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foreverdolly · 6 months

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ೃ࿔ SAVAGE BONDS part I 『 feyd rautha x atreides!reader 』

summary: destined to one another since conception, your very life belongs to feyd rautha. as a token of good will you are sent to the strange planet of giedi prime a week before your wedding ceremony, only to learn that it is far more hostile than you imagined it would be. a failed assassination attempt has tempers flaring and sparks flying when it is decided to be safer to sleep alongside feyd. you hate to admit it, but he has played the part of a "protector" better than the guards who were tasked to watch over you. whilst you have been dreading this union all of your life, feyd has been anticipating it. meeting you as children had left him awe-struck. . . and a bit obsessed.

warnings: !SMUT HEAVY IN FUTURE PARTS!, feyd is super overprotective in this fic and kills multiple people in your honor, blood and gore, it's a dark romance folks, political marriage, forced proximity, temporary unrequited love, a lil dubious consent in some scenes, there's a lot of talk about breeding, enemies to lovers (in your mind, not his), there's a "who did this to you" scene, knife play, blood kink, breeding kink heavy, lots of scent marking/marking. (needs to be edited, so please excuse any temporary errors!)

word count: 5.3k

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The ancient walls of Castle Caladan were a fortress, the long winding halls a labyrinth to those unfamiliar with its layout. You had tried feigning sleep when you had been made aware of the surprise guest’s arrival, a one “reverend mother”- as your mother referred to her. The cool air from the hallway nipped at your exposed arm, which currently hung limply over the side of the bed.

“She’s even smaller than your son, Jessica.” The voice sounded more like a wheeze- and it certainly didn’t belong to anyone you had ever met before.

“As I’ve already said, the Atreides are slow to grow.” Your mother’s tone didn’t hold even a semblance of a bite to it, not like you expected. She was usually fiercely protective of you and your brother.

Your finger twitched, causing the woman to stifle whatever disapproving comment she was about to make. Being caught eavesdropping like this certainly wasn’t ideal, but you found it impossible not to be curious.

“She really is just like her brother,” More like he was more like you. You’d always been the rowdy one of the two. Paul must have been listening in as well, and you imagined that he was more insulted at the comments of his lack of height and muscle than you were. “The little rascals.”

There was a beat of silence before the woman began to crone again. This time you opened your eyes just a sliver, staring into the dark abyss of your room so that you could make out the shapes of your mother and the stranger.

“Rest now. Both you and your brother need to be prepared to meet my Gom Jabbar.” The reason couldn’t be pinpointed, but there was something about her tone that filled you with dread.

Your mother woke you up the next morning, bright and early.

Not even the breathing exercises that your mother had taught you had been able to calm you down last night. The darkness had swallowed you whole, which resulted in a dreamless sleep that left you feeling just as unrested as you had felt the night before. Your mother noticed your hesitations, the skirts of her dress dragging against the stone floor as she moved in the direction of your closet. The dress that she picked out for you was one of your more official garments, the red hawk of the Atreides crest proudly sewn onto the right breast.

“Did you sleep well?” She questioned as she laid the dress neatly onto the edge of the bed, urging you to stand once her hands were free.

You blinked at her, nervously brushing your hands along the soft cotton of your nightdress. Your voice felt stuck in your throat, but you still managed to lie.

“Yes, of course.” Your tone was flat, and for once she didn’t question you on the reasoning. She knew exactly what had you feeling so uncomfortable in your own home.

Gom Jabbar. Gom Jabbar. Gom Jabbar.

What exactly did the old woman want from your family? Lady Jessica was a Bene Gesserit, which could only mean that this woman was a higher up, sent to pay you and your brother a visit. You knew nothing about any “coming of age” rituals.

Paul barged into the room, dressed in his finer clothes as well. He leaned against the wall of your room, lips pursed as if he was deep in thought. You tilted your head to the side, leveling him a worried glance. He simply shook his head, and you knew at once that he wasn’t trying to dismiss your worries.

‘Not here. Later.’ His expression told you, and for once you obeyed.

