyard. 

Izuku tilted his head to the side—sufficiently distracted—and took it when offered, only to find that he’d just been given a personalised visitor’s pass. Embarrassed, he felt his entire face fill with heat; he was so obvious.

‘I didn’t want to suggest it myself.’ Shoto shrugged, although his eyes shone with amusement. ‘But you said you were a fan, so I had one made just in case.’

‘T-That’s very k-kind of you, Shoto-kun.’ He put the lanyard on, fiddling with the card. ‘It won’t be boring for you though, will it?’

‘If this were for professional purposes, sure, but I’ll be fine with you.’ He replied nonchalantly, before gesturing to the building. ‘Shall we?’

Izuku nodded enthusiastically and was then guided inside, where he was greeted by a reception desk and warm smiles from the women behind it—one was sitting by the computer monitor, whilst the other stood, wearing a security uniform. They nodded to Shoto and eyed Izuku with interest. He hardly noticed though, too busy looking around him. 

The foyer was largely inspired by traditional Japanese interior, with a wooden floor, covered by the occasional rug, and an assortment of indoor plants, which accompanied the visitor seating. On his left were signs indicating toilets and changing rooms, while the lift and doors to the stairwell were on his right. Behind reception, the sliding doors to the main office were wide open, allowing the many  employees free rein of the building; a privilege for Izuku, who had spent hours watching the very same heroes and sidekicks on the news and analysing their moves. 

It was simply mesmerising.

'Midoriya?'

'This is so cool!' He announced in response. 'I take it that having the office doors open reduces the time taken for a hero to arrive at the scene, however minimal, while the doors themselves are still useful for privacy when needed. It's very efficient. Meanwhile, the changing rooms next to reception are so useful when returning from an exhausting or messy mission. The style in general is very nice and welcoming too, which can be reassuring because I imagine you sometimes have visitors who are quite vulnerable, being victims of villain encounters. That being said, I also admire you for employing agency security; so often, heroes think security isn't needed because of their own job title—out of arrogance or ignorance, I'm not sure—but security isn't the same as fighting villains, which of course you know, and I expected nothing less. It's just good to see.'

When Izuku eventually trailed off, realisation hit like a freight train, and he slapped a hand over his mouth. 'Ah, sorry! I got a little carried away.'

'It's okay. Fuyumi warned me about your tendency to mutter.' Shoto's tone was as stoic as usual, but his eyes were soft. 'I like it.'

'Oh…' Izuku felt his ears redden. 'Really? You don't need to be polite, I know it annoys people.'

'I'm not being polite. You have a nice voice and important things to say.' Shoto shrugged. 'And I don't talk a lot, so it's the perfect match.'

Izuku's heartbeat thudded against his temple. He was already flustered by Shoto's previous comments, he didn't need the man talking about their compatibility on top of that. Whether intentional or not on the hero's part, however, Izuku had to admit that his words weren't unwelcome.

'That's k-kind of you to say.' He rocked on feet. 'In that case, I'll happily talk for the both of us whenever you see fit.'

'Hm.' Shoto's lips twitched as he regarded him, before returning to his usual expression. 'So, I take it you like the agency so far? Why don't I show you the main office, then we'll head upstairs?'

'Yes! Sounds good!' Izuku chirped, following the hero through the sliding doors.

There were a multitude of desks—varying in forms of organisation—but not lacking personalisation, along with wide windows spanning the walls to allow in natural light. Some spaces were empty, whilst others were occupied by various heroes and sidekicks, either absorbed in their work or having a break—although the latter half scrambled to remedy that when they noticed their boss's arrival.

'The urge to ask everyone for autographs is strong.' Izuku chuckled as his eyes flitted past them all. 'So many talented-'

Before he could finish, he noticed long, green hair tied into a bow, and did a double take. 'Wait… Is… Is that F-F-Froppy-san?' He whispered frantically, bouncing up and down. 'You were in the same class at UA, right?'

'Yeah.' Shoto confirmed. 'We're friends and our agencies are currently collaborating on a mission. It's nothing top secret—just environmental stuff—but I can't go into many details. If you want though, I could introduce you? Did you bring one of your notebooks?'

'Well… yes, but…' Nerves began to settle in his stomach. 'She's clearly busy. I wouldn't want to be a bother.'

'You're not. She's just chatting to Uravity, now that they think I've left.'

'Wait, what?' Balancing on his tiptoes, Izuku was able to see over the cubicle and found a head of brown hair, uncovered by her helmet, which had been placed over the back of her chair. 'Of course! I already knew that she works at your agency, but still! I remember she wanted to form her own, but given that she still helps her parents out with their construction business, it wouldn't have been feasible. I really admire her dedication though.'

'So does that mean you'll let me introduce you now, then?'

Izuku winced, but when he stole a glance at Shoto, he wasn't met with exasperation, just a questioning look. 

'Ah, y-y-yes.' He tapped his two index fingers together. 'Please.'

As he was led over to the two heroes, Izuku quickly pulled his "rough draft" journal out of his bag and hugged it close to his chest. He was aware of how out of place and anxious he must've looked, especially standing next to the number two hero, but when the girls noticed their approach, they merely looked up in question.

'Todoroki-kun, I thought you'd finished for the day?' Uravity tilted her head to the side and looked at Izuku. 'You never said we were getting a new hire?'

Izuku couldn't help the unintelligible squawk he emitted in response, but he could slap a hand over his mouth before embarrassing himself further.

'Y-Y-You think I'm a-a-a new hire?' He stuttered, retracting his hand to point at himself.

'Well, you're certainly built like a hero.' She shrugged. 'I don't need to know your quirk to know you'd fit right in.'

Izuku smiled wobbly at that, not quite knowing how to respond. While the compliment was heartfelt and meant more to him than Uravity could possibly know, he'd been around long enough to know that a comment like that usually meant he was socially obligated to disclose his quirk.

Luckily, Shoto wasn't privy to the unspoken cue.

'This is Midoriya Izuku, a teacher at Musutafu Shōgakkō and a… friend. I'm giving him a tour of the agency, off the clock.' He introduced, indifferent to Izuku's inner turmoil. 'He's an expert on quirks and a fan of both of you.'

'But you hate giving tours.' Froppy placed a contemplative finger to her mouth. 'And interacting with people outside of work hours.'

'We'll get to that later, Tsu.' Uravity brushed the air, before holding out her hand. 'It's nice to meet you, Midoriya-kun.'

'L-L-Likewise!' Izuku's eyes bugged out as he returned the handshake. However, the moment their hands touched, he felt himself growing taller and looked down to find that he was floating several inches from the ground. Despite himself, he barked out a laugh. 'Holy All Might, this is so cool!'

'Uraraka, you are a health and safety nightmare.' Shoto deadpanned. 'Midoriya, are you okay?'

'I'm great!' He raised his hands to keep his balance. 'It's amazing to see such a powerful quirk in action. I've noticed that weight significantly impacts the control of Zero Gravity's effects, but I've always wondered: does weather also affect it? For example, wind, or the accumulation of rain on top of an object you're lifting? But then that opens up the question of different mediums, such as using your quirk under water. Sorry, I'm rambling.'

Izuku rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. He needed to get his act together.

'Wow, you sure talk a lot.' Uravity looked almost in awe as she slowly brought him back down to the ground. 'But that's not a bad thing—release—I think I caught all that. Erm, yeah the added weight of rain water does affect my control depending on how much there is, and so does wind, as the lack of gravity doesn't affect other things pushing against it. In terms of other mediums, the force of gravity on water as well as on the object submerged has to be considered, but usually Zero Gravity works the same.'

Izuku hadn't even realised he'd opened his journal and started frantically writing in short-hand, until Uravity paused to observe him. 'What're you doing?'

'T-Taking notes.' He turned bright red, slamming the notebook closed with a snap. 'I'm so sorry, I should've asked first. It's just a habit, not that that's an excuse.'

'Oh no, it's okay!' She waved her hands placatingly. 'I was just curious. No one's been that interested in my quirk since I first debuted. Do you have anything else you want to ask? Froppy-chan and I are happy to answer any questions from Todoroki-kun's friend. Right?'

'Sounds good to me, kero.' Froppy stared, tongue hanging out lazily. 'Just don't pursue villainy and use this information against us.'

'I would never!' Izuku squeaked, to which Uravity giggled.

'She's just messing with you.'

'Oh…' Izuku relaxed his shoulders—unaware of how tense they'd been—then looked at Shoto. 'Is that okay with you? We're meant to be hanging out, after all.'

He tried to ignore the bemused looks from the other two heroes, instead focusing on the way Shoto tilted his head slightly.

'It's okay, we've got time. I'm happy just listening.'

Izuku brightened at that. How he'd managed to garner the attention of such a kind and considerate man, he'd never understand—although he suspected that it was a hidden Todoroki trait… from the maternal side, of course.

Permission secured, Izuku turned back to the girls and began an onslaught of questions; his hand worked frantically to write all the information down. It was so fun, it had been years since someone had indulged him to this level, and they were pro-heroes no less! If he wasn't so engrossed in their discussion, he'd probably have ended up crying.

Eventually though, after almost half an hour, Izuku managed to wrangle enough self-restraint to close his journal—but not before acquiring two new autographs—and thanked them for their time.

'It was nice to meet you, Midoriya-chan.'

'Don't be a stranger! And Todoroki-kun, I'll be messaging you later, keep your phone handy.'

Izuku bowed low, before turning around and following Shoto out of the office. He tried to gauge his expression—still worried he'd either bored or annoyed him—but the hero looked unfazed.

'I think you made their day.' Shoto commented idly, pressing the button to the lift and stepping in when the door opened. 'Uravity, especially, she's on paperwork duty today, so any excuse for a break.'

'So it wasn't my charming social skills keeping them interested?' Izuku joked, entering the lift and watching the doors close.

It felt surreal that he was currently in an enclosed space with Todoroki Shoto, even more so that it was because Todoroki Shoto wanted to be there. To Izuku's horror, his mind quickly began wandering, so much so that he didn't notice the dichromatic eyes watching him until they reached the first floor.

'Amongst other reasons.' The hero finally answered, before gesturing them forward. Before Izuku could even try and analyse what he'd meant by that, Shoto waved vaguely at the doors. 'Admin and HR are in there, then down the corridor on the left are the conference room and my office; on the right is the private gym; and at the end, there's the research and development department.'

Izuku tried to hide his excited squeal, but with little success.

'Sorry, this is just so cool!' He smiled brightly, flapping his hands, but then caught himself when Shoto clearly didn't look as enthused. 'Are you sure you don't mind me fanboying like this? And repeating myself.'

A white eyebrow rose in response.

'I don't mind. It makes you happy.' He replied nonchalantly. 'You have a nice smile.'

'Wah?!' Izuku's face immediately filled with heat as he frantically wrapped his arms around his head. 'Th-That's s-so kind of you to say! Y-You also have a b-b-beau- nice smile!'

Shoto did something funny with his lips, before turning to face the corridor. Izuku wasn't sure if the slight pink dusting the hero's ears had been there before, but he appreciated it nonetheless. 

'Where would you like to go first?'

'Oh!' Izuku seized the opportunity without a moment of hesitation. 'Maybe HR?'

When Shoto regarded him once more—his expression actually judgemental—Izuku's cheeks flushed. Laughing nervously, he brought his thumb and forefinger up so they were almost touching.

'Just a little peek? I won't talk to anyone, unless you're hiding All Might in there.'

The hero cocked his head to the side.

'Why would I hide All Might in HR?'

'Wouldn't you like to know.' Despite himself, Izuku hid a giggle behind his hand at Shoto's quizzical look. ‘I’m only joking, don’t worry about it.’

Shoto regarded him for a moment, then shrugged—letting the matter slide—before showing him the admin room. True to his word, Izuku did just take a little peek—the same with the conference room—before following the hero to the gym, where he gazed in awe at all the equipment, most of which surpassed the usual maximum weights available at regular fitness centres. Part of Izuku wanted to ask Shoto for a demonstration of how to use one of the machines, purely to see just how much he could lift, but that would be selfish.

Especially considering he definitely had an ulterior motive to documenting heroes.

Instead, he asked about training regimes and Shoto’s own workout plan, before comparing them to his own. Once he’d exhausted his questions and jotted down more notes in his journal, they moved on to the R&D department, which was a labyrinth of support items and separate laboratories for more sterile experiments. Izuku had to pick his jaw up from the ground at how impressive everything looked, before bombarding anyone who would listen with more questions and compliments.

It was only when Izuku realised the time that he felt a cold dread begin to set in, and he turned to Shoto with a worried expression as they exited into the corridor. ‘I am… so sorry. I’ve been talking forever, it’s already half past eleven.’

‘Don’t apologise, the restaurant is only five minutes away if I use my quirk. We still have time to have a look at my office, if you want?’

Izuku raised an eyebrow, not quite understanding. Despite Shoto already telling him that he didn’t mind his muttering, it was still difficult to believe. In the past, he’d had people assure him that they didn’t care, then immediately backtracked when they realised the extent of it. However, as he searched the hero for any sign of annoyance or boredom, he came up empty. Maybe Shoto really wasn’t just being polite and tolerating him; he'd actually wanted to hear what Izuku had to say.

His heart sped up.

‘Does this mean you’re going to use your quirk to get us there?’ He asked instead, his mind quenching the self-doubt and latching onto the potential possibility of flying over the city in his crush’s arms. ‘You’d have to carry me.’

‘I didn’t think about that.’ Shoto suddenly looked unsure. ‘It’s my preferred way of getting around, especially if I’m trying to avoid people. It didn’t occur to me that…’ He shook his head. ‘We can take a car instead.’

Izuku tried not to look disappointed, and smiled reassuringly.

‘It’s okay. Whatever you think is best!’ He waited for Shoto to slowly nod, before tilting his head to the side. ‘That being said, do we still have time to see your office?’

He received an amused huff in response, and after Shoto sent a quick message on his phone, Izuku was shown to the room opposite the gym, which had “Serenity Hero: Shoto” engraved on a silver plaque next to the door.

As he stepped inside, he was surprised to find how modest it was—smaller than the HR room—with a wooden floor that housed several potted plants; a tall bookcase; and a wide desk that was neatly organised. Behind it was a glass door leading out to a balcony, which Izuku assumed was used when Shoto had to get to a scene quickly. He then let his eyes wander to a spot in the corner, covered by a tatami mat and a chabudai, on which was a traditional Japanese tea set. On the wall beside it was a large notice board, which had several post-it note reminders pinned to it, along with drawings and thank you cards from fans. 

‘It’s really lovely.’ Izuku blinked away tears as he came to a stop in the middle of the room. ‘The board is so thoughtful. I imagine it’s nice to take a break and see evidence of all the people you’ve helped in some way.’

‘Ah, yeah.’ Shoto followed his gaze. ‘Maybe it’s selfish, but it’s also a reminder that I’m being the hero I want to be, not what my old man wanted for me.’

Izuku hummed thoughtfully as he regarded the other. Shoto almost looked pensive, chewing his lip and shuffling on his feet.

‘I don’t think it’s selfish in the way you think it is.’ He smiled warmly. ‘You deserve to be happy with how far you’ve come.’

‘Yeah.’ Shoto repeated, reaching up to scratch his scar. He looked like he wanted to say something else, but Izuku didn’t press. Instead, he stayed silent, trying to refrain from taking the hero’s hand before he could irritate the roughened tissue. However, in the end, Shoto chose not to elaborate, and cleared his throat. ‘Do you have any questions? You’re not as talkative as before.’

Izuku laughed nervously, allowing the topic to slide.

‘Honestly, I think I might have exhausted myself.’ He rubbed the back of his head. ‘I’ve not been allowed to run my mouth like that in years. You’re an enabler, Shoto-kun, thank you.’

‘You had a lot of interesting things to say.’ The hero shrugged. ‘I actually took some of my own notes to address later. When you were asking about the standard quality checks and ways to improve the shock-absorption pads currently in the works, it made me realise I need to keep myself up to date on some things I'd been neglecting… If you weren’t so good at your current job, I’d be tempted to hire you as my deputy.’

Izuku turned bright red and flailed his arms.

‘You’re too kind! I can’t believe…’ He couldn’t bring himself to finish that sentence and shook his head, before taking a breath. ‘I’m glad I was able to be of help.’

Shoto nodded in response, then checked his phone.

‘The car’s here. You ready to go?’

Swallowing heavily, Izuku voiced his affirmative, and they made their way back down the foyer. They passed several people on the way, most of whom recognised Izuku and said their greetings. He waved animatedly in response—not trusting his mouth to speak—and quietly wondered how an entire agency could be filled with so many kind individuals.

Maybe it’s because you’re their boss’s guest. His mind cruelly tried to reason. Or maybe it’s because they don’t know what you are.

‘Shut up.’ Izuku muttered quietly to himself, and instead focused on the hero’s warm eyes as he opened the car door and gestured for him to get in. ‘Thank you, Shoto-kun.’

Not everyone in the world needed to be kind to him—Izuku thought idly, smiling when Shoto sat down next to him—just those that mattered.

[whatwouldvalerydo]

💚❤️ Part 5/9 ❤️💚

As Scarlett and Phil return from Japan. Scarlett sets out to learn more about her birth father and cuts all ties with her family.

Warning ⚠️ : cursing, alcohol consumption, child abuse,mentions of death and suicide

Phil in mention belongs to the amazing @flareshogwarts .

Japan, although fun and relaxing, was exactly what Scarlett wanted, fun. An escape from what was to come once she returned to England. As soon as she was back in the rented apartment, she called her mother, agreeing on a date in order to see a lawyer and get the document signing over and done with. Scarlett’s only request, which her mother found odd, but still complied, was to dig up from her former room the letters she received at home while she was away.

With Phil, she more or less did what he had predicted, chuck everything to just sleeping around without any other implications. So when they landed and he asked when they would see each other again, her response was as vague as possible. But by the disappointed look in his eyes and not much reaction after that, she knew he expected the outcome as well.

But she had to focus, she had to do what she set her mind out in the very beginning since returning. To stop running from her past. Actually, to shed some light on it.

But when she had to knock on the door of the address she held onto for years, she found herself hesitating. She was suddenly fearful, mind blanking before a sort of panic gripped her chest at the very thought of finding out something about her father. But then she shook her head and knocked before she lost all her fake bravado, she needed to know, she needed to at least try and help herself understand why he was the way he was.

An old woman opened the door, arranging the glasses on her nose to look at Scarlett “Hi, there’s no easy way of saying this but…”

“I know who you are Scarlett. You have his eyes.” Leading her inside, Scarlett refused the tea offered, instead circling the room, eyes setting on some pictures hung on the wall, the people in there looking back at her, smiling as they waved at the camera.

She went straight to the point, adamant on not wasting time on fake pleasantries, not like she was too good at those “If you know me, why haven’t I met you before?”

“Because your father did not wish for the magical world to touch his family.” Scarlett frowned, her grandmother offering a sad smile “Did he ever tell you anything about the Wizarding world?” however she expected the answer to be no. Letting out a heavy sigh, she nodded “I did not expect him to. Do you know what a squib is?”

“Ah, so that’s what he was? Honestly that’s so anticlimactic. So he had no magical powers, so what?”

The woman shook her head, keeping her remark to herself “We never had a squib in the family. And believe me child, with such a heavy name, to suddenly be born without the very thing that defines the world felt for him like being born without the necessary means to a normal life, despite the family fortune.”

“Being without magic and being a violent drunk are two completely different things. So what you shunned him, told him to leave?”

Her grandmother looked at her, tears clouding her eyes “No, of course not. I loved him, he was my son, but you see, he never felt like he belonged. He couldn’t go to a prestigious school or get a well paid job, not like others. He figured that he would fare better in the muggle world, but even that was overwhelming. We found out after tracking him down that he was married, had a child, but he never let his family see either of you.”

“Probably for the best” Scarlett scoffed “he wasn’t a good father or husband.”

The woman before her narrowed her eyes at Scarlett “Careful child, you have his anger.”

Getting up, Scarlet shook her head “No, this anger is mine, it’s personal. It’s nothing like his.” Letting out a bitter laugh, she blinked rapidly “I came here wanting to know about him, about this side of the family, but I don’t anymore. Because you knew and you more than likely knew what he did and you sat back and did nothing.”

“You don’t get to come inside my home…”

“I was a child.” Scarlett screamed “I didn’t deserve it, none of it. So fuck you and your prestigious family.”

A few days later, as agreed, Scarlett met with her mother, demanding the letters left behind. Once she got her hands on those, she stuffed them in her bag, entering the office without as much as a “hello” or “how are you”.

"And sign here. Done. Congratulations miss Tempest you are now the owner of a beautiful estate." her mother smiled her way as Scarlett signed the last documents, making her the legal owner of her father's land, as per his will.

Throwing the pen his way, she looked at the man handling the entire ordeal. In her eyes affair was far too less of a word in that particular moment "Perfect, now, do you know what is the retail price in that area?"

The gasp her mother let out almost had Scarlett smirking, however she controlled herself "You can't think of selling the house. What if you have a family of your own? You could move there. It just needs a little work."

Turning in her chair, she leaned in as much as the table allowed "Right, because I want that. Oh wait, I don't. I wonder why that is?" she tapped her chin, her tone crystal clear with deafening defiance "Right, if I were to have a child, I could bake cookies right next to the cabinet where my own fucking drunken father used to lock me in while you were out fucking another man."

"I was securing your future." her mother argued, no remorse visible for Scarlett to take advantage of, at least on the surface, however she continued to plea her case, or better yet make her case because she would never plea.

"I was a child, left alone with an alcoholic father. I was his fucking punching bag while you opened your legs in some random stranger’s bed and when you came home, after you took another beating the only words of comfort from you were that I needed to be pretty, not trust anyone, that money was more important. To not cry, to continue no matter what. You wanted to make me a whore when I didn’t even know what the word meant.” She raised her hand ready to slap her mother when she opened her mouth to speak, however she couldn’t reach so she smashed her hand against the table instead “You’ll listen to me. Do you know that when I was too big to fit in the kitchen cabinet while he drank his mind away cursing your name that he locked me in the closet? No, you don’t know. And God forbid I cried or asked for something. If I pissed or shit myself before you came back because I couldn’t hold it in or because I was so scared, it would be even worse the next day. And you didn’t even fucking care.”

“I did.” She could see her cracking, eyes blinking rapidly, filling with tears, tears Scarlett did not care for.

Casually leaning back, she ran a hand through her hair, the only giveaway if anyone was paying attention was that her fingers trembled, even Scarlett thinking it was overkill to think she could handle it without triggering her, but she still pushed “Then why didn’t you take me with you? Why did you leave me with him? You could have given me some markers and a coloring book and I wouldn’t have known moaning from fighting.”

Her voice changed when she delivered the next lines “I found him, I fucking found him hanging from the staircase mom. I was nine, I was just nine. I didn’t even know what was happening. I went to cook lunch for him like I always did after school. Do you even know how many times I burned my hands? You don’t, because you were never there.” Scarlett continued to throw everything in her mother’s face, the woman crying by then, a sobbing mess, however her daughter did not shed a single tear “I took the food and placed it underneath his body, because I was so afraid he would hit and lock me up again. It took me hours to actually get it. Hours mom, alone in a house with a dead body. With my father’s body. Why would I even want to own that house, let alone live in it?”

Getting up, she took the papers, stuffing them in her bag “And you have the audacity to laugh at me when I feel like my lungs are closing up when I enter a tight space. Or when I can’t stand to be at a funeral. Well now you know. And no mom, I won’t be having a family because regardless of what I want, it’s all going to turn to shit because you and dad made certain of it.”

Never look back, never cry. But as Scarlett sat alone in her apartment and put a bottle to her lips, drinking her sorrows away, she left defeated, breaking apart from the inside and there was no soul in sight to comfort her. But she had her pride, the only thing keeping her on her feet and she would be damned if she ever asked for help.