“The reverend mother is waiting on the both of you. Paul, get out of your sister’s room so she can get ready.” She commanded, her tone leaving no room for whining or disobedience.

He groaned, pushing himself off of the wall so that he could head back out and into the hall. You shrugged out of your dress quickly at the hurried insistence of your mother, allowing her to do up the clasps of the dress for you.

“Who is she?” You asked simply, brushing your hair to the side so that she could get a better grasp of the dress.

“She was my teacher at the Bene Gesserit school and now she is the Emperor’s Truthsayer.” Your mother sighed out your name, turning you quickly so that you were facing her. “You need to do exactly as she says. There is no room to be prideful today, do you understand?” Her eyes were pleading, and you knew that she had your best interests in mind.

You and your mother walked wordlessly out into the hall, catching up with your brother who was busy running his fingers along the uneven stone walls. You flashed a quick look at your mother before jogging to catch up with Paul, taking the hem of his sleeve into your hand.

“What do you know?” You whispered, turning your head so that you could look at your mother. Much to your surprise she seemed to be in no hurry to separate the two of you.

“I’ve had dreams about her before,” He whispered, and you had to pick up your pace to keep up with his strides. “And mother told me this morning that I have to tell her about my visions.”

Your mouth went a bit dry at the realization that this woman truly was here just for you and your brother. What is the Gom Jabbar and what did it entail? There was no telling.

“She’s in my morning room, you two.” She called out after you.

Jessica caught up, leveling the both of you a disapproving motherly look that had the two of you slowing your strides to match hers. She seemed a bit hesitant, eyes flickering between you and your brother and the closed door.

The “reverend mother” sat in one of the tapestried chairs, her arms perched on either side of the armrests as she watched the three of you come in. The view behind her was beautiful, the sprawling, green farmlands of the Atreides family holding on full display through the large windows behind her. You glanced at your brother, eyes widening when you realized that he was already looking at you. He bowed in her direction and you followed his lead.

“They are a cautious bundle, aren’t they?” The witch-like woman croaked, looking between the two of you.

“As they have been taught, your reverence.”

In this room, here in front of this woman, Jessica was no longer the Duke’s concubine nor your mother. She was reduced to that of a pupil in the face of her teacher. You kept yourself from fidgeting, clasping your hands in front of you. You fought the urge to reach out and grab your brother’s hand, as the two of you so often did when faced with anxiety as children. Fear hadn’t regressed you to that of a blubbering child in years.

Your mother also seemed to fear the woman before her. There was something in her tone that led you to believe that whatever she was here for, it surely wasn’t a pleasantry. Your brother was tense at your mother’s other side, jaw tense as he stared the reverend mother down.

“Teaching is one thing, but there are some things that cannot simply be taught,” Paul’s eyebrows furrowed as she spoke, and as if she was dismissing a servant of the castle, she waved your mother off with a flick of her wrist. “You and your daughter leave us. It will be her turn soon.”

For the first time that morning your mother hesitated, eyes softened as she looked upon her son.

“Your reverence, I-” She began, but was cut off before she could finish whatever it is she was going to say. Surely it was meant to be an objection.

“Jessica, you know that this must be done.” Her voice held a tone of finality. There was no room for your mother to try and wiggle the both of you two out of this trap.

“Yes. . . of course.” Your mother straightened, turning towards both of you.

“This test. . . It’s very important to me, you two.” She spoke in a hushed voice, eyes still fearful.

“Test?” The two of you questioned at the same time, looking at one another in concern. You were confused, even more so than you were before.

“Remember that you’re the duke’s son.” And with that your mother was grabbing your arm, pulling you in the direction of the door.

“I suppose that it is my turn?” Your voice shook with anger as you practically tore the door off of its hinges, anxious to take your brother’s place. His cries and whimpers did not go unheard, even with the thick wood separating the two of you.

Looking at him now, his right arm still shaking from the pain, was like being slapped across the face.

“Right you are, girl. Jessica, please escort your son out of the room.” There was a silvery glint in her bright eyes- a challenge. She could sense it in you.