[prettyboykatsuki]

please PLEASE write more abt bully bkg!!! what happened next?? what did kiri do omg

tw ;; mild toxicity, bully!bkg, kirishima being a shit, fem!reader 18+, spanking, oral (f!recieving), bkg accidentally worships your pussy instead of punishing you :/, unprotected sex, praise kink 

PT. 1

a/n ;; have i mentioned he makes me absolutely out of my mind yet? have i said that?!??#?$# 

i think we’ve established about the two of them enough by now so here’s how i picture it. 

like i said before - bkg is a campus athlete, popular and well-rounded and all around has that like image to him and so when he essentially confesses to you after fucking you stupid in the library, that’s basically him making you his girlfriend. you don’t know that for a long time but we’ll get there later. 

anwyays.. right after he fucks you nice n full of his cum, he slides your panties and shorts right back on and snickers as he watches you struggle to get to your feet before eventually helping you. he keeps your bra as a punishment and makes you keep his hoodie, almost biting you when you try and take kirishimas to return it to him. he’ll do it himself, don’t test him. 

when you’re all dressed - he makes you pack up and ends up walking you to your dorm room in the middle of the night (which you beg him to not do) but he’ll be fucking damned if anything bad happens to you. it’s his version of affectionate but you don’t know that yet so you’re mostly awkwardly trying to dodge him on the way back BUT he’s still bkg so when he notices that he yanks you. 

he makes you hold his arm and licks your cheek cause he’s such a fucking dick. hits you with a “get used to it, princess” with the most condescending tone. but he’s being so serious. you just think he’s teasing you but he’s not.. he means it. get used to him, basically because now he’s a constant presence in your life. 

he drops you off in front of your dorm and you’re about to wave him off but before you can go he grabs your waist and basically dips you for a kiss. and it’s so good - fuck, you wish you could say you hated it. but bakugou is experienced as much as he’s mean so he kisses you like his life depends on it, his fingers digging into your sides and his tongue in your mouth. you almost forget your in public until he pulls you back up 

he gives you a little breathless grin, patting your cheek with his hand and telling you “get cleaned up, dumbass” which is his way of telling you to get home safe. 

and you do get to your empty dorm. you take a shower and just kinda reflect on the actualy fuck transpired cause you were pretty positive he wanted you in a casket but?!?!?! you fucked him and he kissed you? so ???? 

youre in the middle of your exams and you’re honestly tired since you got fucked within in an inch of your life so you shower and just.. go to sleep. in his hoodie cause it smells good and it’s big and comfy and you’re like... thinking about it really hard but it just makes your headache. 

you conclude after a lot of tossing and turning that he’s probably still just trying to fuck around with you and maybe thinks you’re an easy lay.  you can’t say you aren’t since you were willing and ready for him (the thought of how easily you gave in has you flustered) 

you sleep, eventually. and you wake up the next morning not really expecting much. you don’t have bkgs number or anything so you just.. continue with your day as is. unlucky for you - you have classes with bakugou and kirishima 

but you don’t think it’ll be all that different. still so non-chalant. and you go to class that day dressed normally - with bakugous hoodie in hand. 

you sit in your regular seat that day and this is your first mistake. 

kirishima is in class before bakugou is. and he is.. as always, a little shit. so he pulls up right beside you because even though bkg is pissed at kiri - they are besties so he tells him everything. kirishima wont tease you abt it and u still think kirishima is quite nice and handsome so you’re pleased to greet him. 

ah.. another mistake on your behalf. this action WILL have consequences. 

kirishima gets so cozy with you btw. he loves that you’re so comfy w him - strokes his ego so good. and he chats you up for a better part of the hour before your morning class. 

he makes jokes and smiles and laughs and thinks about how easy it would be snatch you from bakugou and keep you to himself. he’s not good enough of a person to leave you alone. 

aaah kirishima is a sweetheart and he treats you well. so when you feel his hand on your thigh underneath the table - rubbing little circles into your knee, you don’t even notice. and when he gets super close to you to hear you talk - telling you your voice is too soft even tho a class is empty, you let him. 

and when you point out that ppl keep staring and whispering you, he tells you to ignore them and you do. you ignore the whispers and even the click of camera. 

it’s only when you hear bakugou that you get a strange feeling in your gut. he stomps into the classroom - vicious. his schedule is so busy he normally doesn’t get to lounge around before class making sure to keep everything tight 

but he got..  many messages about how you and kirishima were seating today. mostly from kami who likes to cause problems - he decided he should get there a lil early 

well.. lo and behold he does - and he finds you and kirishima looking incredibly cozy with each other. and kirishima being.. kirishima - is the first to see him and he shoots his beloved friend the most smug fuckin smile. 

bkg is pissed, naturally and stomps his way over to the two of you. he’s doing the thing again where he’s icy mad. he doesn’t even bother w kirishima and there’s a whole crowd around the three of you. 

“get your shit,” he demands, clearly seething. you give him a wild look, noticing the now obvious tension before being completely confused.  you’re about to protest w him but he sends you a spine-chillingly glare. 

your whole class watches as he yanks you by the wrist out of the classroom as kirishima sits back and gives u a little wave. ur lost. obviously. and once you leave the classroom ur like “where are we going?” 

the answer is to bakugous very nice car - a custom c3 corvette. he opens the door and stares you, grabbing your bags and taking them to the trunk. but u stand ur ground, cross your arms over your chest like 

“what are we doing out here?” 

bkg doesn’t hesitate in pushing you up against his car, his hands on your waist and his teeth nipping at your neck - sore from old bruises. and you gasp when you feel his fingers dig into your hips, all tongue and teeth. 

“the fuck did i say about you cozyin’ up t’ that shitty haired bastard yesterday,” 

this makes you swallow because bakugous mouth is travelling further and further and his hands are getting more bold. and you shiver, something hot and heavy in your core cause fuck he’s so possesive over you. it makes you dizzy, something sticky and warm in you. 

“i.. i d-didn’t think you were being s..serious yesteryday” 

he growls a little against your throat. 

“guess i’ll have to teach you another lesson. im gonna get in the car and then you are. easy enough, nerd?” 

you can’t do anything but nod and watch him open the car doors. when he gets in you follow and within the blink of an he manuevers you till your over his lap. you let out a loud yelp as his strong hands come down on your ass. still clothed. 

you let out a soft yelp - a noise of surprise at the sudden sensation and you feel bkg bend down to speak in your ear. 

“wanna act like a fuckin’ brat and flirt with your boyfriends friends? fine. i’ll fuck that shitty ass attitude right out of you,” 

the firs thing you think is “boyfriend?!” but your voice gets muffled when you feel bakugou pull down your bottoms along with your panties. his hands are so strong and so big - long thick fingers covered in callouses from playing so many games. you can’t help but squirm under his touch, a growing wetness making your stomach clench. 

he’s so so mean about it yk? a big strong hand smacking against your ass hard enough to leave a handprint. he chuckles when you whine, when your body shivers - bare cunt expose to him and nothing else. a wave of humilation floods through you. 

“‘s not my fault you’re like this y’know? all you gotta do is follow instructions - i know you now how to fucking do that, right? always bein’ so prissy,” ― bakugou tsks, smacking your ass hard before spreading your cheeks out. he admires the way your cunt trembles with mean laugh ― “but you wanna go flirt with shitty hair that much, huh?” 

you’re gonna protest and tell him it’s not even like that.. which makes you question why’re so eager to go with his demands. but the words get lost as the sound of spanks slowly drift and it’s just bakugou admiring your ass. he didn’t really get a good chance too when he was fucking you yesterday but now he’s got eagles on you n your pretty little cunt. 

“never gonna let anyone touch your pretty little pussy but fuckin’ me,” ― and he groans, sliding his fingers through your folds ― “fuck.. fuck” 

you’re not expecting much but within another few seconds you’ve got your cheek pressed to the glass window, ass up and body folded with your cunt directly in bkgs face. you’re not rlly sure why this was happening because you were sure you were getting punished. and maybe the humilation of having your face pressed to glass is enough 

but it doesn’t negate the fact bkg is tongue deep in your cunt. both hands massaging your ass - spreading your lips apart so he can get into fucking deeper. sliding his tongue against your folds and slurping on your clit until you’re jolting with pleasure like you’ve never known before in your life. you’re moaning so loud the whole campus could probably fucking hear but bkg doesn’t care and doesn’t stop 

and your thighs give out, he goes from eat it from the back to getting underneath you and has you sitting on his face. you just keep cumming and bakugou is rock fucking hard - but he doesn’t even bother jerking himself off. he spends all of his time n effort worshipping your sweet cunt  

you cum on his face so many times you’re completely limp by the time he sticks his dick in you. but it feels so good when he does that too - oversenstive walls stretched out his big cock, a hand on your sides as he shifts you into missionary. 

he doesn’t even intend to make you cum again but the position has him so deep in your cervix that you do and he’s so close. and when bkgs close, he’s fucking obscene. 

but it’s not all that vulgar like you’re expecting and that makes you fucking whine. hearing bakugou praise you and your pussy does something terrible to your brain and in your fucked out haze - arms around his shoulders, you’re fucking whimpering. 

and bkgs just in your ear like 

“such a sweet fuckin’ girl for me, taking my dick so damn good, haah fuck. all mind. know how to behave when i fuck you like this don’t you? be a good girl and take it all.. there you go, just like that,” 

when he cums inside of you he stays there for a while and stares at your completely gone expression. it’s unusually soft and you wont see it often but he grabs your face and kisses you hard 

“you’re my girlfriend now you fuckin’ dweeb so start fuckin’ acting like it yeah?” 

you whine and nod, unable to refuse even if u want too 

“yeah..yeah” 

[ragingbookdragon]

I Saw It Coming When You Threw The First Punch

Batmom x Batfamily One-Shot

Word Count: 1.7K Warnings: Explicit Language, Mentions of Violence

Author's Note: I honestly feel like I get my irritation from people out by writing stories where the characters punch people. I live vicariously through my characters. Enjoy! -Thorne

Getting the call that his wife had been taken into GCPD custody was not one that Bruce had ever expected to receive. Not in a million years. And yet, low and behold, Gordon had called sounding apologetic that she’d been detained after a physical altercation at the gala she’d hosted earlier that evening.

Which was absolutely baffling to him, because the only person more anal retentive about screwing up at a gala than Alfred, was his wife. So, something must’ve seriously set her off if she’d hauled off on somebody. And Gordon had made it quite clear that it was his wife that threw the first punch, though beyond that, he didn’t know what else had occurred because she’d invoked her rights to the company lawyer and to remain silent, simply staring at the wall while the other officers tried to get a story out of her—Bruce knew she wouldn’t crack. Other than him, his wife had a reserve that no man, alien, or god could break. He’d never say it, but he was envious of his wife’s willpower.

He arrived rather quickly with all four sons in tow, knowing that the sight of the entire family would probably help her chances of getting out and they waited patiently to be escorted to where she was being held.

When they arrived at the interrogation room, they saw her sitting there with crossed legs, hands placed palm down on the table. Her eyes were closed in what Bruce recognized as her deep meditative state; the one she used to fight off telepathic control from enemies—she was probably recounting what happened that night.

“What are the charges?” he asked Gordon and the older man sighed.

“Simple battery and public disturbance.”

Bruce hummed lowly in his throat and gazed at his wife. “How do you see this playing out for her?”

“If the woman she keelhauled doesn’t press charges, there’s possibility of probation with community service.”

He had to play naïve. “And if she does?”

Gordon met his gaze. “Then you’re looking at your wife going into lockup for a year.”

Bruce let out a sigh. “I’ll call our lawyer then.”

“I’ll give you and your wife some privacy,” he replied, hitting a button on the keypad beside the door, and the glass went dark while the glowing red button recording the room turned off.

“Thank you, Gordon,” he said, and the detective waved as he walked off, closing the door to the interrogation room behind him. Bruce looked at his sons. “Let’s go see what set your mom off tonight.”

***

The door to the room opened but she didn’t open her eyes, still under the cold water in her retreat.

“(Y/N),” someone murmured and though the voice was familiar, she didn’t come to yet.

“(Y/N),” they repeated a bit firmer. “Come back up.”

Ever so slowly, she allowed her mind to come back from the deep waters and she opened her eyes, smiling at her husband and sons.

“Good evening family.” Damian immediately sprinted to her and buried his face in her neck, and she laughed, running a hand through his short dark hair. “What’s wrong, baby?”

“You are in trouble,” he murmured and pulled away to look into her eyes. “We will do whatever you need, Umi.”

(Y/N) snorted. “Don’t worry about me baby. Knowing Little Miss Martha May, she’s not going to press charges over our spat.”

“I think simple battery is bit more than a spat, mom,” Dick worried, brows furrowing in concern. “What did you two even start fighting about?”

Her eyes darted to the glass then to Bruce and he said, “Gordon turned off the cameras.”

“Mom,” Tim started, and she looked at him; he held up his phone screen. “I just assured that you’re protected here.”

She nodded and let out a sigh. “I knew I should’ve just walked away but I couldn’t help it. She just set me off like a match to gunpowder.”

“What’d you guys even duke it out over,” Jason questioned, and she sighed again, recounting the night.

***

“You’ve thrown another wonderful party, Miss Wayne,” Lucius murmured, handing her a champagne glass.

She grinned widely, thanking him. “Thank you, Lucius, I try.”

“Clan couldn’t come tonight?”

“You’ve always been perceptive about us, haven’t you?”

“To use your words, I try,” he laughed, and she nodded.

“Patrol started early tonight,” she said inconspicuously, eyes shifting around to glance at who was walking near them. “Besides, most of them only come to these to appease the crowd.”

“Ah, yes, I forgot that you’re the only one who actually enjoys these.”

“Only when Bruce and the kids are here,” she corrected. “It’s easier to bullshit when they’re here to pick up the slack.”

He barked a laugh and she chuckled in return when someone walked up to them. She turned and immediately grimaced at the old classmate of hers.

“(Y/N), such a beautiful party you’ve thrown tonight,” the woman greeted, though it was laced with cheerful fakeness.

She plastered a smile on her face. “Good evening, Marianne. I didn’t expect to see you tonight.”

“Oh, you know me, I’m always up for a party.” Her eyes drifted around. “Where is your husband? I wanted to thank him for the gift basket he sent after my operation.” Marianne gave her a sarcastic smile. “Isn’t it rather off for a host to avoid his own party?”

Note to self, yell at Bruce for sending her a gift.

“He had to work late tonight. So did the boys.” (Y/N) matched her smile. “I’m sure they’d be delighted to know that you thought of them though.”

Something shifted in Marianne’s eyes. “Oh yes, the children you have.” She leaned in close and murmured, “You know I’ve been hearing some rather negative rumors about yours and Bruce’s decision to adopt orphans rather than have some of your own.”

(Y/N) blinked, not sure if she should be shocked or unimpressed. “Really? Care to enlighten me?”

Marianne waved a hand. “The major one is that you simply took pity on the strays because you were barren.” She felt like she’d been slapped across the face and her jaw dropped as she gaped at the woman.

Apparently, that was all the ammunition that Marianne needed because she offered a sympathetic smile an placed a hand on (Y/N)’s arm. “Oh, you poor dear.” She patted her arm again. “You should’ve come to me instead of adopting orphans. I would’ve been happy to be a surrogate for you.”

(Y/N) shrugged the hand off her arm and reached up, pulling the silver teardrop earrings from her ears. “Yeah, those orphans aren’t mine, not biologically.”

She pulled off her diamond wedding rings and handed them and the earrings over to Lucius who took them and stepped back.

“But you know what they are?” she glowered at Marianne and seethed, “They’re my sons.”

The next thing anyone knew, the two women were rolling on the floor, their hostess throwing punches that seemed to make everyone wince when they connected to the woman’s face.

***

“And all I remember was being escorted down here,” she finalized, eyes drifting to Bruce’s.

He simply stared at her for a moment before he let out a heavy sigh and put his face in his hands. “I’m proud that you defended our family, but at the same time, I’m disappointed that you let Marianne set you off.”

(Y/N) crossed her arms over her chest. “Oh, so you’re taking her side?”

“That’s not what I mean, and you know it,” Bruce shot back. “If she decides to press charges, you’re going to be in lockup for a year.”

“She’s not.”

“You don’t know that, (Y/N).”

“No, I do,” she blinked and leaned forward. “If Marianne doesn’t want me to ruin her image with shit she did when she was a teenager, she’ll keep her mouth shut and take the blame for this.”

“What’d she do, Ma?” Jason questioned curiously and she turned her attention to him.

“Enough that’ll disgrace her image amongst every elite this side of the globe if she tries me anymore.”

Before anyone could say anything, the door opened and they turned, seeing Gordon walking in. “Good evening, Miss Wayne,” he greeted, and she smiled.

“Good evening, Jim. How’s your night so far?”

He chuckled. “Not too bad. I got to detain my favorite socialite and listen to all my officers speculate what she did.”

(Y/N) lifted her hands palm up beside her shoulders. “I live to please, Jim, you know that.”

“I do.” He walked over and handed her a few papers. “When asked if she wanted to press charges, Marianne Walters declined. She instead gave a rather detailed statement that she instigated the fight and threw the first punch.” He stared at the busted lip she had. “Does that match what happened?”

She quickly looked over the papers and nodded. “Yes, that’s true.”

Gordon sighed. “Do you wish to press charges?”

(Y/N) shook her head. “No,” she smiled. “There’s no reason to make a fuss about this.”

“…Miss Wayne, you and Miss Walters are all over the news.”

She shrugged. “And people have very short memories. They’ll forget about this.” She handed back the papers. “Send this to my lawyer and she’ll handle it with the prosecutors.”

“You think they won’t press charges despite Walters?” Gordon asked and she nodded.

“Oh, they won’t,” she said then looked at the clock. “Am I free to leave? It’s been a long night.”

Gordon let out a heavy sigh and nodded. “Yes Miss Wayne, you’re free to leave now.”

(Y/N) rose. “Wonderful.” She looked at her sons. “Boys, let’s go.”

They followed her and Bruce stood from the table, standing beside Gordon. “Thank you, Jim.”

Gordon grunted. “I know (Y/N) threw the first punch.”

“You do?”

“Of course, I do.” He huffed. “And I don’t blame her either.” He watched (Y/N) laugh at something Dick said while the others groaned around him. “You’ve got a good woman, Bruce. Good wife. Even better mother.”

Bruce looked at his wife and let an easy smile cross his lips as she pulled them all into hugs. “Yeah…yeah, I do, don’t I.”

[yoongsisbae]

Caught! House of Cards - Chapter 2

WHOA I am amazed by all the love this story has received so far, chapter one has become my most liked post, huh?! I'm in shock, thank you! My thirst for muster Joon fueled this to be released earlier than anticipated, so enjoy! ;)

OT7 yandere!BTS x reader, Yoongi x reader & Taehyung x reader & Namjoon x reader focused this chapter

Warnings: 18+ dark themes, voyeur, masturbation A LOT of it, gaslighting & reader manipulation, shibari, intoxication, dubcon, choking, public nudity, sexual touching in public, dom!Namjoon & sub!reader

Word count: 5.3k

---

You press record and the red light on your webcam lights up. Your heartbeat races as you navigate the House of Cards website. You already have viewers and you’ve only just spent your time staring at the chat. You wish you had picked something sexier as you sit cross legged in an oversized shirt and sleep shorts. You wear a red eye mask to conceal your identity, part of an old superhero Halloween costume you pulled out from the depths of your closet. You felt like a dumbass. ‘Super Girl wouldn’t have to do this kind of shit.’

“Sorry, i-it’s my first time...m-maybe I could take suggestions?” You watch the chat move as you hold your breath. You wanted to sound sexy but you can’t stop stuttering out your words.

You’ve never been more anxious in your life, the ends of your fingers feel numb and you can hear your own pulse thumping in your ears. You’re openly inviting strangers to get off on your body, you’re about to expose yourself in ways you’ve never done before. This isn’t like sending a sexy photo to a boyfriend when you’re feeling needy, this is so much more reckless.

Just when you’re starting to regret doing this, just when you’re about to end the feed and hide in humiliation, a notification ding pulls you away from your thoughts.

Suga: take off your shirt

Your on-screen balance goes from zero to a hundred dollars. You gulp and your eyes go wide at the amount. A hundred dollars just to take your shirt off? That seems too good to be true.

‘Okay, this is what you signed up for, y/n. It's now or never!’ You mentally hype yourself up. You keep your mission in mind, make enough money to keep a roof over your head for this month.

Your shaky fingers find the hem of your shirt “F-for you-” you squint reading the username again, “For you, Suga.” You lift the shirt slowly off your body, exposing the curves of your breasts, revealing your red lace bra to your viewers.

The collar of your shirt gets stuck around your head. You feel like an idiot as you try to wrestle the shirt off your body without pulling off your mask.

---

Yoongi snorts at his screen, his lips curving up into a half smile. He sits behind two computer monitors. He watches as you stutter out apologies to your audience, entertained by your clumsiness.

He peers over his shoulder, to where his friends are playing a game of billiards. “Hey, we have a new one!”

“Oh yeah? It’s been awhile since someone joined.” Namjoon puts his pool stick down and walks over to Yoongi to get a closer look. He laughs, “What is she doing? Is this her first time?”

“It is,” Yoongi hums.

“Ah, well now I’m intrigued.” Namjoon pulls out his cell, quickly pulling up the website on his phone.

Yoongi licks his lips, “I think she’s cute.” He watches another hundred dollars add to your total as someone asks for you to remove your shorts. He notices the username and sends a glare to the man standing over his shoulder.

“What? Just trying to move the show along.” Namjoon gives Yoongi’s shoulder a shake. “You never did like sharing.”

“And you never knew how to properly take care of my toys.”

Namjoon laughs. He studies your figure and the way you move back and forth awkwardly on the bed. You’re trying to find the best pose for your request until you finally decide to lie on your back and lift up your hips, pulling your shorts down and off your legs so you’re in nothing but a bra and panties. He leans over Yoongi’s shoulder, eyes level with his monitor to get a better look at you. “She is very cute. I could have a lot of fun with her.”

Yoongi grunts. He watches you press the cups of your bra together to show your cleavage off for him. The chatroom viewer count jumps into 3 digits. You’re so eager to please your audience, he thinks, jumping at the chance to perform the simplest of requests. And he is eager to learn just how far he can push you.

Yoongi types a reply quickly and hits the donate button. He hears his friend let out a low whistle next to him.

---

A thousand dollars?! Someone just donated a thousand dollars. What the hell?

Suga: spread your legs for me. touch yourself.

Your breath hitches. You watch as another wave of viewers are added to the chat, another trickle of donations following. You feel high from their attention, and the money just keeps on rolling in! You've been so worried and stressed since lockdown happened and now you're almost guaranteed to accomplish your goal, finally something is going right, your heart jumps in excitement. It’s starting to feel...fun. You had discarded your embarrassment along with your clothes, thrown somewhere in a heap on the floor. You lean back on your palms and bring your knees together. You can feel the damp cloth of your underwear rub against your core. You’re ashamed to admit how turned on you are. The higher the viewer count goes the wetter you become. You slowly spread your legs to the camera, reveling in the game you're playing with your faceless admirers. Your eyes read over the chat, taking in all their praises of your body. Flattering compliments intermingled with salacious requests pass by the second, it’s overwhelming, and only serves to fuel your arousal.

---

Your sweet voice plays through Yoongi’s speakers, “Thank you Suga.”

“Oh fuck, she’s so wet.” Hoseok pulls up a chair next to Yoongi and Namjoon. They all stare at the screen, at the center of your light pink panties. There is a noticeable dark spot that propels the chatroom into a frenzy.

“Take a look at that view count, it’s one of our highest this month, right?” Namjoon asks Yoongi. He hums in acknowledgement. “They really have nothing better to do now that we’re all stuck in our homes,” Namjoon jeers.

The three men watch silently as your breathing escalates, taking note of how you shake and moan. Hoseok uses the camera on his phone to zoom in on your face scrunched up in pleasure and takes a snapshot.

Yoongi raises an eyebrow at his friend. “I’m just showing Jin! She’s his type.” Namjoon laughs. Hoseok cocks his head to the side in confusion while Yoongi scoffs.

Of course you're Jin's type, Yoongi thinks. You're so beautiful and Jin loves to treasure beauty. Jin loves to admire his treasures, taking pleasure in finding the cracks within perfection to break them wider. He's going to have to watch out for Jin.

Yoongi’s and Hoseok’s phones ding with a notification. “Did you have to do that?” Yoongi questions Namjoon, starting to feel annoyed. He pasted a link to your stream to the group chat.

“They are probably already watching. Look,” he points to your view count, soaring into the thousands. The man on his side gives him a dirty look.

---

You place your hands inside your bra and panties, still not comfortable enough to bare it all just yet. You cup your breasts and roll your hips into your palm getting off on the friction. Your soaked panties pull on your hips, stretch against your knuckles, revealing parts of you every once in a while to the camera. How many men had their dicks out right now, how many were falling apart with you? The thought made you clenched down on nothing, covering your hand in your essence. You pull your hand away from your core and put your palm in front of the camera, showing off your wet fingers to your faceless admirers.

---

Taehyung groans. You wiggle your fingers to him, traces of your arousal drip in between, he imagines himself licking each digit clean. He imagines his own long fingers stuffing you instead, pulling sweet moans from your lips, you dripping all over him. Fuck he wants to taste you, he bets you taste so sweet, just divine.

His hands fists his hard erection, his tongue between his teeth as he watches you on his laptop. Each time you cry out in pleasure, he thrusts into his clenched fist, imagining your tight cunt wrapped around him instead. Taehyung almost loses it when you let out a needy whine, imagining all the ways he could make you cry and whimper at his hands. He wishes he had you here so he could taste and smell your body, god if you were here he would make you cum over and over again until you cry and beg him to stop.

---

Someone sends you five hundred dollars, the second largest donation of the night.

V: You’re so beautiful

No request, no lewdness, nothing other than the simple phrase that you didn’t realize how much you ached to hear. Your face goes hot. You let your hand speed up. You try to imagine the words spoken, whispered in your ear, focus on them besides the dings of your laptop and wet sounds coming from your soaking core.

You imagine a man on top of you whispering how beautiful he finds you. You throw your head back lost in pleasure, letting your fantasies overtake you until the heat inside you bursts. You gasp and shudder, forgetting about the camera on you, riding out your high for as long as you can. The fantasy man leaves your thoughts as you come back down to earth, alone again in your room. Finally, you open your eyes, staring at the ceiling of your room. The chatroom dings and dings.

Now that you’ve reached your high, the flames of your arousal abruptly extinguishes, an icy current of mortification at what you’ve done hits you in waves. You sit up shakily, wiping the sweat off your brow. Too scared to look at your reflection, you look down at your keyboard instead, trying to steady your breathing.

“Thank you for coming to my first broadcast. I’m going to log off now.”

Instead of shutting off the stream you hold down the power button of your laptop to turn your entire computer off. You lay back down as your phone vibrates with a notification. The total sum of what you made on your first live stream. You can’t believe it, laughing at the ridiculousness of it. You pull the mask off your face and throw the offending material across the room. As you steady your breathing you push down the regret that creeps over you, thoughts that ring in your ears like a lecture from your mother, feeling shame and disgust at what you allowed yourself to become. Whatever, you did what you had to do.

---

It’s an hour before you have to clock out on your last shift of the week. Your manager pulls you aside to speak with you. There’s concern in his voice and a frown etched on his face, “He is here again.”

“Oh,” you grimace, why is he so early?! “He’s, um, here to pick me up.”

Your manager’s eyes go wide. “You’re going to go somewhere with that psycho?”

“I-I can’t say.”

“If it’s money again I can see about getting you some more hours.” He grabs a clipboard off the back wall, flipping through the schedule.

You wince. “No, it’s just something I have to do and then this should all be over and done with. It will be fine.” Will it be fine? You hope so.

He gives you a skeptical look. “Are you sure? You’re sure you’re going to be okay?”

You don’t know, but you nod your head regardless, “Yes.”

“Okay,” He sighs, still looking worried, “I’ll see you Monday?”

You give him a reassuring smile. “See you Monday. Have a good weekend.”

---

An hour later you clock out and Yoongi makes his way next to you. You were grateful he didn’t make another scene, he had sat in the corner sipping on coffee, hardly paying attention to you. He didn’t have to, not when he had your store's camera system connected to his phone.

You look him over, Yoongi looks as posh as ever. He wears all black, and tight pants that show off his, well anyways, why does he have to look so good? You huff, staring anywhere else, motioning your arm, “After you.”

The man gives you a wicked smile and offers you his arm. You resist the urge to roll your eyes, but reach for his elbow. You felt silly in your dirty work clothes holding onto him. Why did you even bother waking up early today to put on a face full of makeup when you just ended up sweating it off?

"Your manager doesn't seem happy to see me," he teases.

"I wonder why..." you send him a glare.

Of course this motherfucker has a Rolls Royce. You grumble next to him. Yoongi opens the passenger’s door for you and you slide inside. When was the last time someone has done that for you? Tinder culture has really screwed you in more ways than one. You watch as he circles to the other side, he looks so powerful and sexy.

Stop, what's gotten into you?! You push down the butterflies fluttering around in the pit of your stomach. When he starts the car, he leans over to you, invading your space and making you flinch.

“Calm down, I’m not going to hurt you.” His eyes travel down your body, “Unless you want me to.” His face is too close to yours, you can feel his breath on your skin as he smirks down at you.

He reaches for the strap of your seat belt, his body now entirely pressed up against yours and he pulls on the strap and buckles it for you. Your face grows hot, it felt like he was teasing you, his presence leaving you as quickly as it came. You swallow down the lump in your throat, wishing you had water for your suddenly dry mouth.

He had smelled good. Manly. It’s been so damn long since you’ve been on a date, under the excuse of social distancing, but really you’ve just stopped trying to go out on boring typical dates with normal boring men so you can have boring vanilla sex. It was a hassle, you had gotten used to the instant gratification from your viewers. But now you had neither. That's why you were so wound up, not because you wanted this smug asshole, no way.

As he reversed, you realize you have to give him your address. You bite your lower lip, thinking what to do. Maybe you can get him to drop you off somewhere close by, but Yoongi is already setting up the GPS with another location.

“Umm, I thought we were going to stop by my house first.”

“Why?”

“So I can change?”

“Not necessary, you can change on the boat. I have clothes for you since I noticed you never cashed my check.” His piercing eyes flash with anger, the accusation making you shift uncomfortably. Cashing Yoongi's check made what was happening feel like a transaction, and you weren't willing to give him that power over you.

“I-I did not agree to get on a boat with you,” you frown, red flags popping up in your head at the thought of being alone in the middle of nowhere, out at sea, with a stranger who says he’ll hurt you if you ask him to.

“You agreed to go to a party with me. That’s how we get to the party, sweetheart.”

Dammit.

---

When Yoongi said boat you didn’t realize he meant yacht. It’s huge. He leads you into the main cabin, there are clothes already laid out for you on the bed.

He shows you how to work the shower before leaving you alone. You know you were washing off the sweat and grime of the day to make yourself presentable for this party of his, but why did you feel like you were cleaning yourself up for Yoongi specifically. It made you feel uneasy. You tried to silence the alarm bells ringing in your head and focus on getting ready. It's just one night out and then you can say goodbye to Yoongi forever.

The dress was black and tight. It hugged your curves and showed off your cleavage. You can admit it was a hot dress and you felt hot in it. It’s exactly the style you like, as if Yoongi had pulled it right out from one of your favorite Pinterest boards. You sigh as you look at yourself in the mirror, the dress came with a set of lingerie that you almost didn’t put on, embarrassed by wearing underwear picked out by a man you knew nothing about. This wasn't like the times you let your viewers choose your outfits for broadcast, this was different...right?

You decide to go all out with makeup, realizing there is no doubt going to be many beautiful people at this party that look as attractive and expensive as Yoongi, so you might as well try to blend in. You put on the finishing touches, a dark red lip, when there’s a knock on the door.

Yoongi walks in, he’s changed too. He's wearing a black button down and black pants, it matches your outfit. Almost all of his fingers are adorned with silver rings. His hair styled in an unkept bedhead way that makes him look younger. You try not to stare or think about how ridiculously handsome he looks.

You look breathtaking, Yoongi thinks, ‘Only one thing missing.’ He pulls out a black choker with a gold pendant from his pocket. “For you, I think it completes the look.” He gives you a genuine smile.

“I-I...Thank you.” you don’t know what else to say. His fingertips graze your collarbones, lighting a trail of fire across your chest. Yoongi clasps the choker around your neck, the pull against your sensitive skin gives you goosebumps. His pointer finger finds its way under your jaw to lift your chin up. “Ready for some fun?” You leave with Yoongi before you have time to inspect his present, notice that on the gold heart pendant there are initials delicately scrawled in the middle. ‘MYG’

---

You enter the party mesmerized. An island. A mansion. A secret paradise. A place where the party never needed to end.

The hall is decorated from top to bottom in gold and crystal, intricate glass centerpieces and art at every corner, but what caught your eye and made your heart drop into the pit of your stomach was an entirely different kind of centerpiece. Around the main room, suspended from the ceiling, gold ropes dropped in a dozen different areas. The most beautiful women you’ve ever seen hung under spotlights, the rope tied in intricate patterns around their naked bodies, each placed in a different position. Saliva pooled inside your mouth as you watched in awe.

Party goers gravitated to them, watching the women as they ate finger food and drank. Yoongi’s breath tickled the back of your neck as he whispered in your ear. “You look like you want to join them,” His dark eyes narrowed on you.

“I’m just admiring the view,” you try to act unaffected by his words, “Don’t get your hopes up. I’m hungry,” you whine, changing the subject, you let Yoongi pull you through the crowd.

---

Jungkook grips his wine glass so tight the stem breaks in half, the glass pieces cutting the palm of his hand. He is so full of rage he barely feels the sting, letting the blood drip on his expensive suit. That conniving little man Yoongi has his hands all over your body. How did he have you? Had this been his plan all along? Did Yoongi convince you to leave the site so he could have you all to himself? And you fell into his trap! Jungkook knows it’s not your fault for being manipulated, he knows how devious his business partner can be, but he wants to punish you just the same. He has to tell someone. Taehyung will know what to do! He searches for his friend, before he goes straight to Yoongi and kills him instead.

---

“Min, please introduce us to your date!” The crowd parts as two men advance towards Yoongi. You were just getting used to Yoongi’s cold reserved demeanor when his friends’ beaming playful attitude catch you off guard. The pair is full of energy, they commanded attention, and you could tell by their looks they most certainly were used to being in the center of it.

“You know who she is,” Yoongi rolls his eyes, his hand around your waist pulling you closer to him. What did he mean? Were they-

“But we haven’t formally met! I’m Hoseok, you can call me Hobi.” He winks at you and gives you a bright smile. “This is Jimin!”

‘Jimin.’ That name is familiar to you. No way, this beautiful man is not your Jimin. Not one of your top donators Jimin. No way in hell-

“I’m so happy to have finally met you in person, Dahlia.” Jimin holds your hand in his and brings your fingers to his lips, giving you a small wink. Oh my god he’s attractive. This is the same man who paid you for late night private chats, crying about how lonely he was, he is that Jimin. You’re so astonished you don’t even register the way Yoongi’s fingers dig into your hip in jealousy.

Hoseok and Jimin are fun. The three of you drink another round of sparkling champagne as the duo takes turns telling you wild stories, making you dissolve into a fit of giggles. Yoongi sips on his whisky while he watches the three of you roar with laughter. He doesn’t mind, he uses their charm to his advantage. As expected around the extroverted pair you start feeling more comfortable, you let your guard down around Yoongi, so Yoongi doesn’t mind. You're his date after all, you’re his.

“Looks like everyone made it!” Jimin waves at a trio of men headed towards your group.

“Almost everyone,” Yoongi corrects. He drapes his arm over your shoulder and you lean into him, your body swaying from the alcohol in your system. Yoongi delights in the way the men looked at you in his arms, the visible shock and anger on their faces. “Y/n, this is Seokjin, Taehyung, and Jungkook.”

You nod in their direction, barely regarding them, instead giggling at Jimin who is making a funny face at you trying to steal your attention.

“Namjoon says he’s sorry he couldn’t make it, something came up.” Taehyung addresses Yoongi.

Yoongi frowns at the information, it’s not like Joon to change plans so suddenly.

“I need to use the restroom, excuse me.”

“I’ll show you where it is,” Yoongi begins to take you, but Taehyung’s hand grips Yoongi’s shoulder, pulling him back. “Let the lady go, it’s been so long since we’ve all seen you, Yoongi. I missed my friend. You can make your way, right baby?”

Six heads turn to look at you and you feel hot under their intense stares. “Um, yea-yes, I’ll be right back.” You leave before Yoongi can protest.

---

This place is huge. You can’t remember how you found the bathroom or how to get back to Yoongi, and the room felt like it was spinning. The party had become louder, more obnoxious as drugs and alcohol loosened everyone’s inhibitions.

You shouldn’t have drank so much, you didn’t realize how much alcohol Jimin and Hobi had been feeding you until it was too late, and now you could barely make out people’s faces. What are you going to do? Yoongi had your cell in his pocket, why did you give it to him? Jimin had grabbed it out of your hand to put his contact information in, and handed it back to Yoongi instead. You didn't even protest, you were too busy being mesmerized by Hoseok as he swayed his hips to the music playing, rolling his body to the beat.

You lean against an empty space of wall, between two couples obnoxiously making out. You’re all alone in a strange house with no way to call for help, the gravity of your situation hits you all at once and your head begins to throb.

Maybe if you can make it to the second floor you can spot Yoongi and the others in the crowd. You stumble your way to the stairs, hoping your plan works.

You see Yoongi. The bastard is still drinking his whisky while his friend’s banter amongst themselves. You exhale, finally calming down. The fresh air away from everyone helps to take away your dizziness. You watch the six men, they are all so good looking. They have to be the most attractive men at the party. You didn’t notice how intimidating the group looks, finding it funny how party goers instinctively keep their distance from them.

The three new men are tall and big, they could be models, or maybe athletes, you should have paid attention when Yoongi was introducing you to them. What were their names, Junhyung? Taejung? If Yoongi was a House member, and Jimin was a House member, could they all be...no.

You’re about to turn to leave when hands cover your mouth and grab at your waist. Your scream is completely muffled out behind the stranger’s large hand.

He holds you in a suffocating embrace, covering both your mouth and nose, you realize you really cannot breathe. You try to pry his hand off your face but it’s impossible, he’s too strong and too big, easily overpowering you. The air in your lungs is trapped inside of you as you try to scream. Is this how you die?

“Hey baby.”

‘RM.’ The last time you met him, you had your vision taken, so you could never forget the unmistakable deep rumble of his voice.

Your mind is reeling. You stop fighting against his hold and he finally removes his hand, placing it around your neck instead. You gasp and cough out, inhaling air quickly, afraid your breath will be taken away again.

You guess it made sense, first Jimin now RM, were all the party goers members too? The thought terrified you. You had no idea what your viewers looked like, yet they all knew what you looked like naked. Just how many knew who you were? It made you queasy, you shudder against RM. RM, a top donator, plastered against your back, it felt like a fever dream.

You remember all the times you flirted with him behind the protection of your computer screen, now there were no digital barriers to stop his advances. No house rules to lessen his stifling touches.

“I missed you, baby. I’m a little upset you stayed away for so long, but seeing you here dressed up so pretty, like a present I get to unwrap, I can forgive you.” The hand that held your waist down against him traveled up your stomach, between your breasts, until it settled around your neck as well. “I’m so so glad you came back to us.” His deep velvet voice rumbled in your ear, making your legs tremble.

His strong fingers begin to massage your neck. It feels so good, you bite back a moan. Namjoon rubs deep circles into your shoulder blades. You can’t help but melt into his relaxing massage, your nerves had been wound so tightly before, his expert fingers finding each knotted muscle in your back. You try to sneak a glance behind you, but every time you try, Namjoon’s hands find your jaw, keeping your attention forward.

“How is Yoongi treating you?” RM knows Yoongi? You felt so out of the loop, you tried to make sense of it all but you could only concentrate on the way his fingers pressed against your skin.

“He’s being a perfect gentleman.”

“A 'gentleman,'” Namjoon laughs, “Are we talking about the same man?” You roll your head as his fingers work the tense muscles of your neck. His thumb runs underneath your choker, ever so slightly tightening the fabric around your skin. “He was planning to keep you all to himself,” Namjoon tuts.

Anger erupts inside of him as he notices the piece of jewelry, and he pulls you into another crushing embrace, his hands underneath the curves of your breasts. “Now what would he do if he saw you in my arms, hmm?” He makes you walk back to the balcony, hands groping your chest and body pressing you forward into the banister. Truthfully, you’re scared of what Yoongi would do if he saw you, you had no idea what he was capable of, but the pleasure RM was giving you was hard to fight against.

“RM, please...” you don’t know what you’re begging him for, to let you go, to touch you more.

“Look at him.” His voice deepens, his authoritative tone makes you whimper in his arms.

His arms travel to your waist, his fingers pulling at the hem of your dress, lifting it tortuously slow. His fingertips ghost over your lace panties. “Look at how wet you are, dirty girl.” He pulls them down your thighs. If anyone were to look up, they’d see you completely bare. The thought makes you pulse.

Taehyung and Jungkook had come to Namjoon to tell him what Yoongi had done. Namjoon almost felt bad, Yoongi was like a brother to him, so Namjoon knew how much he cared about you. But why would he parade you around in front of the others, like a sweet treat on a platter? Yoongi surely knew them all well enough to know they'd want to take a bite.

“Now keep your eyes on Yoongi, what is he doing right now?”

You start to speak and Namjoon pushes two fingers inside you, all the way in to his knuckles. You let out a gasp, and he pinches the sensitive skin of breast through your dress. “Answer daddy, baby girl.”

You fight back tears, your mouth goes dry as you try to hold yourself together. “H-he’s talking to Hobi.” Namjoon inserts another finger into you at the nickname you use for his friend, the stretch is bordering on painful, making you cry out. You try to stifle your whimpers, it just turns Namjoon on even more. He grinds his erection into your ass. His smell, his dirty words, his roughness, you've forgotten how much you craved it.

“Hobi, is it? When did you and him become so friendly? Baby, you’re making me jealous. Is that what you want?” With three fingers inside you, he sets a punishing pace. It’s been awhile since you’ve felt so full. Perhaps the last time you truly felt like this was by RM himself. You pulse around his fingers at the memory. Your legs shake as his thumb finds your clit, pressing into your sensitive hood. “P-please…”

“Please what?”

“Please let me cum, Daddy.”

He groans in your ear. “Hmm no.” He pulls his fingers out of you, you hold onto the banister as your orgasm escapes you. Your body shakes with need.

“You’ll come find me later tonight, won’t you, baby girl?” His warmth leaves your body, when you turn around no one is there.

---

Oh my so many questions, not many answers. Will you see your manager on Monday? Lol thank you again for enjoying my story, let me know what you think! <3

[soulmate-game]

Maribat March 2021 @maribatmarch-2k21

Day 1: Found Family

“Ah! Bonjour!” A cheery voice called, as a short Eurasian girl bound over to the unfairly intimidating mob of tall people with sharp eyes. Chloe had called in a favor. “My name is Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Chloe told me that your tour guide cancelled at the last minute, so she blackmail—sorry, begged me to fill in for them. You are the Wayne’s, non?”

The one at the front of the group, clearly Bruce Wayne since Marinette didn’t live under a rock and had seen the man on several American news broadcasts before, nodded and cleared his throat. Man, was he intimidating. Even when he shot her a dazzling smile that was sure to blind Paparazzi with fake cheer. It was a nice smile, Marinette wasn’t about to deny. But it was empty. Distant. And Marinette wasn’t going to buy it for a second.

“Yes, that’s us. Mademoiselle Bourgeois mentioned she had asked a close friend of hers to take care of our tour.”

Marinette nodded again, clasping her hands behind her back. “I guarantee, you won’t miss anything the tour guide would have shown you. In fact, Chloe mentioned that you all were very curious about the now retired Parisian heroes, right? My former best friend ran the Ladyblog back when they were active. I am more than confident that I can answer any questions you have while we go through the city.”

A boy with a white streak in his hair rose his hand, as if he was in a class and needed to wait to be called on. Which, considering the sheer size of their family, Marinette was actually grateful for. But damn, this was another imposing figure. Slightly taller than even the six-foot-three-inches that Bruce Wayne owned, he was solidly built and rocked a brown leather jacket and ripped black jeans. Marinette smiled and nodded for him to speak.

“How old are you? Because I don’t know if twelve year olds are allowed to do guided tours,” there was an obvious tease in his voice, but there was also legitimate concern in his blue-green eyes. Marinette almost missed that concern amid her quickly building annoyance. She even felt her eyes twitch.

“I’m turning eighteen in a few months if you need to know, Monsieur,” she evened out the bite in her voice with an overly sweet smile. “And if you want to get lost and possibly pickpocketed in the busy streets of Paris, then please continue to make comments on my height. If not, we can begin our tour and you might even enjoy it.”

Several Wayne’s snickered at her comeback, one man in particular elbowing the white haired gentleman with a little too much glee. Even the stoic Bruce laughed softly, and a boy with enough bags under his eyes to make the airport jealous nearly fell over himself with his suppressed laughter.

The man himself just snorted, sending her a lopsided smirk that oddly radiated approval. It was almost as if she had passed some sort of test.

“My name’s Jason, Pixie. You already know B. The guy trying to break my ribs,” he pointedly shoved off the one who had elbowed him, “is Dick. He’s Bruce’s first adoptive casualty. The one that looks like a zombie is Tim, we might need to take a break to get him more coffee before he passes out halfway through. The one who hasn’t stopped glaring at you is Damian, the badass redhead is Barbara but we all call her Babs. The annoying blonde is Stephany, the other cool badass over there is Cass. She doesn’t talk much. And the one trying to pretend he doesn’t know us is Duke.”

Each member he introduced gave her a little wave or nod. Even Damian managed a short nod of acknowledgement before resuming his glare. He looked to be a couple years younger than her, so she just brushed it off as teenage drama.

“Alright then! It is very nice to meet you all. Now, Chloe did inform me that you guys are very multilingual, which is another reason she asked me instead of one of our other friends. If you ever need it, I obviously am fluent in both French and English. But added to that, I am fluent in Cantonese, Mandarin, Italian, and I know basic survival Japanese. I also know French Sign Language, though I’m not sure if that’s very useful for you unfortunately. If you ever need to communicate non-verbally, I will do my best to accommodate that. Now, I believe you guys were scheduled to start the tour with a visit to the Louvre, non? Right this way.”

As Marinette led the large group out of the Grand Paris, they didn’t bother taking time to admire the sights before asking questions.

“Have you ever met one of the heroes?” Dick, who might have been shorter than Jason and Bruce but was muscular enough to still inspire caution (and admiration), asked. His blue eyes seemingly stared right through Marinette as he continued; “If you’re almost eighteen, then they must have been active through a lot of your school career.”

Marinette smiled. “They did only retire last year,” she agreed with a nod. “Yes, I have met all of the Parisian heroes at least once,” she snorted at a stray thought. “In fact, I met Chat Noir quite a lot. You see, my old College was basically ground zero for a lot of akuma attacks. And by a lot, I mean a majority of them,” she shook her head before pausing to get everyone to cross a street. “After a while, Chat Noir started calling me ‘princess’ to make fun of how often he had to save me. He’s an annoying ass.”

Despite her words, everyone behind her could easily hear the fondness there. They all traded glances. What if this was a Lois and SuperMan situation? Regardless, they all had a suspicion that Marinette knew more about the heroes than she let on. Or, at least more about Chat Noir.

“When you say that your school was a hotspot for Akuma attacks,” Bruce spoke up cautiously, his Dad Senses going haywire. He didn’t like how nonchalantly she had said it— she was far too casual. Sure enough, he watched as the muscles between her shoulders stiffened slightly at the conversation change. “What do you mean? Surely it couldn’t have been that bad if the school is still around.”

Marinette sucked her teeth, grimacing. “The school is still there, yeah, but only because of Ladybug’s ability. You’ve heard about the Cure, right?” It was Tim who answered her;

“Yeah. It fixed the damage done during a fight, right?” He asked, tilting his head a little. Marinette ignored her brief thought that the gesture made him look like a curious puppy. She sighed.

“Yeah. But when they say damage, they mean everything. Injuries, collateral. Death,” she said the last example darkly, far too much weight behind the word for it to be meaningless. She heard Jason hiss in sympathy. “But there are good things. The Cure also erased anyone’s memories of dying besides the vague knowledge that it did happen, so there isn’t much trauma there to unpack. Not as much as there could have been anyway,” she assured them. “And I’m one of the lucky ones. I never died, and I was never Akumatized.”

“Hmph,” Damian’s voice cut through the brief silence that followed her admission. She looked back at him to see his sharp green eyes staring right into her. “You don’t honestly believe that’s lucky.” It wasn’t a question. Marinette clenched her jaw, turning around and ignoring him.

Because, no. It wasn’t luck. It wasn’t lucky that she was the only one that remembered everything— all of the deaths, all of the Akumatizations, everything that others mercifully forgot. Since she lived through all of it, she remembered all of it. And survivor’s guilt is nothing to scoff at.

But she wasn’t about to reveal her trauma, or at the very least the full scope of it, to people she had just met and was leading on a tour.

“If you look to the left, you’ll see a statue that was made depicting Ladybug and Chat Noir back during the first years of their activity,” she suddenly told them, gesturing to the still-standing statue. Nobody missed the obvious topic change, but nobody commented on it either. Turns out the statue was something they had been looking forward to seeing in person, Tim even went up to take a few photos with his camera. Barbara took a few circles around the statue, easily pivoting her wheelchair around it as if she was trying to see every angle and imperfection possible. Marinette couldn’t help but chuckle fondly at the sight.

“Your family are pretty big fans, huh?” She asked Cass and Duke, the only ones that had stayed back with her. Duke snorted, and Cass gave her a small grin.

“They like to keep up to date with all the heroes,” Duke answered with a shrug. “Since we’re so high profile, it isn’t weird for us to be saved by one here or there even when we’re away from Gotham.”

Marinette just gave him an odd look, furrowing her brows. “But the Miraculous team has been disbanded since HawkMoth was defeated,” she reminded them. “There’s no need for them to save anybody anymore.”

“Old habits,” Cass spoke up softly, her voice barely a whisper. Her eyes locked with Marinette’s. “Not easy to break.”

The smaller woman had a feeling that Cass wasn’t talking about her family’s habit of keeping up to date on heroes.

“Alright! We need to head to the next stop or we might not have time to see everything!”

The tour went pretty similarly. The walks between stops were pleasant, and filled with questions about the period of time where HawkMoth was active. Marinette wasn’t even the least bit surprised nor put off; everyone was curious about those years now that the tourism restriction was lifted and people could ask freely about it. Besides the many questions about the Heroes, Marinette found the group to be very pleasant company. They were polite, but also rowdy in a very endearing way. She caught a lot of inside jokes they had with each other, and a lot of good natured teasing and fighting. They even managed to rope her into it somehow, and she found herself snidely teasing Damian or casually threatening Tim with not allowing them a coffee break. She even got to ride on Jason’s shoulders for a bit after he made another comment on her height that she Did Not Appreciate. But the ride she got made it worth it.

But soon the sun was high in the sky, and it was about time for them to take a lunch break. They had all been walking for hours with only a few chances to rest, and honestly Marinette was impressed that none of them seemed too tired out by it.

“Alright,” she put her hands on her hips proudly. “Since some of you won’t stop whining about needing coffee or being hungry— Dick, don’t you dare buy anything from that vendor! I’m gonna lead you all to my parent’s bakery so we can have lunch and caffeinate all of you. And conveniently enough,” she smiled widely. “The bakery is right across the street from my old College! So you’ll be able to get a look at where the majority of Akuma attacks happened, and maybe I can tell you a few specific stories if you want,” she offered. There were a couple cheers (Tim and Dick) from the crowd and everyone seemed pretty pleased with the next step in their tour. Smiling, Marinette turned and began to lead them in the direction of her home.

Sirens blared, a fire truck zooming down the street next to them.

Headed in the same direction.

Marinette frowned, watching it go. “That’s weird. I hope everyone’s okay, whatever happened,” she mused idly. But as they kept going forward, the sirens didn’t get any softer. If anything, they started getting louder again after a while. Marinette was visibly concerned by then, her pace picking up. “This is my neighborhood,” she told the solemn group behind her. “I know everyone on this street—“ they rounded the corner, and Marinette stopped in her tracks. Her world ground to a halt.

There was the fire truck, stopped right in front of her bakery.

Which was completely ablaze.

A string of curses flew out of her mouth, the little Eurasian wasting no more time before sprinting towards the building. She could hear people yelling at her to wait, slow down, stop! But she ignored them. The only thing on her mind was that her home was on fire.

“Marinette! Wait!” Dick reached out to grab her arm, but like a snake Marinette easily slipped out of his grip and continued forward. Steph was next, deciding to just tackle Marinette— to no avail. The Parisian just shouldered the bigger woman off of her with pure adrenaline fueling her muscles, and everyone else knew by then that they could not stop her. The Wayne’s decided all they could do was jog behind Marinette, keeping her in sight as they tried to gauge the damage.

“The top floors don’t look like they have even been touched by the fire yet,” Tim whispered, though his eyes flew between the building and their tour guide. Marinette was speaking rapidly with a firefighter that wasn’t immediately busy, trying to get information. But before anyone could decipher what was said, Marinette tore a large strip off the bottom of her shirt and tied it in a hasty mask around her mouth.