Your mother didn’t interrupt this time, and without any words exchanged the door closed. Your brother was too shaken up by whatever had taken place in that room to fully comprehend that the same thing was going to happen to you. He tossed a terrified glance over his shoulder at you just before the heavy doors closed. The sound of it echoed around the room, pulsing in your chest as you tried to steady the adrenaline pumping through your veins.

“Your future. . . do you know what is expected of you?”

You eyed the black box that sat next to her as you began closing the distance between the two of you. The question she had asked. . . it was a touchy subject with you. Of course you knew. A day didn’t go by that you weren’t mortified by the prospect of your future. You only had three short years to live and enjoy before you would be forced to abandon your family to join hands with another one.

“Of course I do. It is my duty to marry.” Your voice had a bite to it, your eyes unwavering as you stared her veiled face down.

“It is your duty to marry a Harkonnen. It is an honor to be the only reason that these two great Houses are allies. Your heirs will be powerful beyond comprehension.” The way she spoke. . . she truly believed the shit she was spouting.

It was impossible to consider marrying Feyd an honor. It was an ever-present looming threat.

“Put your right hand in the box.” She commanded, nodding her head in it’s direction.

It seemed harmless enough, nothing more than a metal box. You bent your head ever-so-slightly, trying to have a look inside. It appeared to be a pitch black, endless void. No beginning or end in sight.

You did as you were told, biting the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from muttering anything too disrespectful under your breath. If Paul’s screams were anything to go off of then this was going to be painful. Still, you were shocked by how cold the box was. You wiggled your fingers a few times, feeling the metal encasing them. Slowly a tingling sensation began, almost as if they were falling asleep.

“You’ve heard of animals chewing off a leg to escape a trap? There’s an animal kind of trick. A human would remain in the trap, endure the pain, feigning death that he might kill the trapper and remove a threat to his kind.”

The tingling sensation somehow melded into. . . heat. No, not heat. Burning. It felt as though you had your hand held up to a bright flame. You flinched, but froze when you finally noticed that the reverend mother was holding something against your neck. Your eyes flickered the best that they could to her hand, not wanting to turn your head.

“What I hold at your neck is the Gom Jabbar. The tip of the needle is dipped in poison. Remove your hand from the box and I will plunge it into your neck.”

The palm of your free hand began to sweat, the gravity of the situation finally landing on your shoulders. You would be forced to endure the pain and there was nothing that anyone outside of the doors could do. No guards had come to protect your brother when it was his turn, and no matter how emotional your mother had gotten whilst hearing his screams she still hadn’t rushed in after him. You could truly die here in this room.

“Why are you doing this?” You urged, wincing again as the burning continued to worsen.

Now it felt as though you were almost touching a flame, fingers dancing dangerously close. It wasn’t just uncomfortable now but painful. “To determine if you’re human. Now be silent.”

Meant for greatness, yet stifled before her prime.

It was impossible for your clipped wings to take flight. The Bene Gesserit had instilled in you your purpose from a very young age, letting it be known that you were little more than cattle to be sold off to breed. The whole arrangement was dehumanizing, but this was the way of galactic high society. Every House had been developed by the close, watchful eye of the Bene Gesserit. Your mere existence was a result of a centuries long breeding program, so how could you ever expect for your own life to be any different?

Every child, especially in their naive youth, dreams of greatness. There was a point in time where you had hoped to mean something. There were differences to be made, rules to be broken, wars to be raged- but you would never be at the helm of any of it. But Paul. . . Paul was different.

“You know something that I don’t.” You weren’t asking Paul, rather telling him what you already knew.

Where you were used to your brother pulling no punches, he had been overly cautious with his treatment of you during training today. For a second he just stared ahead blankly at the wall, and you wondered whether he would try to lie. The older you’ve gotten, the stranger other people’s treatment of you has become. Women were little more than something to be owned. It was a hard lesson to learn and was one you were still grappling with.

Your femininity were the chains that bound you. And what of your ambition? It was currently acting as the flames licking at your boot heels. Soon you feared that it would fully engulf you; become your undoing.

“Tell me.” Your lovely features crumpled, and as childish as it was you found yourself giving his arm a slap.