“Wait!” Bruce was the first to realize what was happening, with his years of experience with self sacrificing children and their stupid stunts. But Marinette managed to kick him away before he could grab her, dashing into the inferno without paying any heed to the many protests that followed her.

The group of Gothamites could do nothing but watch the flaming building, then. If they went inside, it would only overcrowd a hazardous area. Minutes passed, and there was movement in the fire. Out of the doorway came Marinette and a firefighter, both having to work together to carry the body of a large man outside. The sight of the man made the Gotham family blink— he was as big as Bane! And that was nothing to scoff at. But despite his unusual size and muscle mass, the man had all the signs of being a normal civilian.

Marinette didn’t stop there. She ran back in. Coming out a lot more quickly this time with a barely conscious Asian woman— everyone saw the resemblance between her and this new woman immediately.

It had to be her mother.

“Shit,” Duke hissed. Nobody else could say a word. It wasn’t looking good, and this wasn’t a situation where random vigilantes showing up out of nowhere could actually help. Not this late into the fire. Bruce’s hands curled into fists.

The woman that everyone guessed was Marinette’s mother was suddenly struck by lucidity; she gasped and grabbed at Marinette’s hand without seeming to see who she was even talking to. A single word that none of the Waynes could hear left her throat, and judging by Marinette’s returning panic it hadn’t been good.

She rushed right back into the building, and came back out with the last firefighter who had been searching inside.

Marinette carried a child. She screamed out in panicked French;

“She’s not breathing! I need first aid now!”

That was their cue. The firefighters started their hoses, focusing on getting rid of the flames now that nobody was left inside the building. Bruce and Damian got to Marinette first, and this time she listened as they instructed her to set the child down. Damian, being smaller and having more hands-on medical knowledge, took charge of the resuscitation. Marinette sat there silently, eyes riveted to the small child— a girl.

But Marinette wasn’t reacting like a normal civilian to tragedy. She was eerily calm, eyes focused and barely concealing a terrible rage. She took over chest compressions when Damian started to lose momentum, not giving up.

But then the EMTs arrived, and it was only five minutes with the child hooked onto oxygen that the news arrived—

Marinette heard the monitors on the ambulance flatline before she even registered what people were trying to tell her. Manon. Manon was—

Marinette didn’t register Nadya Chammack at first. She was just another body in the quickly growing sea of them. That is, until she heard Nadya’s pained shriek. A mother who had just lost her baby girl.

“Perhaps we should head back,” Bruce offered softly, giving Marinette space but keeping a keen eye on her. He saw her begin to tremble, then shake. He was pretty sure he could hear the grinding of her teeth for a second before she went still. Just… all movement stopped, the tears that had been building just falling silently for a second before they ended.

And he recognized that carefully practiced emptiness in her bluebell eyes. The same emptiness he had seen in Damian’s eyes when he had first arrived at the Manor. The same emptiness he saw in Dick’s eyes in the days following his parent’s deaths.

The same emptiness he saw in the mirror, every time he had another nightmare about the day Jason had been taken from him, years ago.

Suddenly he could imagine all too well exactly what kind of strength she had to have, to avoid her negative emotions ever being used against her during Hawkmoth’s reign. Especially if she had constantly been dealing with her friends and family being Akumatized and/or dying on multiple occasions.

She didn’t even seem to have heard him. Bruce sighed.

“I called Chloe,” Barbara informed everyone solemnly, holding up her phone for emphasis. “She’ll be here in five.”

—*—*—*—*—*

Chloe hadn’t come alone. With her had been Adrien Agreste, former model when his father hadn’t been… well, in prison. Nowadays he was just a normal student who occasionally gave lectures on neglect and child abuse, and how to help children in those situations.

And, apparently, he was also Marinette’s closest friend. Even more so than Chloe. As soon as they arrived back at the Grand Paris, Chloe herded everyone up into her suite and she and Adrien surrounded Marinette with pillows and blankets. Adrien curled around Marinette like an affectionate cat, and Damien even swore he heard the guy purr at some point

“We should probably leave,” Bruce whispered to their hostess, who looked inbetween him and her friends for a moment before jerking her head towards the door.

“I wanna talk to you first,” Chloe whispered back. Once they all filed out into the hallway and the door was safely closed, Chloe took a breath. “First, I want to tell you that I got a call from the hospital. Marinette’s father is stable, but in a coma right now.”

“Is that the man who looked like he could bench press a car for fun?” Dick asked, earning a weak grin from the Bourgeois heiress.

“Yeah, that’s him. But…” Chloe’s face fell, and she looked around as if to double check nobody was eavesdropping. She still lowered her voice anyway. “Her mother, Sabine. She…” Chloe swallowed a lump in her throat, images of the extremely kind Chinese woman flashing through her mind without permission. “She didn’t make it.”

Several people took a sharp breath, acknowledging everything that had gone so wrong for Marinette on a day that had started so perfectly.

“The smoke?” Cass asked gently, but Chloe winced and shifted on her feet.

“No. They… there were rope marks on Sabine’s neck,” Chloe clenched her eyes shut at the admission. “Marinette’s dad might be big, but he’s not a fighter. Sabine, though… Sabine was. She was raised in a martial arts family back in China. I’ve seen Sabine take down five men at once, all twice her size,” Chloe kicked her lips, shaking her head in disbelief. “Somebody knew… somebody knew that the little Chinese woman was a threat but the big baker with tons of muscle was harmless.”

Nobody took that well. Not only had Marinette just lost her home and half of her family, but her father was in a coma and it had all been foul play.

“Okay,” Bruce nodded once the news had time to sink in. They could help with this; this was their specialty. They might have only known Marinette for six hours, but she had made a big impression. It wasn’t just anybody that could mesh with his family so seamlessly in that short span of time. “Is there anything else?”

“I want you to get temporary custody of her,” Chloe said it the way only Chloe Bourgeois could. With her back straight, chin high, and the tone of a woman who expected to be listened to or else she’d make life Hell for the person that didn’t take her seriously. Bruce could only blink.

“Can I ask for your reasoning?”

“Marinette has been closing herself off more and more over the years,” Chloe admitted. “Hawkmoth’s reign was hard on her. Only Adrien really knows everything she went through during those years. But even after the disbanding of the team, she hasn’t… she hasn’t allowed herself to get close to anybody new. That’s why I tricked her into doing your tour. She needed to socialize with new people, and if she wouldn’t do it herself then I had to pull some strings.”

A few eyebrows raised at the admission that Chloe had fully planned for Marinette to be their tour guide the whole time. It honestly seemed like the kind of well meaning manipulation that one of them would try to pull off.

“She likes you,” Chloe’s voice went soft again, showing how uncharacteristically serious she was about that fact. “She was comfortable enough to let you guys carry her back here. To let you try to help Manon. That might not seem like a big deal to you, but it says a lot to me and Adrien. And… getting her away from Paris for a while is probably a good idea. She was planning to go to Gotham for university anyway.”

The Waynes traded glances before Bruce crosses his arms and asked some more questions first. Doesn’t Marinette have other family? Answer; only her grandmother, who travels all the time and nobody ever knows where she is until she shows up. Bruce agreed that Gina Dupain didn’t exactly seem like a good candidate for Marinette’s new guardian with that description. But finally, to none of his children's surprise, he did end up agreeing.

“But,” he held up a single finger. “We’ll Wait here in Paris for a week, so that she can try to salvage everything she can from her house and so we can get an idea on how her father is doing. There’s still a chance he’ll come out of his coma fairly quickly. And of course, we will only go through with this if Marinette agrees when we ask her tomorrow.”

Chloe agreed to those terms, looking like a weight had been lifted off of her.

Chloe never cut corners when taking care of her hive. And if that meant making sure that her brave soldier bee could move on to start a new hive, one that was better equipped to take care of her, then Chloe would do everything she could to help that move. And really; Chloe was far more resourceful and observant than people gave her credit for. The butts definitely matched, and Bruce Wayne was her last hope to get Marinette the support she needed. Outside of Adrien, anyway.

Chloe took a breath, watching the Waynes trickle off into their own rooms. Marinette was like the little sister she never wanted, but grew to love more than anything. Though, Chloe knew she really chose Marinette as her sister the same way they both chose Adrien as their brother. She just didn’t want to admit she was sentimental like that. But Chloe knew that someone like Marinette needed a bigger family. More support.

She could only hope that Marinette and the Waynes grew to become family for her like she and Adrien had. Kwami knew that Marinette needed all the help she could get for the foreseeable future.

“You did good, my Queen.”

“I know, Pollen. Now we just have to find out who dared hurt my hive.”

—*—*—*—*—*

Dude this took so long to write, but I’m actually really proud of it. Probably gonna take this Maribat March a little differently than last year, and make a few longer stories by connecting some of the prompts together. Maybe each week will be a full story? Idk I’ll figure it out. I know I’m behind but I’m working on it.

I tried to keep the angst out, but it found it’s way in here anyway. Oh well!

[ko-riacchi]

Live Stream

Pairing: Shigaraki x F!Reader Genre: Smut, Angst Length: 4,3k

WARNINGS: NONCON! 

Thank you to @cultbabyyy who read through it as soon as I was done  And thank you to @kazooli whose fics made me realize that I can write whatever the fuck I want

(Inspired by Yagami Yato’s Shigaraki Pt.3 audio)

Tomura was a man-child. Which meant that when he had a new toy, he couldn’t help himself but to rub it in other people’s faces that he had something that they – in fact – no longer had.

 The room was dimly lit, most of the light coming from the computer screen and the various sources of blue light stemming from the computer tower, mouse and keyboard.

Tomura sat in his computer chair, arms possessively wrapped around your form and you wriggled and squirmed in his grip, trying to get loose.

“Now, now,” Tomura rasped into your ear. “Don’t struggle too much. You wouldn’t want any accidents to happen, now would you?”

Your face scrunched up and you bit your lip, knowing exactly what Tomura could do to you – even accidentally – and you stilled in his grasp.

 His right hand left your figure now that you were placated and grabbed the computer mouse, the sound of it clicking reverberating through the otherwise quiet room.

You weren’t particularly interested in whatever he was doing on his computer, so you let your eyes wander through the room. You needed to find a way to get out of this situation, this room and especially this dangerous hold that he had over you.

You knew that the first two were comparatively easy to achieve, once you had successfully managed to pull off the latter one. After all, you hadn’t managed to become a pro hero without learning a skill or two.

But your offensive quirk just wasn’t suited to squirm free of his grasp without potentially getting disintegrated should all of his five fingers touch your body. Usually, you were quite content with your abilities but right now you couldn’t help but curse yourself for not being born with a quirk more similar to the one of your old teacher, Eraserhead.

Your gaze continued to examine the room, trying to find anything at all that could help you in your predicament. But mostly, the shelves were littered with games upon games, accompanied by the corresponding console. Behind you, a bed stood in the corner of the room, the sheets thrown on it carelessly. While those may not be able to aid you in your initial quest to rid yourself of his dangerous hands, you would be able to use them to cut off his vision once you had gotten free – even if it was just for a second.

 Your thought process was interrupted by Tomura, whose hand slid back to your body, grasping your hip in his hand while making sure that his pinky was lifted as to not accidentally kill you.

“Now we just have to wait for a few more minutes and the show can get started,” he said, his hands leisurely beginning to stroke your sides.

“Show?” you echoed confused and for the first time, your focus landed on the computer screen in front of you where a website you didn’t recognize was opened.

What you did recognize however, was the screen in the middle which reflected your own surprised face and the grinning one of Tomura behind you. Your eyes flitted to the top of the monitor to find a small camera on top, the little red light on the bottom center telling you that it was currently recording.

Back on the monitor screen, your eyes zoomed in on a small number in the corner and quickly you concluded that it showed the current viewer number of what obviously was a live stream.

“Wh-what are you planning, Shigaraki?” you asked him and turned your head and upper body so you could look in his eyes.

His gaze locked on to yours and a grin stretched across his face, cracked lips quickly moistened by his tongue so they wouldn’t crack further.

“Why, I thought since I’ve got you here, it would be a… shame not to share all the fun we’re about to have with the world,” he explained. “I even sent some links out to your dear colleagues, wouldn’t want them to miss out on it, now would we?”

Your eyes darted back to the monitor for a second, the viewer counter steadily rising, before you locked your eyes with Tomura again.

“It doesn’t matter in what way you’ll try to hurt me. I’m a hero, for God’s sake, don’t think I’m not used to pain. All you’re going to achieve by streaming this, is that my colleagues will trace the IP and find this place even faster.” You sent him a defiant look.

 Tomura erupted into cackling laughter, sounding like the crazy madman he was. “Hurt you? Oh no no no no, I think you’re misunderstanding. I’m not going to hurt you.” His right hand moved upwards to grip the top of your hero uniform; his pinky raised by acquired habit.

“Rather, I thought…” he continued, his grip hardening around the sturdy material before he purposefully burrowed his hand in it. “We could have some fun in a different way.”

Your horrified gaze went towards your chest, where the material of your suit began to crumble away in ashes, opening the view to your undergarments.

“Fuck you!” you screamed and started to struggle in his grasp. His left hand gripped your side harder, pinky raised, while his right hand came up to grip your chin.

“N’ah, ah, ah,” he chided you and his grip on your chin became painful. “Don’t forget that I hold your life in my hands.”

Before you had the chance to reply to him, his lips descended upon yours. His kiss was harsh and bruising, the feeling of his chapped lips uncomfortable on yours. You tried to break free of his hold, but it was futile. His tongue slipped out of his mouth and licked your lips, hoping to gain entry. You pressed them together more fiercely, your jaw gnashing with the force you brought up to keep your mouth closed.

Tomura clicked his tongue in disapproval. He took his mouth off you for a second to take a look at your tense face.

“Now, now, doll, while it would be a shame if this level was too easy to clear, I think you still don’t understand exactly in what situation you are currently in.”

As if to prove his point, his hand lifted from your jaw and gripped the fabric of your sports bra with all of his fingers. Instantly, the material began to crumble away under his grip until all that remained was a small heap of ashes on your legs.

Now, with nothing to cover your shame, your face burned with embarrassment and your arms shot up to cover your breasts.

“Oh, don’t get shy on me,” Tomura grinned and grabbed your arms to pull them away from your chest. “I’m sure your viewers would love to get a good look at you.”

 You tried to fight his grip, but his raw strength was far superior to yours, so you had no chance but to uncover your breasts for everyone to see. Your eyes felt hot and began to sting but you refused to let any tears fall. A hero didn’t cry, no matter how dire the situation got. On the screen, you saw an influx of messages on the chat, not even bothering to try and read the contents; you were sure that it wasn’t something you would actually want to read.

Before Tomura could continue to embarrass you further, a “ding” sounded from the computer speaker into the silence of the room. This led Tomura to giggle in excitement.

“Seems like the first one of our special guests has just entered the stream,” he said from behind you. Your head whipped around to face him. “What is that supposed to mean?” you asked him, your voice barely louder than a whisper.

“Oh, don’t worry, my doll. That ‘ding’ you just heard? Means that one of my invitation links just got opened and one of your colleagues just decided to finally join us. Why don’t you be nice and greet him?”

Tomura took your right hand he was still holding and began to wave it for the camera. Your eyes closed in frustration, knowing there was nothing you could do about it. When he was finally done waving for you, his hand let go of your wrist and immediately you covered your chest the best you could.

His now free hand gripped your hair and pulled your head back. His head burrowed itself in the crook of your neck, nibbling and biting at your skin. His lips moved up towards your ear and he whispered “Now, let’s make sure that we put on a good show for our viewers.” before taking your earlobe into his mouth and biting on it.

“Once I’m out of here, I’ll fucking kill you,” you answered him through gritted teeth, trying to ignore the unpleasant wet feeling of his mouth on you. You felt him smile against your skin, but he didn’t say anything to you in return. Instead, his hand left your hair and glided down your face and neck, making its way down to your breasts.

Your hand gripped his wrist, trying to keep him from touching you in this intimate place but you already knew that you wouldn’t be able to stop him. Moments later, Tomura’s hand had reached its goal and he began to fondle your breast roughly, pulling and twisting your nipple.

Your face scrunched up in pain and once more, you tried to pull his hand away from your body – to no avail. He continued tugging and twisting and shamefully you noticed that your nipple was getting hard. You knew that it was merely a bodily response to being stimulated but it was still hard to stomach that your body was reacting to it when you sure as hell weren’t enjoying his ministrations in the slightest.

And it seemed like you weren’t the only one who had noticed. Tomura had as well and you felt his grin against your neck. “Oh, seems like somebody’s enjoying it?” he gloated and tugged on your nipple harder.

“As if!” you exclaimed, hoping that nobody else would believe his incredulous words. Everything about his touches was uncomfortable: His grip was rough and his hand felt scratchy on your delicate skin.

Once more, you started to wriggle in his grasp, knowing that nothing would come out of it. With just the threat of his hands, he had you defeated before you had even started fighting. And although what was about to happen horrified and scared you, death scared you even more.

Now his left hand let go of yours and instantly, you started curling in on yourself, trying to prevent him from touching you further or the viewers on the stream from seeing you. He allowed you to remain in this position for a few moments while his gaze was fixed on the screen, reading the influx of comments.

“It seems like the majority of our viewers want us to move on to the next level already,” Tomura said and his left hand snaked under your armpit and up to your throat, tilting your body back against his.

“What do you say we give the people what they want?” Another tug on your nipple, and his hand left your breast before it continued downwards to your panties. Your hands clawed at his arm, trying to free yourself from his grip and save the last bit of dignity you still had left. Tomura wasn’t fazed by that however and his hand steadily continued until it had clawed into the material of your underwear and it decayed into nothingness along with your last shred of hope to somehow free yourself of this situation.

The little pile of dust that had settled on your crotch was blown away by Tomura and his mouth stretched into a wide grin, his dry lips close to cracking open. The hand that had disintegrated your panties now took your right thigh and pulled it to the side, effectively spreading your legs and displaying your pussy for everyone on the stream to see.

You had closed your eyes, not wanting to see yourself and your shameful display mirrored on the screen. Your hands, that had been on his arm up until now, trying to free yourself of his grasp, fell limply to your sides as all fight left your body. You knew that there was no way you would be able to get yourself out of this situation before Tomura had had the chance to defile you. Your only option at this point was to wait for your colleagues to arrive and save you – and hoping that you wouldn’t get killed before they would do so.

Once Tomura felt your body slacken, he began to laugh. “What? Not gonna fight me anymore?” he asked, his voice full of malicious joy. “And here I was beginning to enjoy your feisty attitude.”

Your change in behavior didn’t however stop him from continuing on with his little show and his right hand moved from your thigh to your pussy lips, spreading them open with the pointer and middle finger of his hand to give his audience a good show.

“That’s some grade A hero pussy,” he grinned into the camera as rubbed his finger around your hole a few times. “I wonder how many dicks it has taken so far…”

He turned his face from the camera to you as if he was waiting for an answer. You weren’t willing to give him that information though and kept your mouth shut, even as he lifted his other hand from your neck to your cheeks to squeeze them and get you to talk.

After a moment however, it seemed as if he had lost patience waiting for your answer, as he retracted his hand and put it back into place on your neck.

“It doesn’t matter. Once I’ve fucked you, I’ll have you ruined for other dicks for all eternity,” he cackled, his pointer finger pushing into your dry cunt immediately after he had finished his sentence.

You hissed out in pain. The skin on his finger was rough and you – surprise, surprise – were not turned on at all, so it hurt when he shoved it inside without any preparation at all.

When Tomura heard your hiss, he cackled again, moving his finger around inside you.

“If you’re already struggling to take my finger, you will break apart once I shove my cock inside you.”

Slowly, he began to move his finger, and with horror you felt yourself getting wetter and wetter the more he prodded your walls. Soon, he was able to fit a second finger inside your heat, angling them upwards and against where he had read the g-spot was.

When you took a sharp breath, he knew that he had been successful and he continued to push against the little rough patch of skin, knowing it would be so much more bitter for you if your body enjoyed the ordeal.

After a few moments of pumping his fingers inside you, he stopped and leaned forward a bit, reading through the comments in the chat.

He laughed. “Yeah, that little hero pussy is getting nice and wet,” he replied to one commenter. “It’s sucking my fingers right in.”

As if to demonstrate, he pulled his fingers out a bit and moved them around, until a squelching sound could be heard, and then pushed them all the way inside again, which elicited a muffled moan you hadn’t been able to stop in time.

“She’s definitely enjoying herself,” he answered another comment, looking at you with a sleazy grin. “Isn’t that right, hero slut?”

You grit your teeth and held back the curses and slurs you wanted to reply with, knowing that it would amuse your tormenter.

Once Tomura felt like he had replied to enough comments, he turned his attention back to you, thrusting his fingers inside you harshly one last time before he took them out, lifting them to the camera first to show the glistening juices before he put them inside his mouth and licked them with an exaggerated hum.

“I hope you’re ready for the final boss,” he whispered into your ear, although he made sure that it was loud enough for his audience to hear.

You shook your head, one last time trying to squirm out of his grasp. All that achieved however was that your ass rubbed against Tomura’s bulge and he let out a soft hiss.

“No need to be impatient, little hero slut,” he said with a grin as the hand that held your neck lifted you higher so the other hand could loosen and push down his pants.

Even if you hadn’t wanted to, as soon as Tomura’s erection bobbed free and sprang up between your legs, your eyes wandered to it, widening when you saw his size.

Tomura had to have seen your expression mirrored in the stream because he let out a manic laugh, his entire body (and dick) shaking with the emotion.

“Oh, don’t worry, it won’t hurt… much,” he cackled as he rubbed his dick along your slit, coating it in your juices. You body twitched when the tip of his dick rubbed over your clit and a shameful whimper escaped your throat, although you willed yourself immediately to shut up.

Not wanting to see your own violation, you closed your eyes as Tomura positioned himself at your entrance and began to slowly push inside.

You couldn’t hold back the hiss that escaped your throat at the intrusion, nor the squirming as you tried to get away from it.

Tomura only tightened his grip on your neck you, pushing your body down on him as his dick breached further and further into your wet heat.

Tears threatened to escape your eyes once Tomura was fully seated in you and only through sheer willpower, you managed to hold them back, unwilling to give up this last bit of pride you had.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” Tomura groaned, stilling for a second to get used to the feeling of your cunt. “Don’t tell me you were a virgin?”

You bit your lip, refusing to answer the villain. No matter what you would say, he would only find it amusing and possibly use it to torment you further, either calling you a stuck-up hero bitch, thinking you’re too good for anyone, or a hero slut, willing to let anyone willing fuck you.

When Tomura realized he wasn’t getting an answer from you, he chuckled before he adjusted his four-finger grip on your neck, pulled almost all the way out of your cunt and slammed you down again until he was inside you to the base.

A pained cry flew from your lips but you had no time to even try and hold back your voice anymore, because Tomura immediately continued to jackhammer into you, moaning and panting into your ear as he showed the world how your cunt ate up his dick.

Your hands flew up to grab at his arm, futilely trying to steady yourself at least a bit, as he pushed and pushed and pushed into you. Squelching noises you were sure the microphone was picking up as well, came from your cunt as it greedily sucked Tomura’s dick back in every time he pulled back.

“Fuck, this is some grade A pussy,” Tomura groaned, his hips only slowing down a bit as his muscles began to hurt from the position. He caught his breath while he lazily thrusted into you, his moist breath uncomfortable on your ear.

Suddenly, Tomura moved and stood up from his chair, pushing you up as well with his hips. The hand that was around your throat slipped from under your arm and instead pushed down onto your back, laying you flat on his computer desk while his dick never left your tight cunt.

As soon as he had finished adjusting to the new position, he began railing you again, his hips slamming against your ass as his dick burrowed inside you further and further.

You let out a pained scream as his thrusts reached even deeper now, clenching your eyes shut as you tried to shut out the pain. At least in this position, the camera wasn’t able to get a shot of your face, you thought in relief, as it was too high to capture your body laid out on the desk.

Tomura must’ve noticed that fact as well because the next moment, the hand that pushed your back down moved up and grabbed your hair, pulling you up so your face was angled towards the camera. Your eyes flew open, a choked cry leaving you as you felt the burn on your scalp of your hair being pulled.

Right in front of you, you could see the red blinking light of the recoding camera and even though you wanted to close your eyes again, you found that the position made it impossible for you to do so.

So you had no choice but to stare into the camera as Tomura fucked you from behind while grunting and panting, your eyebrows furrowing as your eyes filled with tears.

After a minute of thrusting and you getting slammed against the desk again and again, Tomura leaned forward to read some more comments, his face erupting into a cackle when he read one of them.

“They’re saying I’m not taking care of you,” he told you, pulling at your hair some more so your head leant on his shoulder. “Saying you look like you’re not enjoying yourself.” He let go of your hair which caused you to fall forward onto the desk, almost slamming your head on the wood. “Let’s change that, shall we?”

With those words, his right hand began snaking around your waist, moving down so he could rub at your clit. His other hand pulled your back against his chest, giving the camera a better view and himself some more room to move his hand around your little nub.

At first, it was easy to ignore the touches on your clit, instead focusing on your uncomfortable position but then, he moved his fingers in a way that teased your clit just right and your mouth flew open as a loud moan left your lips.

“Ahh, so that’s what gets you going,” he laughed, immediately repeating the motion and trying to get you to make some more noises. You tried to hold back the sounds, tried to force yourself to close your mouth so no more moans and whimpers could escape you, but Tomura simply moved his hand on your chest upwards, pushing two of his fingers inside you mouth so it would stay open.

His thrusts had increased in speed again, his dick rubbing against your g-spot as his hands teased your clit and you felt yourself getting closer and closer to your peak.

You moved your body and tried to angle your hips in a way that would made Tomura’s actions at least a bit more bearable but he noticed right away and made sure that you could not escape the orgasm that was building inside of you.

“Fuck, you’re getting even tighter,” he rasped, out of breath due to his insane pace. “Are you gonna cum around my dick?” He laughed at your pained expression, letting out a grunt as your walls began twitching around him.

“Yeah, just like that. Cream around that villain dick like the hero slut you are,” he groaned, feeling himself edging closer and closer to orgasm as well.

With one last effort, you tried to move away and stop his hand from pushing you over the edge but it was useless and with a cry, you came on his dick, the tears you had held back the entire time running down your face as your body twitched and convulsed, milking his cock like some desperate bitch in heat.

Tomura let out a choked groan, pumping into you a few more time as he announced that he was going to fill your slutty pussy with his cum, before you could feel his dick twitching inside you. You wanted to shout, wanted to beg him to at least not cum inside but his hand was still in your mouth and so you simply cried in silence as his warmth spread through you and began dripping out of your pussy.

Tomura let out a shuddering breath as he calmed down from his high, falling down in his seat and taking you with him. His dick began to get flaccid and with a plopping sound the pulled it out of your abused cunt, spreading your pussy lips for your audience to show them the copious amounts of cum that now dripped out of your slit and down your ass.

“Next time,” Tomura laughed as he pushed his cum back inside with two of his fingers. “Let’s try out that back entrance of yours.” He teasingly let his finger circle around your cum-covered asshole while you simply lay on his chest, motionless except for your harsh breaths and the sobs leaving your body.

He wiped his gooey fingers on your chest before he leaned forward to grab his computer mouse, waving to the camera one last time and telling his audience he hoped they had enjoyed the show before he cut the stream and the red light of the camera turned off.

 ____________________________________________

When the screen turned black, back at the agency Katsuki slammed a fist on the table. He didn’t want to watch one of his coworkers violated but they needed to make sure you weren’t killed while his colleague on the desk worked on tracing the IP.

Katsuki whipped his head up, shouting over to the other pro-hero. “Did you fucking trace the stream?!”

It was silent for a minute while his colleague typed furiously, trying his hardest to get a location.

“…no.”

Katsuki’s scream of rage could be heard through the entire agency.

[mizunetzu]

ok fine i'll bite

what if u made a tamaki amajiki fic but instead he's actually the UA traitor 😳 and he's actually a yandere and his target's a gender neutral 3rd year 😳 omg that would be pog

haha jk.. unless?

don't bully me pls i haven't done this b4

Miss miss miss sylviaaa 😀😀😀 I lov u miss sylviaaa

——————

Tamaki x reader - My Darling’s Pen

⚠️warnings - yandere Tamaki, stalking

Pronouns - genderneutral, they/them

——————

All it took was a pen.

A pen that dropped from their desk, one that rolled over and knocked against the side of Tamaki’s shoe. He hadn’t noticed them at all for the whole school year, but the moment they tapped him on the arm and said,

“Sorry-can you get that pen for me? It’s near your foot.”

With one of the warmest smiles he’d ever seen, he was smitten. Their voice was tantalizing, sweet and not too loud, and it graced Tamaki’s ears like wedding bells. He didn’t know he was staring until the beauty that was this person waved their hand infront of his face awkwardly.

“...Are you ok?” Their voice was full of worry. Worry for him. Tamaki’s heart swelled with the notion that he was being worried over by someone as...lovely as them.

He nodded shyly, and bent down to swoop up the pen in his hand. Their hand brushed against his when they reached over and grabbed it, and he could still feel his hand tingling even hours after. The person smiled another one of those heart clenching smiles, and looked back down at their paper.

Tamaki couldn’t focus the rest of the period.

——

When the bell dismissing them for lunch rang, and students started getting up from their seats, he once again noticed that person walking past him, talking to their friends. He wished he was part of their friend group. He didn’t know why, but that person just seemed so...cool.

The same pen from earlier bobbed from a hole in their bag’s pocket, and Tamaki cursed himself for staring once more. The pen eventually slipped completely through the small rip in their bag. The pen tumbled onto the ground, and stopped in front of Tamaki.

He picked it up. Should he return it? He looked at the door. No one was there. He was the only person standing in the classroom. Tamaki considered giving it back to them when class ended, but he found himself slowly slipping the pen into his own pocket.

‘It’s a pen’, he thought. ‘Surely they won’t miss it. It’s...it’s a pen.’

He didn’t know why he wanted to keep it so much. It was just that. A pen. He had no use for it-he had tons of other pens that no one asked to borrow because he was too shy to talk to them. It was useless.

But he found himself sitting on his bed hours later, staring blankly at the ceiling while he admired the pen or clicked it once or twice.

It was just a pen...

——

Everyday, when Tamaki would open his pencil pouch, he’d have all these other pens and pencils to choose from, ones that probably wrote way better than that person’s pen, but every single time, his eyes would land on that pen he “found on the ground” and he’d use it.

Fidgeting with the pen after class, he couldn’t help but follow this mysterious pen dropper every single day out to lunch. He wasn’t a stalker, no! He was just...figuring out the right time to return the pen they dropped. The pen they dropped a week ago...

Tamaki saw the familiar mop of (H/c)-colored hair, running past him and to their group of friends that Tamaki just so happened to memorize. He stared at them without shame, until he heard one of them speak.

“Hey, (Y/n). It-it uh, looks like Tamaki-kun wants to talk to you there.” The friend pointed at him, but he only tensed up when their eyes drifted from their friends to him and him alone.

“Oh. Uh, that guy from the big three?”

The person, (Y/n), whispered to their friends. Tamaki’s heart swelled. They knew who he was. He felt a sense of pride. He was important enough to take up space in this beautiful person’s memory. He wanted to be more important, and maybe take up some more space like he never used to want before. He wanted attention when he never used to want attention before.

“...hello?” (Y/n) was in front of him now. They looked straight into Tamaki’s eyes, and Tamaki wanted to look away immediately. He wasn’t ready. He wasn’t sure if he was just nervous like he normally is, or if it was something else. But still...

They smelled so good.

(Y/n) waved their hands in front of Tamaki’s eyes. He blinked, suddenly very aware of how he was lost in his own thoughts. He was about to apologize, and maybe turn to face the wall, until he heard (Y/n’s) lovely, lovely voice.

“You’re really shy, huh? Don’t worry, I can back up if you want me to.”

Their voice was gentle. So gentle, like something fuzzy tickling Tamaki’s nose. It made him want to crawl inside a locker and just breathe. It was heavenly. He wanted nothing more but to just...listen to this person’s kind voice.

“U-u-uh...it’s fi-ine...” Tamaki hated the way his voice was barely audible. It stood nothing against the kind, smooth, god-like voice (Y/n) graced him with. Still, (Y/n) smiled so, so warmly.

“Alright then. Did you need something?”

Oh. That’s right. The pen. He was going to return it. Tamaki began to reach into his pocket, when his hand stopped. He thought about it for a second, then let his hand rest flaccidly inside his pocket, shoving his other one in bashfully aswell.

“I-no...I was just-just staring off into space and I-I guess I was staring in y-y-your direction...”

It was a lie. A terrible one at that. So he didn’t understand why (Y/n) believed him, bid him goodbye with their angelic voice, and let him keep their wonderful pen. He didn’t understand why he didn’t return it either. He needed to...return it. But there was one thing he did know.

That beautiful angel that sat near him in class was named (Y/n).

——

Once you knew someone’s name, it was relatively easy to find out more about them.

For example, Tamaki knew their full name was (L/n) (Y/n), their favorite food was the cafeteria onigiri that lunch rush would package on the go, but specifically if it was left alone to sit for a few minutes to marinate, and he even knew the neighborhood where (Y/n) lived, and how long it took (Y/n) to walk from there to school. 14 minutes and 38 seconds not counting the times they go buy a snack from the convenience store. Though, he wished he knew their exact address.

That wasn’t it, however. Tamaki found himself ‘discovering’ more and more of (Y/n’s) items, whether it be a small keychain hanging off their backpack he purposely loosened with his scissors so it would fall off, or the strawberry scented chapstick that was sitting so enticingly on their desk when they left to the bathroom one day, Tamaki had them all. Nothing too important, though. Nothing that he knew (Y/n) would miss. Just pens and their old loose paper assignments that they threw away, mostly.

And it didn’t help that Tamaki stopped sitting with Mirio and Neijre at lunch, just to purposely sit at a lunch table near (Y/n’s) so he could hear their pretty voice once again. Not too close, but close enough to listen. When Mirio asked, Tamaki told him he just wasn’t feeling very well lately.

But that didn’t make him a stalker, right? He wasn’t overstepping any boundaries...he was just...finding the right opportunity to give back the pen he borrowed. Yeah. That’s it. The pen he borrowed that he actually didn’t borrow. He figured they’d want it back, even though he had countless other little trinkets in his possession, that once belonged to them.

No, no he wasn’t a stalker. He was trying to be a good person and return their pen.

——

Ok, maybe it was a bit of an obsession.

Most of his camera roll was filled with (Y/n). Pictures from their social media that Tamaki cropped so he could only see them (and not their stupid friends), pictures he nervously snuck during class or lunch, and even the occasional picture he took ‘passing by’ when (Y/n) was walking home.

He cherished all of them, even printing some out and building a small shrine with the items he stole. He didn’t want his parents to see, so he made sure it was in a box he could hide in his closet.

Once again, (Y/n) walked home from school like always. They took their normal route, as always. But this time, they walked alone. Tamaki was planning to sneak some more pictures—nothing too indecent because even he has some boundaries—but this time (Y/n) was alone.

‘Ah...!’ Tamaki shuffled through his bag, pulling out the small pencil pouch he bought purely filled with stuff ‘borrowed’ from (Y/n). He fished out the pen he’d been planning to return for a month now, and looked back at (Y/n). ‘Nows the perfect time...’

...But he wanted to keep the pen. It was his favorite pen. Even though he had countless other pens ‘borrowed’ from (Y/n), he couldn’t help but feel attached to this one. So he fished out another random pen from the pouch of (Y/n’s) things, before stopping again.

He didn’t wanna give up these either.

Instead, he zipped up the ‘(Y/n)’ pouch, grabbed his normal pencil pouch, and brought out one of his normal pens. It looked similar to one of the countless pens he took from (Y/n), so he supposed it would suffice. Wasn’t he such a nice person? Giving them a pen?

His poor heart started pumping when he jogged up to (Y/n). Some part of him wanted to just...keeping watching (Y/n) from a distance, but he knew he wanted more for a while now. He wanted to...talk to (Y/n). He wanted (Y/n) to talk to him. He wanted to crawl inside (Y/n’s) body and just be (Y/n).

“E-e-excuse me...?” Tamaki’s voice went dry as he touched (Y/n’s) shoulder. He wasn’t worthy of touching (Y/n’s) shoulder, yet like the horrible person he is, he did. He dirtied the perfect shoulder (Y/n) had. How disgusting of him.

“Yes?”

Tamaki fumbled and held up his pen. “You uh-you dropped this in class earlier...”

“...you sure? I mean,” (Y/n) took the pen, and their warm hand brushed against Tamaki’s fingers so gracefully. It sent shivers down his spine, and he wanted nothing more than to just collapse into (Y/n) and breathe in. “I’m pretty sure I wasn’t using a pen today. But this looks like the brand I buy.”

“U-uh!” Tamaki broke into a cold sweat. “I saw it...drop...out of your bag.”

“Oh.” (Y/n) look at their bag, and at the small hole that was in its side pocket. “There’s a hole..that makes sense. Uh, thanks for returning my pen.”

(Y/n) smiled. Tamaki felt like he was going to die. He didn’t deserve someone so kind and beautiful and caring. Granted, no one did. Not even him.

“Are walking in this direction?” (Y/n) gestured ahead. Tamaki nodded, even though he knew very well his house was blocks away in the opposite direction. He soon found himself walking next to (Y/n) in silence.

He had (Y/n’s) attention. (Y/n) was walking next to him. It’s almost like they were dating already. That’s what lovers do, right? Walk next to eachother?

He wanted nothing more but to just breathe in the scent of (Y/n’s) hair. He wanted to worship (Y/n’s) fingers, he craved the bones in their body, he wanted to praise every single nerve and atom that belonged to (Y/n). He wanted (Y/n) so bad.

He was brought out of his trance when (Y/n) stopped at a crossroads. “My house is this way,” they said.

Tamaki shot back with a “Me too-!” Almost robotically. He wanted to see (Y/n’s) house...and maybe memorize their address. Not in a creepy way, though.

“Well...this is my house, I didn’t know you lived so near to me.”

“Y-yeah.” Tamaki watched as (Y/n) bid him farewell, with an angelic ‘thank you’, and walked off towards their house. Tamaki silently memorized his surroundings, every small flower and potted plant that belonged to the angel that was (Y/n), and finally wrote down (Y/n’s) address with their pen on his hand.

He didn’t know what he would do with this info, if he was honest. But just having it made him feel high.

——

Tamaki was going to do it.

Today was the day he would return the pen.

He thought about it for a while. He loved the pen, he never parted with it, but he needed an excuse to find a way to get closer to (Y/n). He’d say they dropped it out of their bag again and maybe offer to go out for ramen or something. He’d just leave out the part that (Y/n) dropped the pen more than 2 months ago.

Tamaki walked around the U.A. campus with the pen in his hand. He ran his fingers through the barrel of the pen. (Y/n) was no where to be found. They weren’t sitting with their friends like they normally did during lunch, so where could they be?

Tamaki was about to round a corner, when he heard voices talking from the other side. He stopped, about to turn on his heel and leave, when he heard angelic bells ringing. (Y/n’s) lovely voice talking to...whoever they were talking to.

“I-I like you, Hatsumada-kun!”

Tamaki went rigid against the wall. He loved hearing (Y/n’s) lovely voice 24/7, even recoding candid audios of (Y/n) answering questions in class or talking to their friends to listen to while he went to bed, so this was the first time he wished (Y/n) hadn’t said anything.

He was waiting for this Hatsumada guy to speak. Maybe he’d try to catch a glimpse of his face so he could—what was he saying? Intrusive thoughts began to flood his mind. He wanted to punch Hatsumada. He wanted to beat him up. He wanted to murder him.

“...I’m sorry, (L/n)-san. I don’t really see you that way.”

For some reason, Tamaki was even more angry than he would’ve been if Hatsumada had accepted their confession. He pursed his lips, and walked away as quickly as he could. His poor (Y/n), their feelings must be so hurt. How could he?

Tamaki long forgot the pen sitting in his hand, waiting to be returned to its rightful owner.

——

After the third tree came toppling down, Tamaki was beginning to think he’d get charged for property damage.

I mean, it was school property, and it was in the training grounds. Angrily whipping his tentacles around or bucking at trees with horse feet could qualify as ‘training’.

Tamaki was left huffing, glaring down angrily at the fallen, mangled tree. He’d never felt so angry before. He was usually a submissive, “avoid conflict-y”person, and he didn’t get angry much, but he felt so angry he could die.

His poor (Y/n). Having to get rejected by scum like that. But even if that pig had said ‘Yes’, he’d be equally as angry. His beloved (Y/n) didn’t deserve someone as undeserving as him. No one did. No one deserved (Y/n), not even himself.

Momentarily turning his tentacles back into his regular limbs, Tamaki sighed and curled up next to the fallen tree trunk. His hands were bloodied up, his knuckles peeling from when he started punching and slashing at tree before he decided to use his quirk. It was probably the first time he’d been so angry.

Tamaki leaned back against the trunk, laying down on the uncomfortable wood. What was happening to him? He felt so mad he could die. He couldn’t believe he was imagining trees as Hatsumada, as he brutally destroyed them one by one. That wasn’t the actions of a hero...

Rustling from two tall bushes caused Tamaki to shoot up, his tentacles shooting out from his back, and probably ripping his shirt up. He stood alert, his wide eyes searching sporadically through his dark bangs. Finally, a man, whom Tamaki was pretty sure wasn’t a teacher, appeared from the bushes, holding a cane and his free arm up.

“I come in peace, Tamaki Amajiki-san.”

The man had a stylish top hat on, and his face was masked with a flat, white mask with black trim. He had a long coat on, and dark gloves that made him look like a magician.

“W-who are you? This is private property-!”

The man kept walking towards Tamaki. “Are you angry, Tamaki-kun?”

“I-of course I’m mad! You’re trespassing, so I suggest you leave before I call-“

“I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about that boy. The one talking to that person you fancied.”

Tamaki went silent. He let his tentacles falter from their alert position, before suspiciously bringing them back up. “H-h-how do you know that! You stalker!”

“Frankly you’re one to call me a stalker.”

Tamaki broke into a cold sweat. He raised his fists defensively. “I-I’m not a-I’m not-“

“But you are, aren’t you? It’s fun to watch the people you love, isn’t it?” A girl grabbed Tamaki from behind by the shoulders, making him flinch as she smiled widely. “I love it too-I love it so much I want to see the person I love all covered in blood...”

The girl unhanded Tamaki, and stepping in front of him and standing next to the taller, poised man. “But they don’t understand our kind of love, do they? The heroes. They think the way I love people is wrong, and they would think the same for you...”

Tamaki pursed his lips. This was manipulation. They were trying to get into his head somehow, trying to appeal to him, trying to convince him that he was just like the scum they were...

...and it was working.

Tamaki said nothing, though his tightly clenched fists and hinged jaw told a different story. He loved (Y/n). He loved (Y/n) so much it made him crazy. He loved (Y/n) so much it made him want to murder Hatsumada. Simple as that. He was trying to convince himself he didn’t, but the sight of him all bloodied up and misshapen by Tamaki’s bare hands made him shiver.

“Y’know, people will call you a stalker for sure if they saw this.” The man was holding up Tamaki’s school bag, more importantly the scrapbook pasted with printed out photos and pressed objects of (Y/n) littered inside. The man flipped through the pages with care. “I, however, think it’s lovely that you admire someone so much you’d make a whole book dedicated to them. How romantic.”

He found himself agreeing. It was, wasn’t it? He cared so, so much, so how could it be weird or creepy or stalkerish? Tamaki shook his head, shaking the intrusive thoughts from his mind. “N-no! Put that back! Why are you here?!”

“We want to make a deal with you.”

“Me?” Tamaki snarled, backed up against a tree. He hardened his exterior in hope of masking his utter curiosity, especially after their understanding of his feelings for (Y/n). They understood.

“You see, learning information about U.A. is difficult when it’s such a prestigious school. But it would definitely be a lot easier if we had an...inside man feeding it to us.”

Tamaki’s eyes widened. “You want me to betray my school?”

“In Laymans terms, yes.”

“Now why would I ever-!”

“Because they don’t understand us. Once they find out you sneak pictures of this person from outside their window while they sleep, they label you a stalker for sure.” The girl held up Tamaki’s scrapbook, displaying hazy printed photos of (Y/n) through their bedroom window. “But us? We don’t judge. We understand. You just want to admire them, and love them the way you do and not be judged. I want that too.”

The man chimed in. “Your school is a judgmental, horrible place. So help us fix it, and join the LoV.”

Tamaki looked down at his feet. He continued. “You don’t need to join us physically. You may still attend U.A., and we will contact you occasionally, when we need information. And surely we will spare you from harm if we decide to attack, as well your little crush.”

Tamaki couldn’t believe he was actually considering it. Well, he also couldn’t believe how angry he got seeing someone being confessed to, or how obsessive his feelings for (Y/n) became. It was all new to him.

...So what was one thing more?

“I’ll do it. I’ll do it on one condition.”

His decision was based purely on feelings. Nothing of what he was saying was logical. It wasn’t morally correct. Still...

The man and the girl both smiled, looked at each other, and nodded. They turned back to Tamaki, giving him a look to go on.

“If I...when I decide to do something...a-and it makes a mess, or I need covering up in any way, promise you’ll clean up for me. Evidence and all.”

Was he really going to do this?

“Whatever you need, Tamaki-kun.”

He was.

The man tipped his hat, and the girl placed the book back in Tamaki’s hands. “We’ll be in touch. If you do anything heinous, we’ll be there to help aswell. Anything for our new traitor.”

Tamaki felt sick to his stomach.

“...y-you guys are crazy.”

“And you’re a lovesick stalker.”

“...I know.”

Tamaki watched as the two disappeared behind the brush. His knees buckled, as he sat back against the disfigured tree truck, and reached into his bag. He cradled his scrapbook as he fished out (Y/n’s) pen that he loved so much, and stroked it scantily. He huddled in on himself, pressing the pen to his cheek.

Soon.

Soon he’d return (Y/n’s) pen. Right after he murdered Hatsumada.

——————

If y’all didn’t know the man and the girl was mr compress and toga

-Mr. Mizunetzu

[atinydise]

Ateez arguing with their s/o in a middle of a make out session (part 2)

❦ Genre: Fluff & Suggestive.

❦ Pairing: OT8.

❦ Word count: 3K.

❦ Requested: Heck yes lol, thank you! 🦋

❦ A/N Note: ⚠️Since I took again an eternity to post it, I advice to read the first part again (or for the first time)! Thank you for liking the 1st one tho! hehe

HONGJOONG

Jongho called the leader once again, even waved in front of his face but still nothing. "Is he ignoring me?" He asked San. His friends shrugged. "He's lost in his thoughts. And he's probably really far away from here." "HYUNG!" Yelled Jongho in the leader's ear. His brain finally reconnected to the reality. "The hell-" "It's been 2 minutes since I'm trying to get your attention." Said Jongho, a bit pissed. "What's going on?" He grabbed his phone, hoping to see any notification. "We need to go back practicing." "Ah.... then I'll join in 2 minutes. I need to call someone." He said, leaving the room. "What on the earth is going on with him?" Whispered San. "No idea." Replied the maknae. Hongjoong went to the restroom, the most far away from the practice room, just to be sure that nobody will bother him. "Okay, please babe pick up." He begged quietly plugging his Air Pods on. [“Hello, it’s the girl who always chosen after her boyfriend’s career. What can I do for you?”] At least you didn’t lose your humor sense.

[“Babe I’m sorry.”] Apologized Hongjoong. [“You are sorry for what exactly?”] [“For ruining the intimate moment, we were about to share.”] [“And?”] Hongjoong rolled his eyes. Good thing for him you weren’t able to see it. [“And to always let my career pass before you.”] [“And?”] You repeated. Your boyfriend was confused for a second. He ignored for what he needed to apologize. [“And... and...”] he stuttered. [“I don’t know.”] He heard a long and heavy growl coming from your side. [“Well. I guess it’s already more than fine.”] You claimed. [“What do you wanted me to say?”] He asked curiously. [“I don’t know... maybe something like ‘to apologize, I’m coming right now and for sure tomorrow you won’t be able to walk’.”] You said, imitating his voice. [“Are you on your period?”] Asked Hongjoong. He knew you so well that he immediately understands when you dirty talked to him, without even a simple stutter. You let a quick silence settle before finally say: [“Yeah.”] [“Then let’s wait a little bit longer then.”] He sneered. [“Coward.”] You replied. [“Love you too.”] [“Me too.”] [“So, we are good?”] He asked. [“Give me at least a hug and we will be good.”] You replied. [“See you tonight then.”] He smiled.

SEONGHWA

[“Hello! You are on Y/N’s voicemail I’m not av-”] Seonghwa growled and let his phone fall on the couch. “She’s not answering I guess.” Claimed Mingi. “No.” Seonghwa rolled his eyes. “She’s ghosting me since... 2 days now.” “Did you try to meet her at school?” “Yeah. I’ve waited 3 hours there. To finally remember that she’s on spring break.” “And at her apartment?” Asked Mingi. “Of course, Sherlock. But nothing.” Sighed Seonghwa. “It’s like she disappeared.” Mingi raised a brow. “She’s probably doing her own life.” The eldest member was suddenly hit by the reality. “Mingi you are a genius!” “Yeah, I know but why?” “We are Thursday!” Claimed Seonghwa, putting his shoes on. “Yeah and?” “Y/N is doing her laundry every Thursday evening! She might be there.” Seonghwa left the dorm so quickly that Mingi was still processing what just happened. “The beck is wrong with him...” Your boyfriend ran to the laundry shop which you are used to go. He prayed the whole way, that you would be sitting there, reading a book or watching a ton of TikTok while your clothes were washing. His heart missed a beat when he spotted you there. As fast as possible, he opened the door. “Babe!” “Hwa?” You raised a brow. “You came here to tell me how to wash my stuff?” Seonghwa ignored your question and turned around. He saw a cute grandma tidying her clothes. “Excuse me ma’am. But I will need you to leave quickly because I’m about to take my girlfriend, right here and right now.” “Seonghwa!” You yelled, outrageously. “Oh, it’s okay darling. I was young too.” Giggled the old lady. You grabbed your boyfriend by the wrist and guided him outside. “What the hell is wrong with you?” You asked, mad. “I want to apologize!” “Do you think it’s the right way to do it?” “I want to prove you that nothing can bother me to have sex with you now. Not a stain and not even an old grandma.” “And the CCTV?” You pointed at the camera fixed where you were standing 2 minutes ago. “I don’t mind having public.” He smirked. “You are unbelievable.” You sneered. “Does it mean you are forgiving me?” “Maybe.” You replied cockily while entering back inside. “Grr. I love when you play hard-to-get.” “What the hell happened to you Park Seonghwa.” You laughed happily.