He jumped at the sudden contact, eyes widening as he turned to face you after what felt like an eternity of prolonged silence between the two of you. The hard flooring felt cool beneath your legs as you stretched them out beneath you, and for a second you found it hard to keep yourself up in a sitting position. The world felt unsteady beneath you, both literally and figuratively.

Paul didn’t have to say anything at all. You looked, you saw, you felt, you understood. Your shared connection had nothing to do with your genes, rather it had to do with your likeness. Two bodies, two minds, but one soul. Your twin’s features crumpled, mirroring that of your own as he pushed a few strands of dark hair away from his face.

“So there is nothing I can do? My fate is sealed.” Your lips felt numb as you spoke.

Your brother’s visions were more frequent than they had ever been before. “Horrors”, he’d described them.

“If there was something I could do. . .” He started, turning quickly to face you, tucking one leg beneath himself. “My hands are tied. Mother and father’s hands are as well.”

Hiding you away or knowingly allowing you to escape your duties would be seen as an act of treason. You’d be putting your parents and their status in danger, and no matter how desperate you were to get out of any sort of marriage pact, it was far too late. Since the very moment you were conceived, this was what you were meant for.

“When will the orders come down, you think?” You pulled your legs up to your chest, wrapping your arms around them tightly.

You wished that you could stay like this forever, protected from the rest of the world. If only you hadn’t been born as twins at all. You wanted so badly to be like Paul.

But the galaxy didn’t work like that. You were not fortunate enough to get what you wanted.

“Soon.”

You felt comforted by the hand that he placed on your shoulder, and even more so when he kept it there until you felt as though you were able to stand up.

You were to marry into House Harkonnen. That was your purpose; to unite the feuding houses and birth powerful offspring. You had met Feyd once before, but only for a fleeting moment. It hadn’t been awkward- no, back then the two of you hadn’t cared enough to pay any mind to the looming threat that was your betrothal. You’d been too young back then to fully grasp the severity of the situation.

You remembered being shocked by his size. He towered over Paul, appearing to be years older than he really was. His hair had been dark back then, thick and slightly curly.

He had only just been taken under his uncle’s wing at the time. The environment of Giedi Prime had yet to fully sink into the young boy. The Harkonnen’s looks had always been startling to you, no matter how many times you’d been exposed to it. They were dark creatures, brooding, hairless with skin as pale as milk- not to mention violent.

The desperate way that Paul had clung to you was not lost on you. You let him squeeze you as tightly as he needed, your arms locking around his back. This meeting would change everything. In a matter of moments your life as you knew it would be taking a drastic turn, and not for the better.

You’d made that very same trek to the parlor room a million times. This was your ancestral home- had been in your family longer than you thought was conceivable, and yet this felt new to you. Wrong. The shadows from the windows were casting strange lights on the wall beside you, and your footsteps sounded muffled in your ears as your pounding heart nearly deafened you. Your father’s hand brushed against your palm a few times, his attempt at showing you physical comfort without causing any sort of scene. You knew that this was Feyd-Rautha’s right.

You were Feyd-Rautha’s right. That simple fact alone was enough to send you reeling, that morning's breakfast churning in your stomach.

“It will be fine.” Your mother’s fingers shaped the words at her side, a comforting and silent presence.

Your parents had always protected you. They had taught you well in all aspects of life. She was right. You had to trust yourself just as much as you trusted them. This will be fine. You will survive.

But god, you wanted to live.

Your worst fear was being locked up like a caged animal, only taken out to be played with or paraded around. You didn’t want to be somebody's little wife; you were no homemaker or bed warmer.

‘I am better than this.’ You thought to yourself, your hands balling into fists at your sides.

As the double doors began creeping open, you felt the sudden urge to run the opposite direction, your parents be damned. The feud between House Atreides and House Harkonnen would surely become deadly if you were to turn your back on the promise now, and that was the only thing that steeled your feet. You stood, back straight and hands clasped tightly at your front.