YUNHO

Yunho was tormented. It was 3AM and he didn’t close his eyes for a second. He was staring at the white ceiling, trying to know how to resolve this situation. You didn’t talk to him after the little incident. Yunho understood why you were mad. He didn’t tell you the truth and the real reason behind his shyness. He glanced at you. The sheet was barely covering your back. He was about to put it right, but the little voice in his head claimed that it was a bad idea. So, he stared at the big spec between both of you. For sure, you could put a third person in the middle. Yunho sighed. What could you to be less mad? The reason of why he decided to stop earlier was because of the stress, not because you weren’t attractive enough. It was the opposite actually. He truly believes that you will think that is too dumb. Just because he’s scared of doing something wrong. Or worse hurting you. But more he was thinking, more it started to be overwhelming for him. “Y/N.” He whispered. “Hm?” You muttered sleepily. “Y/N.” “What? It’s 3AM.” You grunted, still not facing him. “I’m sorry for what happened this evening. I was terrified. I don’t want to do anything wrong with you.” He continued. “I really find you attractive. Even too much sometimes but... I want to have sex with you of course.” You couldn’t help but to smile secretly. His words were well chosen. All the insecurities you had earlier were vanished. Yunho stayed quiet for few seconds, waiting for you to say something, but instead you handed your hand, still facing the wall. He understood that it was an invitation to cuddle. “So, we are good now?” He asked, positioning behind you. “Yeah.” You replied, rubbing his hand which was resting on your stomach. “Cool.” He whispered, finally relaxing. “Thank you for telling me.” You said. “So... do you want to try it right now?” He shyly asked. “I’m tired Yunho.” You declined. “Sure. Okay. No problem.” He replied. “But can we change our position because you are waking up the ‘beast’?” You laughed when you felt his boner pocking on your butt. “Told you... you were too much attractive sometimes.” He giggled, blushing a bit.

YEOSANG

A new notification. But not coming from you. Yeosang was waiting for you to send a message like you usually do in the morning. But the next day after your little and stupid argument, you were remaining silent. “She should have sent a message already. It’s 10AM.” Said Yeosang, frustrated. “Just let her breath.” Sighed Jongho, playing PlayStation on the upper bed. “I didn’t send a text to her yet. She should be the one apologizing.” “Why?” “We are 2 making love. So? She can buy condoms for me too!” “You right.” Started Jongho. “But you should always have a pack or at least one, on you.” “On which side are you?” Growled Yeosang. “None. Your intimacy isn’t my business. But I just admitted that both of you are wrong.” Declared the maknae. “Since when are you so mature?” Sighed his friend. “I need someone who can tell that I’m right.” Jongho stayed quiet. He would never say something like this when knew he was 100% right. “And she would never buy one because she would be ashamed of it.” Added Yeosang. “The cashier doesn’t care. You are not the only one in the earth to buy one.” Replied Jongho. “We are going to see if you have the same speech when you’ll buy for yourself.” “I do already.” “W-wait what?” Just when Yeosang was getting curious, you entered the room like a storm. “Kang Yeosang!” You threw the plastic bag on him. “What th- ouch!” “Jongho, I will ask you to leave the room for an hour. Or 2.” You removed your jacket. Yeosang opened the bag and threw everything on the bed. His eyes widened when he saw a dozen condoms’ pack. “The hell Y/N-” “I bought exactly 12 packs to show that you don’t need to be ashamed about it and that no one cares.” Jongho exited the room completely flustered, but with a bigger esteem for you. “Okay now remove your pants.” You ordered, pulling out your hoodie. “Like? Right now? Not even a make out-” “It’s been 10 hours that I’m waiting.” “O-Okay.” Yeosang was a bit taken a back, but it was fast forgotten when you unclasped your bra.

SAN

You rolled on your bed once again. You were so frustrated and mad at San. The vein on your forehead couldn't stop popping out every time you remembered him picking up his phone. Angrily, you covered your entire face with a pillow. Desperately, you tried to erase of these thoughts. Just when you were finally finding some peace, the fire alarm resonated in your apartment. You jumped out of your bed and went straight to the kitchen. Instead of seeing a big fire, you saw San opening the window as wide as he could. "What is going on?!" You claimed, grabbing a chair. San was panicked as you, or even more. He was trying to push the smoke out of the room while wondering what you were doing. On your tippytoe, you pushed the button to stop this annoying and loud noise. "Thanks God." Sighed San, relieved. "The heck you are trying to do. Burn my apartment?" You turned off the stove. "I wanted to prepare a royal breakfast for you." He pouted, disappointed that his surprise failed. You looked around you, now that the smoke was slowly disappearing, you could see the entire mess in the kitchen. Flour was spread on every parcel of the counter, one or two eggs were smashed on the floor, milk was spilled on cupboard and an incredible number of dishes were stacked in the sink. "Yeah, that's the first time I make pancakes by myself." He scratched his head. "Choi San..." "I want to apologize for yesterday! But I wanted to do it right!" "Oh nice. So, you said 'to apologize to Y/N because I've completely ghosted her to talk with my teammate that I can see every day, I'll burn her apartment'?" "Babe! I'm really sorry." He apologized once again. "I will do everything you want for a week." "Everything?" You raised a brow, curious. "Yeah." "Okay, then start by cleaning your mess." You pointed at the counter. "After that let's clean the entire apartment." "Sure." He nodded. "After that... we will eat at our favorite restaurant. And you are going to pay." "Wow. Sex must be really important for you." Declared San, when the list didn't stop. "Never stop a horny woman." You warned him.

MINGI

["I'm parked in front of your building. Let's talk really quick."] You read this text message at least 10 times to be sure you understood well. It's been 2 days since the practice room accident. You only exchanged few messages but nothing more. You didn't mind giving him a proper answer. You just put your hoodie back on, and of course by "your" it means "his", and left the dorm, without warning your roommates. But honestly, by the way you went out, dressed like this, they could only assume that you were about to meet Mingi. Just when you got out of the building, you spotted your boyfriend's car, as he said, right in front of the door. You hesitated a second, but finally hoped in. "You should have wear something warmer. It's cold outside." He said instantly, when he saw your bare legs. "Good evening to you too Mingi." You greeted him sarcastically. "Do you drove here, just to scold me about my outfit?" "No, of course no." He whispered, looking right at the street in front of him. Since, a big and awkward silence settled. None of you wanted to say something, too afraid to tell something risky and lead one of you to be mad. It felt like walking on a really straight and thin line. You played nervously with the hem of the hoodie, which was barely covering your legs, you noticed. That's probably why he scolded you. For your own good. As always. "I'm sorry." You both apologized at the same time. You glanced at each other, surprised and giggled cutely. "I'm sorry." Insisted Mingi, grabbing your hand. "Me too." You smiled to him. "Sorry for almost crushing you with my weight." He added. "You did." "And sorry for almost make you bald." "You did it too." Mingi pinched your leg gently, happy to see that you were still bratty sometimes. "Ooookay! I'm kidding! I'm sorry for what I've said too. That's wasn't really nice." "Yeah, it wasn't." "Song Mingi-" "Soo..." you didn't have enough time to say anything that he started the car. "Where are we going?" You asked enthusiastically, putting your seatbelt. "Just want to bring you somewhere. So, we can talk about these 2 terrible days." "Oh, I thought you wanted to go in a Love Hotel." You joked. "That's the plan too." "I-"

WOOYOUNG

2 weeks since your argument but 4 weeks since you shared an intimate moment. You needed to admit that even a flick on your forehead would turn you on. You were so needy. But no way Wooyoung could know it. You tried your best to stay far away from him when sleeping, so you wouldn't end by griding your butt on him, desperately. Usually, Wooyoung was really touchy, and he would initiate a make out session the first one, but surprisingly, he only exchanged a peck or a hug from time to time. You spotted him covering his manhood, with a blanket sometimes. He would always pretext that he is cold. But you are not dumb. He takes shower way much longer than usual tooo. On his side, Wooyoung was really struggling to not give up the first one. He was barely looking at you. He knew that with only one shorty or croc-top, it was over for him. In conclusion, you were 2 idiots trying to suppress their arousal for each other, just because of an argument. "Do you want to watch a movie?" Offered Wooyoung. "Sure, and I know how much you like movies." You smirked. Your boyfriend rolled his eyes and ignored your comment. Instead of insisting on the subject again, he played the first movie that appeared. It was a really nice and chill one until the main actress discovered the wild side of college. It started by a scene and then other one. Followed by 3 more. Inside Wooyoung was hoping that you wouldn't notice the form on his sweatpants. "What a movie huh." He laughed nervously. "Yeah." You nodded. "They are really getting it huh." "They are really liking these scenes." "They are really well made." He replied dumbly. "Maybe that's what they want." "Of course, everyone wants that." "Yeah. Everyone." You repeated. "Everyone." "You exchanged a quick glance. Wooyoung was finally the first one to give up. "Do you-" "Heck yes!" You replied. "You should have told me!" "No, I was too mad at you!" "Do you really want to argue again? Right now?" He asked. "No." "Okay then go because I'm going to explode!"

JONGHO

"I still don't understand how you ended here, right in front of my college." You raised a brow at Seonghwa and Yeosang. "We were just having a cool walk and unconsciously ended here." Replied Seonghwa, the most natural possible. "The campus is 30 minutes away from KQ Quarter. And 30 minutes with a car." "We had a pretty long walk, okay?" Replied Yeosang, nervously and almost aggressively. "Okay okay... relax dude." You rolled your eyes. "You should come with us a bit." Started Seonghwa. "There's a park next to the campus. Let's talk there few minutes." Added Yeosang. "You guys... are acting really strangely." You claimed. Without asking your authorization, they each picked your arm and brought you to the park. You could fight or ask them to leave you alone, they wouldn't. Seonghwa almost needed oo ask people to not all the police. "What the heck guys? I really need to study and-" You stopped right when you saw your boyfriend sitting peacefully in front of you. A big blanket and a bunch of food were cautiously set on the grass. "Hi babe." Smiled Jongho. "What is this?" You asked. "You prepared all of this?" "Yeah." He scratched his head. "I hope you like it." "And we helped." Whispered Yeosang. "Are you doing this because you said your coach's name when we were making out." "You what?" Almost chocked Yeosang. "Eeew, this is disgusting!" Added Seonghwa. "It was an accident!" He rolled his eyes. "An accident." You crossed your arms on your chest. "I'm really sorry baby. I swear it was only because I've worked with her few hours ago." Explained Jongho. "Anyway, it's not like she's sexy. She's 60 years old and so strict and rude." Said Seonghwa. "She is sexy." Said Yeosang. All of you stared at him. "I'm joking. Relax." He sighed. "Y'all ready need to chill sometimes..." "So do you want to spend an afternoon with me?" Asked the maknae. "Of course." You accepted happily. "Cool! Then sit here." He pointed at the comfy place settled between pillows. "Thank you, Mark." "Mark?" "I'm kidding!" You giggled. "1 point for me now." "Unbelievable." Smiled Jongho.

[bitchassbucky]

Ｂａｃｋ Ｔｏ Ｙｏｕ (Ｓａｍ Ｗｉｌｓｏｎ ｘ Ｆ!Ｒｅａｄｅｒ)

📎Word Count: 1.5k

📎Warning/s: some heckin’ words. Bucky’s in this, he’s a bit annoying (affectionately) <3 MINORS DNI.

📎A/N: omg my first Sam fic! i wanna thank my boo @babyboibucky for enabling me hsakjdhak ily! this is for you, bee!

📎Masterlist || Ask || AFTERDARK

📎 Follow the story: Back To You, Dimples, Inked

“Are you even listening to me?” Bucky says, annoyed that Sam has been looking down on his phone, remotely giving attention to their conversation.

Sam grins, fingers dancing over the keyboard on the screen, “Yeah, yeah. Something about motel rooms—or beds.”

“I said that they gave us two beds in one room,” the former spots their door number, quickly walking to it. The tactical bag swinging over his cybernetic arm freely.

The night was warm, the air blew the ocean mist towards the town. The parking lot is empty save for a black sedan that’s already been through a lot. They chose to stay low instead of getting a room at a decent hotel close by–something about them not likening the crowd.

Once inside, both men cleared the room in 30 seconds flat. The window opens out, the door stays closed and locked. The TV has to be on but kept on low volume. The beds are made, it’s clean; beats the flat beds on the plane.

Sam throws his bag over to the bed closest to the window, calling dibs. “Hey, you got headphones?” He asks.

“No,” Bucky answers, settling his things below the foot of the bed, “why?” He catches Sam again smiling giddily over something, “what you got a girl there or something?” 

“It’s none of your business,” Sam retorts, quirking his eyebrow upwards, “well? Do you have headphones?”

“If you listened to me, you would’ve heard me say ‘no.’”

Bucky should’ve had brought headphones. Sam has been droning on and on with a ‘friend’ over on a video call.

Not that he’s eavesdropping and nosy but he saw how Sam lit up when a voice came in from his phone.

“Hey, Sammy! I finally get to see your face.” You say, your voice crackling over Sam’s speakers, “am I on speaker right now?”

Sam smiles, focusing on your background and seeing pictures and posters plastered on the wall, “oh, yeah. Sorry, I forgot my earphones somewhere.”

“What? Old man Barnes rubbing off on you?” You laugh, your glasses reflecting your laptop’s screen. Your joke sending Sam into a laughing fit.

“You know he’s in the room, right?” Sam clarifies as he turns the camera to Bucky, much to the former’s dismay. But despite himself, Bucky waves to the camera.

“Heard a lot about you, Barnes! Hope you’re ready for frequent bathroom trips from this one.”

Sam faces you again, a mischievous glint shining in his eyes, “Shut up or I’m gonna drop the call.”

You quickly send him an emoji via text, Sam rolling his eyes as you giggle. “Anyway, since you can’t join in on the fun, you’ll be my audience tonight.”

Sam gives you a confused look, a hint of crease appearing between his brows. “Tonight? What’s tonight?”

A fake gasp and an overdramatic show of hurt had him chuckling, “You already forgot the karaoke night you promised me, didn’t you?”

He grins apologetically and looks at the camera, as if looking into your eyes, “I’m sorry. Been busy these past few weeks.”

You smile softly, the imagery giving Sam a burst of butterflies in his tummy, “it’s okay. I was just being dramatic. I got that from you, you know.”

You are not a good singer. But you confidently belt out the highest of notes like one. Complete with hand gestures, you hold out the last note of the song.

“Thank you,” you bow down to your imaginary crowd off-camera, “I’ll be here all night.”

“On god, please don’t,” Sam interjects with a tender smile and soft eyes.

“Sammy!” Your eyes glazing over your screen, a deep pang of homesickness hitting you, “I missed this. I missed you.”

He nods, his lips pressed tightly as he tries to find the words to respond, “I missed you too, bub.” 

A soft note of a love song sounds over your speaker, traveling to his, “you love this song.”

Sam nods, reminiscing the moments he had with you during college. The one time you almost kissed—where are these memories and feelings coming from?! “Yeah, and---”

The doorbell rings on your end. Your eyes glinting as you stand up. Food delivery!

“Hold that thought, Sammy. My food’s here,” you say, your voice faint as you’re practically halfway through the door.

“She is a god-awful singer,” Bucky expresses, “but you love her, don’t you?”

“What?” Sam quickly taps a button on his screen—stupid Bucky and his stupid mouth. He covers his phone’s mouthpiece as if that could help, “shut the hell up.”

Sam’s changed demeanor confirms Bucky’s growing suspicion, “so you do love her!”

The latter glances at the empty screen, hoping you didn’t hear anything. Or maybe, he does?

The only sign of life from your end is the sound of various utensils cluttering and a metal bowl falling to the floor, making both men wince at the sudden noise.

Sam lowers the volume of his phone, facing Bucky from their respective beds.

“Shit,” Sam exclaims, running a hand over his handsome face, “maybe I do.”

This time, he finally lets himself go through the memories you made together before he left for the military.

The coffee dates, the late-night calls, the breakfast hangouts, the study sessions. You light up even the most boring of things. The texture of your skin, the sound of your laugh, the twinkle in your eyes bring Sam into a warm place.

You make him feel enough. You see him through and through.

Oh shit, he is in love with you.

Bucky just looks at him, boring holes in his face, as if this was the most obvious thing in the world. “You really just realized, just now?” Sam’s not sure if it’s a rhetorical question.

“The way you talk about her. The way you talk to her. You see her and the things she like everywhere we go and you realize it just now?” So, it is a rhetorical question.

The revelation leaves Sam amused but unable to form words, “I… Do–I do love her. I’m in love with my best friend.”

A silent beat drops in the room—save for the faint hello? coming from Sam’s phone.

Ah, fuck.

Bucky put on his jacket planning to head out (to the motel’s ice machine) to give you two privacy. He bids Sam good luck and you a good night before walking towards the door.

As soon as the door shuts, Sam increases the volume on his phone again.

“Sam?” You call out, “I can’t see you, your cam’s off.”

In panic, he realizes that he tapped the wrong button—maybe Old Man Barnes had rubbed off on him.

You smile and sat up a little bit straighter when his face lights up your screen again.

“So… how much did you hear about the whole thing?” Sam wants to tread carefully around the subject, the first time he feels uncomfortable opening up to you.

He fully expects you to dismiss the topic, turn in for the night, and leave him lamenting about his feelings. And he’s somehow okay with it.

“Kinda, everything.” You confess, there’s nothing holding you back now, “I, you know-- I’m glad you got ‘round it. Even if it took you years.”

Another pin drops inside Sam’s head, “what do you mean?”

“Look, I confessed to you before we graduated but you never acknowledged it. So, I never brought it up again.” Even miles apart, Sam’s presence was around you. The bracelet he gave you during junior year, his favorite mug you borrowed from him, a ton of his shirts and hoodies that he gave to you before moving out after graduation. 

“You confessed to me? When?” Sam racks his brain for the smallest of details, for the quietest of whispers.

“I wrote you a letter. Remember? I slipped it under your door after finals week.”

After all these years, Sam never quite found out who wrote him that letter, “you never signed it.”

Sam didn’t expect you to laugh, to double over such a serious conversation, “dude, I did, I signed it. Why would I send you a deep proclamation of love without signing it?”

“It was written on pink paper, right? I still have it. You wanna bet that you don’t have your name on it?”

Your eyes widen in embarrassment, heat creeping up your cheeks, “oh my god, are you serious? I didn’t sign it?”

Sam laughs softly, his eyes crinkling the same way. There are lines decorating his eyes but he was still your Sam.

“No, ma’am.” He declares, the air somehow lighter now, “if you did, I would’ve said something.”

A hum escapes your lips, curling into a gentle smile, “good to know.”

The comfortable silence envelops the room, years of yearning and pining finally coming to end.

“Hey, after this mission - I was thinking if you want to go out. Catch up and you know, finally, talk in person.” Sam asks, there’s still a tiny voice inside his head not believing the talk that had transpired.

“I’d love that, Sam.”

The sentiment crashes and closes in on itself as Bucky barges into the room, holding a bucket of ice in one hand and a pack of beer in the other, “congratulations, idiots.”

[mypoisonedvine]

Seeing Red | bodyguard!Bucky Barnes x actress!reader (part 3)

(part 1) (part 2) 

series summary: bucky used to brag that he didn’t have a celebrity crush, or really care about famous people at all, which is what made him the perfect person to start working for a celebrity like yourself.  except, of course, it’s just his luck that he’d fall for you.  

word count: 3k

chapter warnings: mention of past sexual harassment, very mature karaoke (lol), mention of pornography

Day 63 and you still hadn’t talked about it.  He’d actually gotten to know you a lot better over the past two months, even almost confessing his feelings for you with that stupid half-asleep storybook thing he’d done way back when, but you still hadn’t talked about the night you saw him looking in the rearview mirror.

Tonight actually reminded him of that night; this time was a premiere, for a movie you hadn’t actually been in but apparently you were supposed to go anyways?  He didn’t get it but he figured he didn’t need to.  As long as you came back alone this time, he’d be happy.

Of course, when he saw you step out to the car to leave for the venue, he was confident that would be impossible— not that you ever looked bad on a red carpet or anything, but wow… this was different.

“It’s not too slutty, is it?” you asked him nervously, spinning around to show him the back.  Don’t look at her ass don’t look at her ass don’t look at her ass—   

“Just slutty enough,” he responded with a gloved thumbs up.

“Perfect,” you smiled, and he opened the door for you to get in the back.  He took a moment to catch his breath before circling around to the driver’s side.

You actually chatted with him on the way, which was a new thing you two had started doing when he drove you.  He looked forward to your talks a lot— especially the ones where you ranted about whatever was on your mind.  You would usually apologize for rambling but he liked it; and, you were cute when you got really worked up about something, even if he thought it was kind of trivial.

As he pulled up to the red carpet, with cameras flashing and the indistinguishable yelling of reporters and fans, you shot him a look as if you didn’t want to go.

“Everything alright?” he asked.

“Oh, yeah,” you shook your head incredulously, “I just… I wish you would’ve come and seen it.”

He recalled a few weeks back when you offered him a ticket to the premiere showing, but he’d insisted on just sticking to what he knew and letting your assistant have the spare ticket.  “I’ll catch it on Netflix,” he dismissed.

“No, I mean, I wish you were coming with me,” you explained.

Was it hot in here, all of a sudden?  Because his cheeks felt warm.  “Uh, you don’t want me in there.  I always fall asleep in theaters anyways.  Just go have fun and I’ll catch you after.”

“Okay,” you nodded with an adorable little smile.

So he waited, wondering if he should’ve taken you up on it all those weeks ago, but decided he probably made the right call.  He would just embarrass you in a place like that, more than likely, and you had enough to deal with already.  He felt more useful waiting in the wings than being in the spotlight, to use a fittingly-timed theater metaphor.

It was a few hours of him killing time in the car, but he got to relax a little more since the event already had pretty good security on its own.  You’d recommended a book called Flowers for Algernon to him, even lending him your copy for the time being, and so he leaned his seat back and picked up where he’d left off from this morning.  Of course, if he had known that you’d be gone long enough for him to finish, and that the ending was going to make him cry, he probably wouldn’t have read it.  WIth his luck, it was inevitable that he’d be all but sobbing when you texted him to pull the car around.

Wiping his tears and hoping his eyes wouldn’t be too red, he tossed the book into the glovebox and started the engine.  You waved cheerily when you saw him from the entrance, and he attempted to navigate through all the other cars pulling up so he could reach you.  Thankfully, you didn’t have a new friend with you this time— or an old friend.  Jealousy crisis averted, for now.

“How was it?” he asked with a smile as you opened the door and slipped in, unable to hide how happy he was to see you.

“The premiere itself was a lot of fun, I got to see some people I hadn’t seen in ages; the movie, though?  Sort of pretentious,” you admitted as you shut the door and he got the car moving again.  “And way too long!  I could watch movies all day, but that doesn’t mean I want to watch a movie all day!”

“Fair enough,” he laughed.

“What did you do?” you asked innocently.

“I finished your book,” he frowned, trying not to think about it so he wouldn’t get emotional again.  

“Ah, I can tell you’re still a little hurt about it,” you smiled mischievously.  “Should’ve warned you about the ending.”

“No, no,” he disagreed, “it’s not a bad ending just because it’s a sad one… it was a good book.”

You’d already been smiling, but your smile undeniably changed as he watched it in the rearview mirror.  Something softer, something more sensitive.  He liked this one better.  “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

Just in time to interrupt the moment, you saw something on the passing street outside that caught your attention.

“Ooh, karaoke!” you piped up, pressing your face against the inside of the window excitedly.  “Pull over!”

He chuckled at how easily distracted you were, but did as you’d asked.  He barely found time to slow down to a stop before you were opening the door and running out, flashing your ID to get inside.

He groaned as he realized how completely unsafe it was for you to be in a bar… especially now, when you were at your most recognizable and literally still wearing what you’d had on at the premiere.  Thankfully, he managed to pull the car around and park in the closest spot he could find, jogging to join you inside the bar and hoping you hadn’t already made too much of a scene.  His hopes were dashed the moment he pushed through the door, however.

“Is she perverted like me?  Would she go down on you in a theater?” you sang along with the grungy backing track of Alanis Morrisette’s You Oughta Know; your lips were curled into a faux snarl as you stood on stage with your heels in one hand and the microphone in the other.

Bucky’s head fell into his hands, looking around to see hundreds of bar patrons, nearly all of them with their phones out filming you.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Bucky mumbled to himself, hoping you would somehow hear it and take his advice.  Instead, you pantomimed sucking a dick with a cute little wink and everyone cheered.  “Jesus fucking Christ.”

“And I’m here, to remind you,” you continued, jumping around wildly; you looked like you were having the time of your life, honestly.  If he wasn’t so worried about you, he would’ve let himself smile seeing you so happy.

During the bridge, you stole someone’s water off their table and poured a bit on your head, slicking your hair back and shivering from the cold.  There was something about the water dripping down your face, starting to soak your clothes and make your skin glisten...

Bucky glanced around to make sure no one was looking at him before subtly adjusting his jeans.

He watched you sing the entire song, making most of the notes and definitely capturing the anger of the original song— if clearly having a lot more fun with it than most would.  The entire bar cheered when you finished, and you took a moment to take some pictures with people and meet a few fans, which he thought was sweet even if his bodyguard instincts forced him to interrupt after a moment.

“Alright, that’s enough,” he guided you away gently.

“Goodnight!” you waved goodbye to someone who was already buried in her phone and posting the photo you’d taken with her.

“Have a good time?” he asked sarcastically as the two of you began to walk out together.

“Would’ve been better if you hadn’t been glaring at me the whole time,” you smirked.

“I wasn’t glaring, I was just… watching.  You have a good voice, you know.”

You seemed surprised by the compliment.  “Oh.  Thanks.”

“And your stage presence is certainly… energetic,” he grinned.  “I bet your little charade is already trending.”

“I checked, and it is,” you giggled, showing him your phone for a moment where Twitter was open and you were the #7 topic in the United States and climbing.  “And the part where I poured that water on myself is pretty gif-able, don’t you think?”

He raised a brow as he held the back door of the bar open as you slipped back on your heels and walked past him.  “Is that why you did it?  For the reaction?”

“I did it cause it was fun,” you corrected.  “You wouldn’t know anything about that.  And the water thing was just practical, I was getting hot in this dress.”