You looked to be a pillar of strength, but oh- you were so close to crumbling. Your father took a step past the threshold, eyes hard as he bowed his head respectfully in the Baron’s direction. There was still time to turn around. The door was right there, and you were sure that you could commandeer a ship. You’d piloted a few times before in your life, and while you weren’t the best, you were certain you could get yourself the hell off of Caladan. You shuffled your feet, eyes wide as you looked up and caught your mother’s gaze. Her lips were parted, and you could tell that she was trying to decipher your expression.

“What are you doing?” Her hand moved quickly at her side, the flowy gauze-like material of her skirts hiding her frantic movements from the visitor’s view.

Nothing. You were doing nothing. There were no options yet. If you fled then the insubordination would fall back on your parents. If you downright refused then the outcome would be the same. There was nothing you could do but keep your mouth shut and try not to show the Harkonnen even a semblance of vulnerability.

Disdain rolled off of you in waves as you breezed into the parlor, eyes locked on the side of your father’s face as he conversed with the baron. Tensions were high, even now. No pleasantries were being exchanged, that you were sure of. The Harkonnen’s stark black attire was a startling contrast to their pale skin. There, in the middle of two other men, whom you were sure were present for reasons of protection, was Feyd.

He looked the same as the rest of them. Hairless, blue eyes dripping with something that could only be described as malice. Gone was the curly haired child that you remembered. In his place stood someone unrecognizable to you. You wanted to question what the Baron had done to Feyd, but you already knew. Perfection was expected on Geidi Prime.

He had shaped Feyd into the very likeness of perfection. The once dark haired boy was now a walking, talking machine; not even a dead leaf echo of the boy you met all those years ago.

You tried to map out every single one of his microexpressions, searching desperately for any sign that he might disapprove of the predicament the both of you had found yourselves in. He tilted his head to the side, observing you with a horrifying level of concentration. The Baron began to speak, saying something that you didn’t care enough to listen to. You were too distracted by the terrifying man before you.

“She will come back home to Geidi Prime with us. No objections, correct?”

You were marrying him out of an obligation, this he was already privy to. He had seen the reluctance written plain across your face as you’d entered the room. You’d wanted to run. Away from him, away from your responsibilities- and he could not blame you for it. His understanding stopped there though, simply because this proposal wasn’t going against his own wishes.

“The wedding isn’t taking place for another week.” The Duke didn’t seem to like the idea of his unwed daughter leaving his side.

Feyd fought back a smile, having known that the Baron’s sudden request would have this effect on the Atreides family. He watched you squirm like a bug under a magnifying glass, your hand moving at your hip. For a second he thought that you might be tugging at the seam of your dress, writing it off as nothing but a nervous tick- but then he saw the way your mother’s eyes followed those movements.

The two of you were communicating.

“That may be so, however I think that it is only right that your daughter,” Baron Vladimir motioned in your direction. “Becomes better acquainted with Feyd. You don’t agree?”

His uncle decided that it was best to test the boundaries of this alliance. He was pushing the Duke, seeing how far he could get. Leto’s lips twitched, his eyes flickering thoughtfully towards you. Feyd was finding it hard to pay attention to anyone else other than you in the room. He’d spent years imagining what you would look like as an adult- dreamt about it. He’d eagerly been awaiting this moment, counting the days that he could finally be reunited with you.

It wasn’t just because he had been promised powerful heirs. It was the thought that someone was fated to marry him. Since before he was even conceived, you had always been promised to him. That idea had been put into his head since childhood. You were the constant topic in his mind, a person that was unavoidably meant to be in his life for the rest of his days.

In a strange way he had loved you since he was but a child.

Seeing you for that first time had been better than he had anticipated. You were a beautiful little girl, but now? The child that he had met all those years ago did not hold a candle to the grace and brilliance of the woman that stood before him. Nobody else could ever compare. You didn’t have to fall for him right now, he was content with that. Hell, you didn’t even have to tolerate him. He would find pleasure in wearing you down. He was going to make you love him.

I must not fear. Fear is the mind killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration.

The adrenaline had run its way out of your system, leaving you cold and alone on a planet that was so incredibly alien to you, you weren’t sure how you’d ever be expected to adjust. Even the oxygen felt different in your lungs- the sweet, acrid smell of chemicals tinging the air around you. It was nothing like your home on Caladan. Your home was a stone castle, but this? This was a cold, black fortress.

You weren’t sure if it was meant to keep people out. . . or in.

You thought back to that fateful day with the reverend mother.

You couldn’t chew your leg off to be free of this. No, you had to lay in wait. Only then could you strike if the situation called for it.

“Striking” could wait until tomorrow though. For now you wanted to rid yourself of the anxiety. Sleep was the only cure you could think of.

“Is the room to your liking?” That husky voice of his was already grating on your nerves.

Feyd had only attempted to speak to you a few times and already you were sick and tired of his presence. He was a constant reminder that you would never know what it was like to be free. Then again, was anybody in the galaxy truly free? Feyd sure seemed to be carefree in his current position.

His tone felt off, like he was toying with you.

“I would be far more pleased about my new living quarters if you were to leave.” You said simply, pulling the slate gray blanket up and over your chin.

You weren’t sure if it was due to his ill-breeding, but he didn’t seem to care that you were in nothing but your night dress. He walked into the room in long-legged strikes, letting the door shut behind him. Never before had the two of you been alone together, not since you were children at least. If you were back in your family home you would feel safer during a moment like this.

You were in his territory now, meaning he had full reign over everything. Your father and family name couldn’t protect you on Geidi Prime.

“You’re in quite the rush to be rid of me,” He didn’t falter for even a second as he moved to sit down on the edge of the bed, leaning back against the plush mattress with a small sigh. “If I didn’t know any better, I would think that you didn’t like me.” He didn’t seem upset at the notion of you disliking him. In fact, there was a glint in his eyes. That same sort of silvery glint you’d seen in the reverend mother’s eyes all those years ago: a challenge.

This was nothing but a challenge to him. You were a conquest, and you detested that. Your stomach soured, your face becoming pinched as you glared at him. This was all too much too fast. You were in the comfort of your own home not even four hours ago, and now you were expected to make small talk with the source of your life-long discontent.

“And what of your concubines? Could you not pester them tonight and give me a moment's peace?”

“I dismissed them from their duties, permanently, weeks ago.” He said simply, his fingers running along the cotton of the comforter.

“What?” You’d never heard of such a thing.

“Spending time with them would be a waste.” His blue eyes flickered up to meet your eyes. “Acquiring concubines had just been a show of status.”

It took you a few moments to process what he was saying, the burning hatred you had felt just moments ago flickering out into a dull flame.

“Why would spending time with them be a waste? Am I expected to spend that much time with you?” A horror, truly. You had hoped that you’d be able to get away with spending a night or two a week with him, if only to achieve the Bene Gesserit’s goal of siring an heir.

“A waste of time. A waste of seed,” He looked at you pointedly, his lip pulling up into a smile that revealed more of his black teeth. “And both of those things are important to me.”

Your stomach hollowed out as you were once again reminded of what was expected of you. You had a week to prepare mentally for your wedding night, which you weren’t sure was enough.

“And what happened to the concubines? Are they still being housed here?”

“Why? Are you jealous?” He was smiling even wider than he was before.

A shiver ran through you as you noticed how predatory his body language was- you felt like prey under his haughty gaze. It was hard to believe that Feyd had been administered the Gom Jabbar test and passed.

This man was no human. He was an animal, that you were certain.

“Wickedly.” Your tone was flat and noncommittal. Even now, you never saw Feyd as a potential lover.

The man that was your so-called “destiny” was also your jailer.

“Well then you’ll be happy to know that they no longer live here. . . or anywhere, for that matter.” He sat up, rolling his shoulders back to stretch his broad muscles.

The blood drained from your face as you stared up at him from your spot on the bed. He must have felt the weight of your gaze and turned his head, his eyes alight with. . . pleasure. Violence was as ingrained in him as breathing was. It was his life. Standing before you was the prince of death- pale, striking and terrifying.

Animal, indeed.

I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.