That didn’t seem to be a problem anymore with the way you shivered in the night air as he walked you through the parking lot.  “Want my jacket?” he offered.

“No,” you frowned, but you eyed the leather with a hungry stare.  He chuckled and took it off, draping it over your shoulders anyways.  “How far is the car?” 

“Uh, a block?  Not much parking this time of night,” he explained.

“Ugh, these heels,” you groaned, “they hurt so bad.  I don’t know if I can make it.”  You began to slip them off but he stopped you.

“You can’t go barefoot out here, god knows what’s on the ground,” he shuddered; what if there was broken glass or something?

“Well, I can’t wear these,” you frowned, “and I probably shouldn’t be walking on asphalt in red bottoms anyway…”

He probably should’ve warned you before he scooped you up into his arms, but it was sort of instinct and he kinda forgot to say anything first.  You squealed a little but then went lax in his grip.

“You’re gonna carry me the whole way?” you asked incredulously.

“It’s only a block,” he shrugged, adjusting you in his arms a bit before starting the walk. 

It got quiet after that, the cool night air rustling the trees and blowing through his hair— frankly, he was a little chilly without his jacket, but it looked better on you anyhow.  The drive home was quiet, too, or at least quieter than usual, but it didn’t feel awkward, necessarily.  It didn’t feel like a lull in the conversation; it felt more like the conversation had just changed from verbal to non-verbal.  You both looked around at the city lights surrounding you on the drive, silent because there was nothing that needed to be said.  It wasn’t nervous, or tense, or anxiety-inducing like most of his interactions with you (or with anyone) could be.

It felt like time spent with an old friend.  He hadn’t known you long enough for that to be accurate, but he was happy to think of you as a new friend.  He just hoped you thought the same.

Arriving at the house, he dropped you off at the front and watched you make a mad dash for the stairs and presumably your bedroom, smiling to himself as he parked the car and came in to follow you.  He saw his jacket tossed onto the couch and your expensive shoes discarded right by the door.  Going upstairs and peeking into your room, he saw your limp form flopped onto the bed, your back exposed from the low cut of the dress.

“You’d better not get comfortable, you’ll kill me if I let you fall asleep with all that makeup on,” he frowned, leaning against the doorway.

"I couldn't fall asleep yet, anyways.  I'm wired."

“Any plans to burn off all that energy?” he pressed.

You groaned a little as you sat up, starting to unclasp all the jewelry on your wrists, around your neck, and on your ears.  “It’ll take me a while to get out of all of this— but not as long as it took me to get into it,” you laughed.  “Then I’m thinking TV and beers.”

“Beers?” he questioned, emphasizing the plural.  “You plannin’ to get toasted right before you go to sleep?”

“No, it’s plural because there’s one beer for me and one beer for you,” you explained with the slightest air of condescension, but he couldn’t really think of it as rude since it was an invitation.

“I don’t want to intrude on your chill evening,” he refuted.

“No, really, you’re not intruding!” you insisted, standing up and setting the jewelry on a nightstand before approaching him and turning to face away from him.  “Will you unzip me please?”

He stammered a little.  “I don’t… see a zipper,” he admitted with a weak voice.

“It’s on the side here, see?” you lifted your arm a bit, and pointed to it.  

Reaching out to touch your zipper was reminiscent of that old boardgame Operation: he needed to touch the zipper and only the zipper, cause if he bumped into anything else nearby, he got the feeling he’d get zapped.

His breath caught a bit as he watched more and more of your skin become exposed, the zipper ending up so low that he could just barely see the top of something lacy around your hips— and he had to stop there because anything more could induce cardiac arrest.  

“Thanks!” you piped up happily, slipping away to your closet to do the rest in private.  “Will you get the beers while I take my makeup off?” you requested through the shut door.

“Sure,’ he replied, turning to leave but realizing he should ask first: “Shiner or Pabst?” 

“Don’t patronize me,” you grumbled, and he laughed because it was a stupid question.  Trodding downstairs, he grabbed the Shiners from the fridge, stopping to check his phone only to see that it had started to automatically send him headlines pertaining to you.

‘Touch of Blood’ star gives impromptu karaoke performance at Queens dive bar!

He laughed at the picture of you onstage, even though he thought it was kind of reductive to describe you by a movie you’d been in so long ago when you had so much great new stuff coming out.  Jumping back up the stairs, beers in hand, he found you makeup-free (aside from some leftover mascara and eyeliner that hadn’t really made it all the way off) and in a robe, laying on the bed as you pointed the remote at your TV.  He thought you looked almost more beautiful like this than you did on the red carpet; of course, objectively, everybody looks better when they’ve been painted to the point of perfection, but he liked the domesticity of this.  When you were casual and relaxed like this, he could almost, almost pretend you were his girlfriend or something.  And not, you know, a global superstar and his employer.

“Beer me,” you requested as he sat down next to you, handing you a bottle and trying to ignore the thorough view of your legs he was getting in that robe.

“Anything good on?” he prompted as he watched you scroll through the channels on the guide.

“Uh, not particularly,” you frowned.  

“They’re showing a game,” he pointed out as you passed the sports channels.

“I’d rather watch this pay-per-view porn,” you rolled your eyes.

He cleared his throat but said nothing because he was confident there was no good response to that.

“Hey, I’m in this!” you beamed, changing the channel quickly.  He nearly had a heart attack until he realized you weren’t scrolling through the porn channels anymore.

He recognized the film instantly as the one of yours that he’d seen the most, for one very embarrassing and slightly sinister reason; looking down to the corner, he saw the HBO logo and realized it wasn’t going to be edited.  His palms got a little clammy but he tried not to worry about it too much.

“Oh, this girl was super nice,” you remembered as you pointed to a character on-screen.  “She had a bigger role but most of it got edited out.”

“That must be a bummer,” he imagined.

“Eh, it happens,” you shrugged.  “Beats getting fired, or recast in the sequel.”

“Have you ever been fired during filming?” he pressed, morbidly curious.

“Once,” you nodded.  “We were only a few days into it so they had no trouble finding somebody new and redoing my scenes.  Just think: I could’ve been a Bond girl if I’d slept with that producer.”

“You— what?!” he squawked.  “You got fired because you wouldn’t have sex with a film exec?”

“I got fired because of ‘creative differences,’” you explained with exaggerated air quotes, “and, unrelatedly, those creative differences surfaced the morning after I refused to get down and dirty with the EP.”

“Jesus,” he shook his head, “that’s… I hope you told someone.”

“Yeah, anonymously.  Somebody will care someday, but not yet.  He’s still too profitable, and not enough people have come forward.”

He glanced over at you, admiring your profile as you kept your eyes on the TV and took a sip of your beer.  When you turned your head and looked back at him, he realized he’d been staring a bit too long.

“What?” you asked, quirking your brow a bit. 

“What?” he repeated.

“You’re staring at me,” you frowned.

“Sorry, I was just… sorry,” he shook his head and looked back ahead.  What he found there wasn’t much less embarrassing, though: he knew all too well that this was the scene right before THE scene.  The scene he’d watched over and over until his arousal overpowered his shame.  The scene that he’d used to try to satisfy his crush on you, but it only made it worse.  The scene that had burrowed into his mind and deepened his obsession even as he fought it with everything he had…

You know, that scene.  And he was about to watch it with you.  

Bucky was completely, entirely, and supremely fucked.

[yandere-sins]

hello!! may i request prompt 23 “I’m so happy you finally wanted to take a picture with me! They can go right next to all of the ones of you sleeping.” with deku? thank you!💓

Of course!! That one works so well for Deku, thanks for requesting :D I decided for a bit less scary yan this time hahaha Enjoy!

Photos - “I’m so happy you finally wanted to take a picture with me! They can go right next to all of the ones of you sleeping.” 

»»———————— ♡ ————————««   

At first, you had been very nervous when you were invited to the get-together by your new college class. Who knew what kind of weird strangers you were sharing the lessons with, so did you really want to go on a weekend hike with them? There were enough horrifying stories on the internet about people getting lost or murdered, which didn’t give you the courage to roll with it.

Even if you thought nature was great, conquering it with a bunch of strangers you only met a week before, probably wouldn’t be the greatest idea of your life. But you didn’t want to be the only one to sit it out and have the other’s form friendships and connections while you were at home being unproductive. Even less you wanted to regret your decision later. This was college! You were all young adults! It was time to have fun and be merry!

That’s why you agreed to it.

And honestly? It was better than expected. Everyone seemed very careful on the first day to not step on each other’s foot. Still, by the end of it, people were joking around and laughing about stories. You quickly made connections with some boys and girls when you were grouped up with them to collect firewood for the great campfire that was going to burn on the first night of your hike. They all seemed friendly and welcoming, and you had a lot of fun with them.

Very quickly, over the next few days, you found out about good sheep and bad sheep in the group. It was simply impossible for everyone to get along, but you were glad that others had your back, making you forget about the negativity some people spread around. Before you knew it, it was already Sunday, and though you laughed at the few who very quickly got drunk and made out, you were glad for the friends you had gathered around you.

So much so that when someone suggested taking pictures together on the last night, you jumped onto the idea, running around to make additional memories with all the friends you made. It was already getting pretty late, some returning to their tents to rest up for the night (and some to have extra fun with students they got along too well, in your opinion), so you hurried to catch everyone before they went to bed. You wouldn’t see them in the morning where you’d go your separate ways again, so it had to be before that.

“Izuku!” you called out as you ran up to your new friend, immediately slowing down as you saw he was busy talking to someone else. But without a second of hesitation in him, he turned to you, smiling widely. You apologized for the interruption, and Izuku quickly wrapped up his conversation to dedicate himself to you.

“What’s up?” he grinned, and you immediately felt at ease, having feared you might have come off as rude. The last thing you wanted was to upset him since he had been your strong pillar this weekend. Talking to him was so easy and comfortable; you two had stayed up for hours talking at night and then continued while you were hiking. Even walking in silence side by side had been nothing less but comfortable, and you were glad that you caught him one last time before the end of the get-together. Not that you feared you two would lose sight of each other afterwards. However, not knowing how busy your lives would be once the studies became serious, you didn’t want to miss having something to remember your time by.

“Someone suggested making pictures with each other, and I just had to come and ask you!”

Immediately, you saw his posture straighten, smile only widening at your suggestion, while you fiddled with your phone. Who knows why, but you had been scared he would say no, which you’d have to accept, but would regret either way. Perhaps, there were budding feelings you had for him that you denied so far, and that’s why it would have hurt so much to be rejected. But you breathed a sigh of relief when he replied with a chipper, “That’s a great idea!”

You two quickly got into position as you turned on your phone’s face camera. Boldly, Izuku put his arm around your hips as if you two had been friends forever. You still remembered how timid he had been at first, but you quickly came to admire him for his courage and that he would stand up for you and your friends when you were confronted with one of the rotten eggs of the group. It truly made him look like a hero, his true colors showing, and you admired him for his strength yet modesty.

“Say cheese!” you chanted, both of you flashing your biggest smile before the camera went off. “Oh, that’s cute,” you beamed as you gave the photo a quick look to make sure it came out alright. “Let’s take another one,” Izuku suggested, grinning at you, both of you feeling giddy.

Quickly, you got back into position, leaning into his side and readying your camera. However, when you snapped the picture, you felt him hunch over and witnessed in the camera as his lips laid down against your cheek. Stunned, you looked on as the picture disappeared, Izuku’s gaze firmly stuck on you as you heard him whisper, “Another one?”

Reaching up to touch your cheek, you leaned away, and his hold around your waist loosened, giving you space. “Was that too much?” he asked, his shoulders sinking while he looked at you apologetically. “I didn’t mean to--”

“No!” you were quick to wave it off. “I- I was just surprised.”

“Oh...”

For a moment, you two stood there like ordered and not picked up before you could muster a single chuckle, shaking your head. Next thing you knew, both of you burst out into laughs and giggles. Yes, it was just like that with Izuku. It was easy. It made you feel at peace. As if you had known him forever, even though it had only been this last weekend. You had probably told him more about you than even your parents knew, and you felt like he had been very open about his past and present as well.

“You don’t have to keep that picture if you don’t want to, but would you mind sending them to me?”

That wasn’t a question he had to ask twice, as you quickly nodded, typing away a message with the photos attached to him. He was the first chat that popped up in your log, your conversations going way beyond mouth to mouth and having continued in your messages, so it was a matter of seconds until you had sent the files over. “It wasn’t uncomfortable...” you mumbled as you saw the picture of him kissing your cheek once more.

“Hm?” he replied, seemingly not having caught your small voice. “Oh, nothing!” you quickly brushed it off, suddenly losing the courage to repeat it and reveal some more how you felt.

Izuku didn’t probe further, nice enough to give you space in the matter, instead fishing for his phone, which was buzzing as it received your texts. “Ah, it’s so cute,” he laughed as he opened the pictures, a tinge of red falling over his cheeks. “I’m glad,” you mumbled, unable to keep the smile away from your face as you saw him so happy. Heat rose to your own face as well, and some of the buds in your stomach were blooming up as your fantasy ran wild. Perhaps this was the start of something special. And you were hopeful that you both felt the same way.

“It’s perfect for the collection,” he sighed, satisfied.

“Collection?” you asked, wondering if you had missed something. Did the group gather pictures to make a collection out of them?

“Yes!” Izuku peeked up, shining brightly. Your prince charming always shone brighter than the sun, in your opinion, but he managed to really string you along with his enthusiasm, making you feel excited as well. “I’m so happy you finally wanted to take a picture with me! They can go right next to all of the ones of you sleeping. Although...”

Wait. Sleeping? Pictures of you?

“This one is special, I’ll have to frame it.”

“What do you--”

You wanted to ask him about it when Izuku turned around, humming happily as he walked off, too deep in thought to even say ‘good night’ to you. You looked after him, flabbergasted, trying to make sense out of what he said. What pictures? What did he mean?

Days later, you found out exactly what Izuku had been talking about at this bizarre end of the trip you two had taken.

When he sent you a picture back, labeling it, “Perfect, isn’t it?”

Zooming in, you saw what must have been hundreds, if not thousands of pictures stuck to a wall, every one of them showing you. Some of you at your old school, some where you were out with your friends, some of you at home, in bed, getting dressed... And in the middle of it all, framed and polished, was the one where he kissed you, red marker scribbles on the glass, saying,

My Darling ♥

[thetriggeredhappy]

recently rediscovered your blog and read the fic from your dad spy au where scout starts out as the "guard" and then becomes scout from there and lemme tell you that shit put me on some s-tier brainrot. like a cranial decay type beat.

i had a concept in my head that instead of being hired as a guard, he could have been hired as a right hand man to the administrator like pauling, because i think hed be awesome in that position. like imagine having a personal merc who can get in fast and out even faster. but maybe he would stay in the base like the rest of them, sort of like a secret on call intel gatherer, who also maybe sometimes has to dig a couple graves. and also like, nobody on the team expects anything from him at first because its this 20 year old newbie kid. hes dressed in his formal clothes and he talks like somebody from relatively around boston but not quite. i can just imagine one day he comes back during a team dinner with his shirt half untucked and stained with blood, hair disheveled as he asks soldier if he can borrow his shovel, or him debriefing them for a mission when miss pauling is busy. same vibe as the fic i mentioned before but scout gets to have a job as cool as miss paulings. honestly id write it myself if i didnt have the attention span of a fly

anyways your scout content gives me life thank you

scout teamfortress but 20% more competent standing next to miss pauling teamfortress while she's doing her job and doing like silly quips and otherwise contributing nothing like it's a buddy cop film is literally my fucking ideal

(warnings for some canon-typical violence)

-

“Oh, Pauling, it’s good to see you again,” greeted the chairman, smiling in an imitation of a grandfather and clasping her hands perhaps too-kindly considering she barely knew him. “Young as ever, and still so stylish, I see. And who’s the new fellow?”

“He’s just here to help with transport, Mr. Montgomery, nothing unusual,” Miss Pauling replied, returning his smile and adjusting her glasses. “Heavy cases, you know how it is.”

“Of course, I remember you almost toppling clean over last time we made a trade!” Montgomery agreed, frowning at the memory. “You’ll pull a muscle that way, better to be careful. It’s a pleasure to meet you, young man. And your name?”

“Mr. Normandy, sir,” the new kid replied easily enough despite his slight East Coast accent, giving the man a firm handshake, expression neutral and stony, the picture of professionalism. Internally, Pauling breathed a sigh of relief.

“Firm grip there, young man,” Montgomery praised, nodding approvingly. “Tennis player, perhaps? Or golf?”

“Baseball, sir,” he replied, still evenly. “First baseman.”

“Ah! Of course! Were you any good?” Montgomery joked.

“At everything but playing in front of the crowds, otherwise I’d be in the major leagues,” he replied, tilting his head just slightly to imply that he was joking, his sunglasses glinting at the movement, and Montgomery barked a laugh.

“I like this one, Miss Pauling!” Montgomery said, and Pauling just barely caught herself from physically relaxing at it.

“We do too, Mr. Montgomery,” she agreed. “I was under the impression that you’re very busy today, so we won’t keep you for too long, we just wanted to sort out the final details surrounding the manufacturing rights for the—“

“—Pacific Northwest branch, up into British Columbia and Alberta, of course,” Montgomery agreed, nodding faintly. “Of course, of course.” He turned to regard his own man in a dark suit, the one standing to the right, who appeared to be unsuccessfully trying to stare down Normandy, who was completely ignoring him. “My briefcase, please.”

The man handed over the briefcase, and Montgomery put it on his desk, opening it and pulling out a sheaf of papers. “All our requests are submitted and approved, at this point we just had a few dustbins to take care of regarding initial percentages and making sure everything is wired to the correct accounts, which names are undisclosed, things like that,” Pauling explained as he glanced through the papers.

“Right, right, everything looks good here,” the man murmured, nodding to himself, sending his long-white hair just ever-so-slightly out of place. “I’m assuming these more sensitive documents should be sent some way besides through the mail?”

“If you finish them today I can take them with me, otherwise either me or Mr. Normandy can return to pick them up at your convenience,” she replied, to which Normandy gave a singular nod.

“Oh, it would only take me a short while,” Montgomery said, waving a hand. “We have a lovely lounge just down the hall from here if you’d prefer to wait there, it should only take me ten, fifteen minutes at most. In the meantime, I do believe there’s also the manner of payment for services rendered.”

Miss Pauling tilted her head just slightly to one side, confused.

“I arranged with Helen already,” Montgomery explained, not looking up from where he was initialing a few things. “The payment, rather than being wired, she asked to be made in material investment. A venture of mine from years ago that she’s willing to sit on. Rather than gold or bonds, she agreed to take some old currency of mine that my family collected, from early 18th century New Zealand and Australia. Monetarily it’s worth around the same, and I’m quite a bit attached to it to be entirely frank, but it was at her request to buy the whole collection from me, and after years of the work we’ve been doing together, well, I’d never trust it with anyone else.”

He gestured to the other man, the one on his left, who stepped forward to hand him a manila envelope, which he passed to Pauling.

“Inside is both keys, the door alarm codes, and all other security information for the building where the collection is being stored. They’ll ask for a few codes and confirmation of identity, only because several other art collections and artifacts are being stored there by other affluent individuals such as myself.”

“Thank you, Mr. Montgomery,” Pauling said, taking the envelope gratefully.

“Think nothing of it, my dear. Helen talked me into it all her own,” he said easily enough. “Now, gentlemen, if you would let Miss Pauling and Mr. Normandy into our lounge? I should have these wrapped up before any of us can even think about lunch, eh?”

One of the suits showed the two of them through the doors and down the hallway, through two doors bracketed by similar suits who simply nodded politely at Pauling and ticked their chins at Normandy as they passed them.

Normandy posted up beside the door for all of three seconds before they shut and Pauling pulled her glasses up, rubbing at the bridge of her nose and making a vaguely distressed noise. He then promptly relaxed, instead leaning his hip against an armchair probably worth the same amount as a small car. “So, uh, we’re glad that he’s giving us a bunch of commemorative coins from when dinosaurs still walked the earth?” he asked just below normal speaking volume, eyebrows raised.

“Yes. Very glad. Because unlike about six people total on the planet, he hasn’t figured out yet how valuable those are.”

“What, is a picture of a kangaroo on some copper really gonna make up for a couple hundred thousand American dollars?” Normandy asked, sounding doubtful.

“Not copper. Something else,” she replied. “I can’t tell you much more about it other than that, but these coins are made of something priceless to us. And to the Administrator.”

“…Love? Memories? The magic of family?” he joked, cracking a smile, and she rolled her eyes, moving to open the envelope and start reading the papers inside. “Hey, uh, not to question whether my job should exist, but what the hell am I doing here, exactly? Besides carrying a briefcase. Like, chivalry isn’t dead but I really don’t think you need me carrying your bags and holding the door for you.”

“You’re helping with security, basically,” she replied, adjusting her glasses to squint at tiny handwriting about the collection. “Mr. Montgomery is trustworthy, but he mostly hires out to… well, people like us. His security detail is mostly people we’d rather have screened, freelancers, stuff like that. A lot of people we contract out to are like that. Most of them have heard about me and know better than to try and pull something, since I can hold my own pretty well, but if they haven’t, seeing a second person might persuade them to think it over again.”

“Oh, so I’m like, uh, when it says ‘tow zone’ next to the no parking signs even though nobody checks, or when they’ve got a camera in the corner of the store that isn’t even plugged into anything,” he said, and the looked up at him, confused. “Like, uh, what’s the word… I’m a casual deterrent.”

“Sure,” she said, because it sounded like he knew what he was talking about, shuffling the papers back away and closing the envelope again, making a note to ask the Administrator if she should change their current containment procedures to be closer to Mr. Montgomery’s. “Just… if there’s a fight, you deal with it, otherwise you just stand there and look like you’re paying attention.”

“That’s what the sunglasses are for,” he agreed. “I was blinking morse code at the guy across from me literally the whole time.”

“You know morse code?” Pauling asked, surprised.

“Just the alphabet, ‘S.O.S.’, and ‘ass’.”

She rolled her eyes again, and that’s when the door opened.

She expected Mr. Montgomery, not one of the men in suits. “Excuse me, both of you, if you don’t mind,”the man said, accent having the slightest English tilt to it, a Londoner if Pauling had to guess. “You’re Miss Pauling, the Mann Co. affiliate, yes?”

“That’s me,” she agreed, hesitant, and glanced at Normandy.

“I’m afraid there’s been a mistake. Mr. Montgomery have you the wrong envelope on accident,” the man said apologetically, extending a hand forward. “We apologize for this unfortunate mix-up, it’s really quite embarrassing, but those documents are sensitive and we’ll be needing to see them back now.”

Pauling looked at him, and within a moment, shifted her expression. “Oh, I’m so sorry!” she agreed, nodding. “No, right, of course. These aren’t the papers for the currency collection?”

“I’m afraid not,” the Brit agreed, head tilting just slightly, hand still extended, moving a fraction further forward.

“Well, thank goodness we figured out now and not with us halfway back,” she joked, and moved to hold the folder closer to her body. “I’ll take this right back to Mr. Montgomery, then.”

“He’s sent me to correct the error,” the man explained simply.

“Right,” she said, and saw in her periphery that Normandy had already started sneaking a hand in towards his primary, clearly having pieced together something she was only suspecting. “We can bring this to his office, then, right down the hall.”

“You misunderstand,” the man said, taking a step forward again. “I’ll be taking it to his office myself.”

“That’s funny,” Pauling said. “I didn’t realize you had clearance to be in there. Or to be carrying a semi-automatic instead of a standard handgun.”

The Brit reached for the semi-automatic, and before he could even get it out properly, Normandy hit one clean shot to the side of his head and another to his thigh, sending him crumpling to the ground.

Pauling had only as far as pulling her own handgun free, thumb on the safety, and breathed a sigh of relief, glancing over at Normandy, shifting to more comfortably hold her gun. “Quick reflexes,” she noted.

“Just noticed a lot sooner, maybe,” he shrugged, stepping forward to glance over the body, tucking his gun back away.

“What was your hint?”

“He’s here to give us the right folder, yeah? Well, why were his hands empty, then?”

She was just starting to nod and realize that as well when a second man shouldered through the door, holding a gun at the ready. Normandy scrambled to draw his own, but Pauling fired a shot into his knee, shoulder, and neck to send him dropping before he was even close. “There’s quick on the draw, and then there’s prepared,” she said pointedly. “Gotta think of if there’s more than one, new guy.”

He nodded, and drew his gun again, bending to hit the guy on the ground at the temple hard enough to knock him out if he wasn’t unconscious already. He then glanced up at the sound of a shout from the other side of the door, two men shouldering through, guns drawn but lowered. It was only the firm eye contact they made with both her and Normandy that made her pause the millisecond it took to realize these ones weren’t trying to kill them.

“Pauling, what on earth is going on here?!” Montgomery demanded, entering the room and staring with wide eyes at the bodies on the ground. “What could’ve possessed you to—“

“He was trying to run off with these documents,” she explained quickly, gesturing with the envelope. “He knew whatever was in here was valuable.”

“He drew his gun, sir,” Normandy added, tipping his head down towards the body, and Pauling glanced down as well and found herself a little surprised. He’d rearranged the man just slightly, apparently, adjusting the arm to be holding the gun a bit further outward. “Other one was aiming to kill.”

“My, my,” Montgomery tsk’d, shaking his head as he surveyed the scene. “What a mess. My apologies, Miss Pauling, Mr. Normandy.”

“It’s alright, but you need to start doing more thorough checks on your staff, Mr. Montgomery,” Pauling stressed.

“He’s only been here two weeks, sir, he was one of the men we hired in a hurry after the incident last month,” one of the bodyguards said, and Montgomery shook his head.

“Thank goodness nobody was hurt,” he sighed. “Mutiny, and besides that, they’re bleeding on my carpet. Here are those papers, Miss Pauling—what a day, eh?”

“It’s really alright, we handled it,” Pauling assured him, giving her bravest smile, a little exasperated now.