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A/N: this chapter was plot heavy, I know, however it was crucial to give you guys some background information so that I can better build tension. the beautiful dividers were created by @ kitsunecafe!

#feyd rautha #feyd x reader #feyd x you #feyd rautha x reader #dune part 2 #dune #austin butler #austin butler x reader #smut #dune smut #feyd rautha smut #feyd rautha x you #feyd rautha harkonnen #dune x reader #dune fanfiction #austin butler fic #feyd rautha fic

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soaps-mohawk · 1 month

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Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 34: The Whole Truth

Summary: In life, we will be confronted with difficult choices. Sometimes you won't know you've made the wrong choice until it's too late

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 12,582 words

Warnings: Dead dove: do not eat, Angst, graphic violence and torture, mentions of predatory behavior towards a minor, Phillip Graves is a major creep, lots blood and injuries, kidnapping and its aftermath, hostage situations, anxiety and panic attacks, language, very explicitly described torture, ‘mega gets hit a lot, choking, biting, ‘mega gets stabbed with an ice pick, author can’t write COD missions, vomiting, lots of heavy emotions, detailed descriptions of pain, guns, background character dies on screen, descriptions of guilt and grief, lots of POV changes, some descriptive language of gore and blood at the end, rehashing of ‘mega’s injuries from the last chapter, a lot of angst and very heavy content, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe

A/N: This chapter deals with some pretty heavy content. Please, please, please read and heed the warnings. I have included content warnings for the more graphic parts before they happen, so if you don't want to read those, you can skip ahead to the next part. I suggest taking breaks if you need to, read it in installments if necessary. And I cannot stress it enough, please heed the warnings.

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“Hi darlin’.” His grin widens like he’s happy to see you. “Been a long time.”

You squeeze your eyes shut for a moment, your brain still sluggish. You feel sick as you try to process, try to figure out why and how. You try to move your arms again, but your wrists are stuck, hands burning as you pull. You desperately want them free, desperately need them free.

“Easy,” Phil says, putting his hands on yours, pushing them flat against the arms of the chair. They’re warm and calloused, the same hand that had been on your face a few moments ago. “You’re gonna hurt yourself. More than you already have been.” He lifts your left leg, making you groan quietly as a deep ache throbs down to your foot and up to your hip.

Running. A gunshot. Pain.

“He had strict orders not to harm you.” Phil says, adjusting the bandage wrapped around your calf. “Don’t worry. We got you all fixed up.” He sets your leg back down gingerly, his touch lingering for a moment before he looks back up at you.

“Why?” You croak out, trying to make sense of what happened.

Corporal McKinney broke into the barracks and chased you into the woods. He shot you and drugged you and now you’re here, restrained in a chair staring at a man you haven’t seen for years. A man who was once your dad’s best friend.

“A lot has happened since we saw each other last.” He says, pushing himself to stand. “I left the Marines after a few years, formed my own group of military contractors. Invited your dad to join, but you know how he is. All honor and duty and serving the country. Of course, you haven’t seen him in quite a while, have you?”

You stare up at him, starting to get scared. You never liked Phil. There was always something about him that put you off. He always stared too long, always sat too close to you. He always greeted you with a hug that lasted too long, squeezing you too tightly against him. He was sweet on you in a way he wasn’t with anyone else. He could be intense, brash and almost downright rude sometimes. He was a firm believer in traditional packs too, even if he never spoke about his own pack, his own omega. He had to have one, if he was as dedicated as he said.

He was far too much like your father.

Phil was always kinder to you, though. Softer. Not quite as callous and bellicose as your father in public. He was polite, always happy to lend a hand, always glad to roughhouse with your brothers to get their energy out. You saw the way your mother looked at him though. Perhaps her apprehension bled into you, those dormant omega instincts picking up on something she was projecting.

He made you uncomfortable, and she knew it.

What could an omega do, though, in a world where they don’t have opinions, they can’t argue, they can’t disagree. Your mother never said anything because in the world your family existed in, the world Phil existed in, she couldn’t.