“Right, right, you and the first baseman,” he agreed, and Normandy fought back an actual smile.

“If you’d like, we can take care of those for you,” Pauling said, gesturing at the bodies. “To pay you back for the carpet and the scare.”

“Sounds fair to me,” Montgomery agreed, clearly relieved.

-

“My dad’s gonna be pissed, by the way,” Normandy was so helpful as to say on the way back up the path to the base. “And you’re fielding that.”

“About the suit, or the fight?” she asked, glancing at his clothes where he was somewhat covered in a fine dusting of mud and grime from the gravedigging, shovel still in his free hand.

“Both. Mostly the fight. Your fault for saying it’d be an easy one to start with,” he said.

“If it was going to be that much of a problem, you wouldn’t have gotten this job. I’d just have made you go do dishes all day or something,” Pauling replied.

“Point taken,” he said, walking ahead to get the door, holding it open for her. “Wait, we’re allowed to mention what we do, right? Just not names?”

“Or locations, even with travel distance. Round up to the hour if it comes up,” she replied.

“Sure, sure,” he agreed, trailing a step behind her as she led the way through the base.

In the common area, there was a bit of a ruckus happening. Soldier, Heavy, and Demo appeared to be having some kind of arm wrestling competition on a rapidly-toppling table, the Engineer was on a stepstool trying to fix the ceiling fan, and Sniper appeared to be half-watching the beginnings of an argument between Pyro and the Spy regarding use of the oven as Medic patched up a burn on his arm.

“Hullo,” Sniper greeted the two of them, sounding a little bored, Medic giving them a brief, polite nod. Normandy’s eyebrows were raised pretty far as he surveyed the room.

“Hi, Sniper,” she greeted in return, then cleared her throat, raised her voice. “Team meeting in five minutes! New mission for next week!”

Groans from the room at large, the eight mercenaries starting to finish up what they were doing and filing out. Spy moved over, glancing over Normandy and starting to talk to him in rapid-fire French, picking smaller bits of gravel off of his suit as they walked.

“Alright,” she addressed the room, Normandy peeling off from getting mother hen’d by Spy to stand next to the blackboard with her. “Monday, you’re all going on a transport mission. Getting the truck from point A to point B with everything in the boxes intact. Already we’ve had to put up with some people trying to get ahold of these things, so bring your guns.”

“Oh, our guns, you said? Lads, this is a serious one, keep your heads on a feckin' swivel, she’s sayin’ we might even need guns, can you believe it?” Demo faux-gasped, and chuckled when Spy bopped him on the arm, rolling his eyes at the Scot's theatrics.

“Yeah, yeah,” she waved off, flipping through the papers a bit. “So Engie, I’ll need the keys to the truck, me and Normandy are going to be loading those tomorrow, all of you need to be at this drop point bright and early.”

“How early?” Heavy rumbled.

“Six. Hour and a half of drive from here.”

Some complaints from the room that she sighed at.

“Hey, hey, calm the hell down,” Normandy cut in, and she glanced over at him where he had his arms crossed and a stern look on his face. “You chuckleheads get to have all eight of you to unload the damn thing, me and Miss P gotta do all the rest of this on our own and probably kill twenty guys on the way there and back. She had to be up at 6 AM, workin’ since 7 AM, lunch break at noon and nothin’ else, and we just got back now at, what, fuckin’, 10, 11 PM? Any of you work her shift and then see if you even got the energy to complain about wakin’ up early, how about that?”

The room went utterly devoid of complaint or backsass. “Thank you, Normandy,” she said politely, and he just nodded once, glancing off to the side. “Anyways, anything new on this end? Spy, how are you adjusting?”

“Very well,” he said simply. “I have nothing pressing to say. Once I’ve been updated from the stock weaponry provided here to my requested preferred weaponry, I believe I should do just fine.”

“I see you already have Herr Normandy digging graves,” Medic chimed in. “Straight into the hard labor, ja?”

“Eh, hey, y’know, it’s why they keep us young people around,” he shrugged, grinning, and there was a brief uproar to drown out Medic’s entirely offended scoffing and Spy’s snort-laughing.

“Get ‘im, lad!” Demo cheered, and Normandy indeed looked fairly proud of himself.

“Monday, transport mission,” Pauling noted over the noise, writing it up on the chalkboard to hide her own smile from the room. “Normandy, you and me are doing the boxes tomorrow. Everyone on the same page? Good. Dismissed. Oh, and Pyro—stop taking the fire alarms down when they beep. They’re beeping because you light things on fire in the base. Do that outside.”

“Oh, hey, uh, helmet guy, All-American Beef,” Normandy called, and Soldier straightened up. “Here’s your shovel back. Gettin’ my own tomorrow.”


Soldier walked directly over to him, clasping a hand on his shoulder. “That’s a high honor, Cadet,” he said, tone grave. “Do not take this responsibility lightly.”

“I, uh, I won’t?” he said hesitantly, and blinked a few times as the shovel was carefully taken from him before it was promptly marched from the room in double-time. Only then did Normandy look over at her. “So he’s always like that?”

“You’ll get used to it,” she assured, dusting chalk from her hands. “You should get to sleep soon, we have to be up early.”

“Sure thing, Miss P.”

[cursedwriter]

Cursed! - Gojo Satoru

Jujutsu Kaisen Masterlist 

Synopsis: After running some errands you’re caught off guard by a curse user. Unbeknownst to you, he has something up his sleeve that would mean a fate worse than death to you. How will you get out of this? And what role does your boyfriend - the Satoru Gojo - play in all of this? 

Words: 2.6k

Author’s Note: Feeback is - as always - highly appreciated! I’d love to hear your thoughts! Requests are still open, btw! 

“Hey, there. Are you okay?” You hesitantly approached a man who had just stumbled upon a protruding cobble stone on the sidewalk. The street lamps were just lighting up, signaling for another day to approach its end. The air felt chillier on your skin and you briefly wished you had taken a scarf with you, or at least put on a warmer jacket.

“I’m fine. No worries,” the man grunted and waved you off, but you didn’t stop, opting to check on him nonetheless.  

“Are you sure?” Your feet stopped just a few inches away from him, hand already outstretched to help him get up and off the ground. Hesitantly, he reached out for it. His movements slow, but not in a timid kind of way. It was more like he was anticipating something to jump at him at any given moment if he touched you. As if he was scared you could poison him with a single touch.

Suddenly an uneasy feeling swept through your body. A shiver ran down your spine and the hair in your neck stood up. A familiar sensation overwhelming your senses. Blood running cold in your veins, freezing still, numbing your nerves. The chill of the night was suddenly no longer noticeable on your skin. Instead, the breeze felt almost warm now. This was the presence of a curse. An acidic taste spread through your mouth, making you swallow hard as you subtly roamed your eyes around the neighborhood, trying to find out where the curse could be hiding.

To your surprise, nothing seemed too out of the ordinary. The only thing that was ticking you off was that there were no longer any people in sight. It was just you and the man in front of you now. Everyone else had suddenly vanished. Cursed energy was flowing through the air, probably causing everyone else to feel uneasy too, hence why they left in a hurry. People relied on instinct much like animals did. So even though they might not know why, they could definitely tell when something bad was about to happen. Much like how animals could sense when a storm was approaching. Therefore, this really wasn’t all that surprising.  What surprised you was that everyone else had been quicker than you to notice the alien presence in your midst. It was almost like someone had been concealing it from you specifically. That was what was worrisome. And then it hit you… the lack of a curse running around, you alone in an empty neighborhood with only one other man right in front of you and the fact that you had only been able to even sense the cursed energy floating around the moment you had reached out for him… This was a trap. A trap specifically designed for you.

Everything inside of you was screaming for you to run away. Just run. Run. RUN!

But you couldn’t move.

You couldn’t even retract your hand that was still outstretched to help the stranger get to his feet. You looked down at him. The shock in your eyes as the realization hit you must’ve been obvious, because as soon as he noticed the fear glimmer in your eyes, a menacing smile spread across his face. It almost looked like he was bearing his teeth at you.

Without breaking eye contact, he got up from the pavement, ignoring your hand and dusting his pants off.

“Ugh, the look on your face,” he laughed. “It’s truly hilarious, I wish you could see it.” His eyes lit up and he held his index finger in the air as if he just remembered something groundbreaking. “Wait, hold on. A right,” he laughed again, “as if you have another choice.” He stalked around you, reaching for your back pocket, hand lingering on your ass longer than was necessary in order for him to get your phone. Bile was rising up in your throat as you send a million death threats his way. You wanted to scream at him to tell you what he wanted, but even your tongue remained unmoving, pressed to the roof of your mouth. It felt like you had transformed into a stone statue.

It was obvious that the man in front of you wasn’t a cursed spirit. So he either had to be a curse user or, like Yuji, swallowed a cursed object and absorbed its power. Whatever he was, whatever he wanted, though, by the way he looked at you, it wasn’t anything good.

“Okay, now say cheese.” He held your phone in front of your face. It was close enough for you to reach out and swat it out of his hands, but much to your dismay, your body just wouldn’t listen to your commands. Everything you could do was stand there helplessly and watch as he did whatever he pleased. “Ah, right. Almost forgot, you can’t talk,” he shrugged unimpressed. “Well, no matter. This’ll do just fine.” The clicking sound of your phone camera rang through your ears. The sound completely out of place compared to the eerie silence that surrounded you.

The man turned your phone around to show you the picture he’d just taken. At first glance, you almost didn’t recognize yourself. Your eyes were blown wide in horror, mouth slightly opened in a silent scream.

“So, what do you think’ll happen if I forward that little picture of you and send it… let’s say, to your boyfriend?” He raised one eyebrow in amusement, gauging your reaction, obviously toying with you. “What do you think he’d do if I’d do that?” This guy evidently knew who you were and he also knew who your boyfriend was… Then why did he sound so delighted at the prospect of Gojo – the Satoru Gojo – coming here and probably tearing his limbs off? It seemed to you that he was almost counting on it. That he, in fact, looked forward to it.

Okay, so this guy wasn’t actually trapping you. You were just the bait and Gojo seemed to be his real target. Which got you thinking… Was he just another egomaniac thinking he could take on Gojo and defeat him and in return make a name for himself? Did he have a death wish? Or could he be that one in a million to have an actual chance at defeating him?

“It’s really not any fun when the conversation is this one sided,” he complained, scratching the back of his neck in thought. “Okay, because I’m in such a good mood today, I’ll let you talk. But no funny business, alright?” He held a daunting finger up in the air as if he was an adult scolding a child for misbehaving.

Suddenly your tongue felt loose again and you could move your mouth, though, the bitter taste remained. It felt like someone had poured acid down your throat, leaving your tongue to feel like sandpaper in your mouth. Except for that, everything remained the same. Not a single muscle in your body would follow your commands of making a run for it or, at the very least, get a good punch in.

“What the hell are you doing to me?” You croaked out, voice hoarse and cracking at the end. “What do you want with Gojo?”

“Uh uh.”  He shook his head in displeasure, though, the sick grin on his face remained. “One thing at a time, love. Don’t get ahead of yourself or I might revoke your talking rights.” The way he referred to you as ‘love’ made you physically sick. And the way he talked so happily, as if you were old friends catching up on lost time, made you want to punch him all the more. What was his goal? What could he possibly want?

“Just spit it out!” Your patience was wearing very thin at this point. And though, it might be reckless to talk to this visibly crazy man in such a manner, you didn’t really care. You always had a problem with your temper.

“My, you’re a feisty one, aren’t you?” The man cooed in delight. He was still holding your phone tightly in his hand, looking through God knew what. Ugh, now you really wished you had put a password on it, but before now you never really had a reason to. You weren’t hiding anything in it, but still, it felt like he was roaming through your head while you had no idea what he was searching for.

“Aren’t you two just adorable?” He dangled your phone in front of your face again, fake sweetness dripping off his words like poison disguised as honey. On your screen was a picture of you and Gojo where he was kissing your cheek. Your face was flushed, totally embarrassed when Gojo made Fushiguro take the picture a couple days back. But still, there was this love drunken smile on your face, eyes glistening in a way that radiated pure joy. You remembered how happy you were that day. Actually, you were always happy when you were around Satoru. “You’re so cute together, it makes me sick!” He stood up straight again, nose wrinkling in disgust as he scrolled through your phone some more. “You know, you’re a hard woman to get alone. You’re always with him… Frankly, it was quite frustrating to watch you two be all lovey dovey. But here we are at last, right? So I guess, it was worth it in the end.” A throaty laugh escaped his throat, causing every hair on your body to stand up. So this guy has been watching you? Following you around for God knew how long? A shiver ran down your spine at the thought of all your intimate moments being tainted by some weirdo watching you from afar.

“So, what is it that you want from us?”

“Right,” he clicked his tongue, shoving your phone in his back pocket and out of sight. A small sigh of relief left your lips. Finally, it didn’t feel like he was digging through your head anymore. “You see; I was in love once, too. We were as happy as you can imagine. Our future together was already within reach.” Suddenly the man reached forward to hold onto your shoulder. At first it seemed like he needed the additional support to keep himself upright, but as his fingertips dug deeper into your skin, you guessed this wasn’t all there was to it. He needed a vent to release some of the anger that was burning in his eyes… and you just so happened to be the closest thing nearby. “Everything was perfect. Suki was pregnant and we were planning to get married… Everything was perfect,” he repeated. There was a strain on his voice now as he talked about the woman that he loved. But you were still confused as to what that had to do with you. “Suki was a good person. The best, in fact. There wasn’t a single bad bone in her body and still… and still, someone cursed her. And not just any curse… No! They turned her into one! Into a monster! My Suki! MY SUKI!” Describing him as furious wouldn’t even come close to the burning hatred you saw searing in his eyes. The grip on your shoulder impossibly painful at this point.

“I’m sorry for your loss.” The sincerity in your voice caught him off guard. You could feel his grip loosening ever so slightly, but the flame in his eyes seemed to blaze more intensely than ever before.

“You don’t get to say sorry!” He spat in your face. “Because your precious excuse of a boyfriend was the one to kill her! HE KILLED HER WITHOUT BATTING AN EYE! WITHOUT EVEN TRYING TO FIX HER! HE KILLED HER! AND HE DID IT RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME! SO, YOU DON’T GET TO SAY YOU’RE SORRY!”

Suddenly everything clicked together. Everything started to make sense. This was a man with nothing to lose and he was out for retribution. If you weren’t scared before, you were definitely scared now. People with nowhere to go, people who didn’t fear death or didn’t care for it were the most unpredictable ones. He probably already knew that there was no way for him to defeat Gojo… and that in turn meant that he must have something planned that would make him suffer the same way he had. Because what do you do if you can’t kill your opponent? Right… You make them wish they were dead. And you had the dreadful feeling that the role you’d be playing in all of this wasn’t merely to lure Gojo in.

You tried to gulp, but a lump was forming in your throat that made it hard to swallow or even breathe. You didn’t care about the things that could happen to you, but if you were to be the reason Gojo had to suffer, you would never be able to forgive yourself.

The wheels in your head started turning, eyes blown wide in horror. The man in front of you could visibly feel your distress. He wet his lips in anticipation. Almost like a famished animal waiting to finally feast on its prey.

“Please, I beg you… just let me go, okay? Please!” It was a pathetic attempt, you knew that. There was no way in hell he would let you go now, but you still had to try, at the very least. “This won’t bring her back, okay? Torturing me won’t bring your Suki back… So please, I beg you… just let me go.”

His head fell back in his neck as a bitter laugh ripped through the night. His whole body shook with the action. The sight caused your heart rate to speed up, hammering against your rip cage like the wings of a hummingbird. This was a mad man with nothing to lose and with nowhere to go.

“Torture you? No, no!” He shook his head, finally letting go off your shoulder as he clasped both his hands together in pure delight. “I have something way better planned for you… You see, my cursed technique is mind manipulation which you might have already noticed.” Ah, now it made sense why you couldn’t move and only talk once he allowed you to. “It’s a rather straining technique, but that won’t matter…” The smile on his face didn’t falter, if anything, it got even bigger. His eyes almost sparkling with perverse glee as he hungrily looked you up and down. His hand reached for his back pocket again, getting a hold of your phone. The screen illuminated his face, highlighting a single scar that traveled across his right cheek. “So, I’ll call your boyfriend now, okay? I think you two have a little catching up to do.” He winked at you. “But before that…” He lowered your phone slightly, intently looking you in the eyes and capturing all your attention. Even if you wanted to look away – and you did – you couldn’t will your body to do so. Never in your life have you felt so helpless. “Y/N, when you see Satoru Gojo’s face again, you’re overcome with the sudden and unbearable desire to kill him and you will stop at nothing until you accomplish your task… or you die trying.”

You stopped breathing, blood freezing in your veins as your brain absorbed these horrible words.

No. No! NO!

This was a fate worse than death! Not only did he make you fight his sick battle, he probably counted on Gojo having to kill you which would… break him. If you can’t kill your enemy… make them wish they were dead. And God did you wish he would’ve just killed you and left you for Gojo to find you. This would’ve been more merciful.

“Oh, he picked up.” Your eyes snapped up to see he was already holding your phone flat against his ear. “Gojo Satoru, I believe I have something of yours in my possession. Please be so kind and pick it up, okay? She really can’t wait to see you.”

***

Part Two

[ashintheairlikesnow]

OH ANTONI 🥺🥺🥺 my poor baby. I hope he will find it within himself to come clean to Jake or SOMEONE about this :((((

(((ALSO CANT WAIT FOR MORR))))

One Two Three Four Five Six

CW: Wound cleaning, burns, touch aversion, aftermath of torture, BBU, conditioned fucky headspace

"Lift your chin for me," she commands, and he doesn't really remember that he could choose not to obey.

Antoni dutifully shifts, his eyes moving to roam over a line of framed photographs along the wall behind her. A wedding photo, faded with time, a much, much younger version of the woman currently dabbing a cotton ball dipped in something cold and stinging to the fresh burn on his throat with a man he's never seen. The two of them are smiling, holding hands, looking right into the camera.

Bright white wedding dress turned cream with yellowing paper, with time, covered in lace. Powder-blue tuxedo. Brilliant smiles.

She touches the cotton ball to his skin and he hisses, hands tightening where they grip the edges of the chair he's sitting on. The sting rockets through him, only a pale echo of the original pain, but it's enough.

It's enough.

Fuck, that's hot.

He catches the sob before it can leave his throat, forces the burn behind his eyes to stay there and not turn into tears. He will not cry over this again.

Not now.

"There we go, just a bit more," She says, her voice gruffly compassionate. She presses a small rounded bandage against his throat, her fingertips are warm against his neck.

His skin crawls at even this slight, indirect touch, but he doesn't protest.

He wouldn't dare.

"All done. That's not s'bad, I think with a good bandaging it won't scar half so bad as all its little friends down south," She mutters, more to herself than him, really.

Where her fingers touch, he feels the echoes of other hands around his throat. Thicker fingers, heavy with rings. Smiling down at him.

Beg for me, love.

"Please-" It's automatic. He's drifting, in and out of this old kitchen that still looks like it must have looked thirty years ago, when the man in the wedding photo would still be here maybe cooking or cleaning or chatting up a storm to anyone who popped by for a visit.

"Hm? You say something, sweetheart?" Miss Ruth looks at him, and those dark eyes are shrewd. They know more than anyone is supposed to, they know things Nat hasn't told her. Hasn't had to.

"Ah, no," He whispers. "Just. I am very tired."

"No doubt. I'll finish these up and you can get back to your own bed and no doubt you'll be glad to get there." She looks him over, and his eyes dance to hers and away again. Back to the photos.

He sees a family photo, the two people from before and a daughter and son. Everyone is smiling, looking carefully just off to the side. They wear matching outfits.

"Get a look at 'em?"

There's a 35th wedding anniversary picture with a big banner behind the happy couple. The two people, much older, stand in front a cake nearly as tall as they are, surrounded by others. Everyone in the photo smiles in sort of the same way.

The next photo is a birthday, he thinks. There's a boy and a young baby in the photo, and the man from wedding and anniversary photo isn't there. Miss Ruth, holding her grandbaby he thinks, is wearing all black. The photo was taken in a church, and there's a spray of white lilies just visible at the edge of the picture.

Another, with Jaden, who Chris plays basketball with. The kid who more or less effortlessly opened his life for Chris when Chris badly needed a friend his own age, or closer to it, to remember what being a kid was like.

He is reading, in images, the story of this woman's adult life. Marriage, and death, and birth. Children. Life going on.

A life he won't have, that he gave up every possibility of having, because of... of whatever is inside him that Mr. Davies knew about, that the people who just hurt him could see in him even though he cannot see it himself.

He must look like someone who deserves to be hurt.

"Young man." She taps on the back of his hand and he flinches, blinking at her, struggling to pull himself out of his reverie. Her words filter through his mind, shift into the language all his thoughts are moving in, come back out in hers. He swallows, feeling a lump in his throat that refuses to move.

"I'm... sorry," He says softly, with difficulty. "I did not hear."

"I can tell. I asked did you get a good look at whoever did this to you." Her eyes roam over his chest, his stomach. The circle of new burns, placed so carefully compared to the haphazard placement Mr. Davies had favored, no pattern at all. "Looks like they took their damn time, anyway, to get you so much."

"N-... no." Antoni's eyebrows furrow, and he tries to think, but all he can remember is their hands holding the lit cigarettes, the quiet one touching his face, ruffling his hair. He can't... he can't remember their faces at all. "I am sorry."

You're fucking gorgeous, buddy, you know that?

"Hm." If she's disappointed in him, nothing changes about her expression, still held in a kind of skeptical compassion as she wets a new cotton ball in liquid from a small frosted plastic bottle and touches it to each burn, one by one, in the circle. It's like a ritual, the sting, washing away a bit of sin with each hint of pain. He clothes his eyes and breathes carefully through it.

When he is done, each circle covered with a bandage that is shades darker than his skin, she steps back to look him over, critically. She steps away and he takes in deep breaths free of her air, the powdery scent of her. He breathes in her absence, no one nearby.

She returns with a washcloth and he takes it, scrubs at his face until his cheeks are red but clean, until you can't tell anymore that he cried while they burned him.

Good boy.

"You can stay here," She says, voice low now. "Sleep it off for a while. I've got a guest room."

"No. No, I will go home. Thank you. I will... I want to go home." He looks out the kitchen window right at Nat's house next door. No lights are on... yet. But there isn't much time before they will be.

"Fair enough. You plan to tell 'em what happened to you?"

He looks back at her, searches for the judgement, finds none.

"No," He says. Confesses, really, his sin. "I will not."

I will lie to them.

"That's your choice to make, I suppose." She lays a hand on his arm. He doesn't pull away from her. He wants to unzip himself from his skin and step out of it, let them all have what they seem to want to touch so much.

Instead, he holds himself perfectly still, until she pats him a few times and steps away again.

"I've done what I can do. You come back over here tomorrow or the day after and we'll look 'em over again and make sure they're healing up nice, you got me?"

"Yes," He says. He is good. He can be good.

"Right. Off you go, then, before your people wake up and you get to come up with a story about why you're in an old widow's house at 4:30 in the morning, hm? You're pretty enough, but you're no Wilbur." She laughs to herself, a dry and crackly sound, and he thinks that her laugh was the sort that could set a whole crowd to laughing, when she was young.

It still is.

The corners of his mouth twitch in an answering smile.

"Yes, ma'am," he says, and pushes himself off the edge, standing up again. No one has seen his scars, no one but this old neighbor woman who looks at them like they are simply part of living, not something to be pitied. "I go. S-... thank you."

"Paugh." She scoffs, waves a hand in dismissal. "Go on, now. You've thrown off my morning coffee time. Tell your young man that Jaden will be over this afternoon."

She all but shoos him out the door, and the air is clear and clean and quiet. The only dirty thing is Antoni himself, smudged and mussed, still feeling in his scalp the prickles of Quiet One's hands, still feeling on his arms the sharp pressure of the shirt tied around his wrists.

Still aware of every single burn under the slight pull of the bandages pressed over them, the gentle sting that feels like a return to how he was always meant to be.

Even the walk from one yard to another feels like too much. Antoni's eyes move over the empty darkened windows of the houses all around him. How obvious he must be, if three people saw him in the darkness and knew him for a pet pretending to be human.

He shouldn't have left, shouldn't have gone on those walks. He'd left himself open and vulnerable, hadn't he? His scars are deeper than skin, and they must shine like the streetlights to anyone who knows what to look for.

Antoni stops at the porch, where he carefully lifts a loose bit of board from the porch railing, finds the small box hidden inside. The slightest scrape of metal on metal as he pulls off the lid makes him freeze, but no one is awake to hear it. He takes the contents of the box, moves it quickly back to its hiding place, replaces the board.

Like nothing ever happened.

Everything can be made as good as new, as long as it isn't him.

He slips inside the safehouse, where everything is still quiet, in the silent inhale that comes before the exhalation of morning. The clock in the kitchen reads 4:45, fifteen minutes until Jake's alarm will go off, until he - and likely Chris - will stir.

Fifteen minutes for Antoni get upstairs and look so deeply asleep that no one will realize he was ever gone.

No time to shower.

He will have to sleep with the grime of their hands still ground deep into every single pore. He will sleep with Deep Voice's we know what you are in his ears, with Quiet One's fingers tangled in his hair, running over his skin. He will sleep with Lookout's eyes locked on his chest as he presses the cigarette in.

Antoni hasn't worn a collar in years now, but he buckles it on, just one notch too tight like Mr. Davies would have, and climbs under the covers, pulling them over his head.

He breathes in as deep as he can, to feel the constriction. Breathes out, and runs his hand up over his chest, over the bandages that cover his burns.

They knew what he was.

Everyone always will.

Good boy.

The ashtray falls asleep humming a lullaby, afraid that if he pulls the blankets back down he will see bars on the windows.