“He was so angry when he called.” Phil continues, staring down at you. “Ranting and raving about how his oldest daughter betrayed him by presenting as an omega. He couldn’t stand having such a useless child in his perfect pack.” You flinch at his words, even though you heard your father spew those very words after your presentation firsthand.

“He called you?” You ask, the pieces starting to come together as your brain finally snaps fully into awareness. You knew he called someone, but you hadn’t thought it would ever be Phil.

“Of course.” Phil chuckles. “We were good friends, pals, buddies. He knew I could help him.” A shiver runs down your spine. You know what he’s going to say next. “So I did. I have some contacts in some high places, people who owe me favors. So I made some calls, pulled some strings, got you into FIOT immediately, with some strings attached of course.” He leans down so you’re almost face to face. “I wanted you. They put a note in your file. You wouldn’t be placed in the registry when you were old enough, you would go to me and my pack.”

Bile churns in your stomach as you process his words. It all makes sense now. The stares, the hugs, the closeness with your father, your rapid enrollment in an institute that can take weeks to process applications. It was all so you could be his. Something he’s wanted from early on.

“You would have been mine,” He pushes himself up straight again, starting to pace back and forth in front of you. “If the fucking CIA hadn’t gotten involved!” You flinch as his voice raises, the frustration starting to darken his scent. “They froze your file, made the claim null and void. All for what, their little initiative that never really existed in the first place?” He huffs out a laugh, a smirk tilting his lips. “Small world, though. Who knew we’d be seeing each other again after so long.”

He steps closer, looking down at you. You hold his gaze, suddenly feeling afraid. Even though you know him, even though you spent a good part of your childhood around him, you’re afraid of him right now. Your mind starts to revert back, the urge to lower your eyes, break eye contact like you’re supposed to flashing through your mind.

Don’t stare alphas in the eyes. They’ll take that as a challenge. It’s not your job to challenge them. Your job is to be subservient.

You would have been subservient to him if the CIA hadn’t gotten involved. You would have been under his control, bowing to him and his will. You’d have pups by now, at least one. He’d always talked about having a big pack with lots of pups someday, always glancing at you when he said it.

You’re going to vomit all over him.

It’s not just the truth that scares you, though. You’re being held captive here. That thought has registered in your mind now, the reality settling in as you get over the shock of the last few minutes. Corporal McKinney kidnapped you from base, and now you’re restrained in a chair surrounded by unknown alphas. Phil isn’t going to help you, take pity on you. He’s not here to be nice, to have a little chat and catch up on life.

That possibly ended as soon as he was denied what he wanted.

His hand cups your chin, holding your face up as he looks down at you. His thumb is rough as it strokes your jaw, a tickling feeling starting in the back of your mind again. There’s an almost bittersweet look in his eyes as he holds your gaze. You refuse to lower it, refuse to give him that satisfaction. “You’ve grown up a lot.” He says, his hand sliding down your neck to the collar of your shirt. “You always were cute, though. I knew early on you were going to be an omega. You were far too...calm and compliant compared to your brothers. Always so polite and eager to please. You can tell if you pay attention, you know. Those dormant instincts start to show themselves long before presentation.”

His hand pulls your collar to the side, revealing your mark. His eyes harden as he stares at it, his lips turning down into a frown. A shiver runs down your spine as the darkness in his scent intensifies. He’s not holding you hostage just to tell you about what could have been, what direction your life might have taken. He’s here for a reason, and you know your pack is involved. Something has happened, something behind the scenes, something John was looking into.

“What’s going on?” You ask as he releases your collar, taking a step back.

“Well, you’re being held hostage.” He says, like it isn’t already obvious. “You’re...shall we say...leverage to ensure your pack follows orders.”

You blink at him. You haven’t heard from or spoken to your pack in weeks. You should be relieved that they’re apparently still alive, but what if you had been right and they don’t want you anymore? Why would they take you if your pack has abandoned you? Or did they take you to ensure they wouldn’t...

“Laswell stuck her nose somewhere it shouldn’t have been.” Phil says, crossing his arms. “It’s only so long before your pack finds out. Let’s just say...they’re not going to be happy about it. So, to ensure they don’t do something impulsive and reckless as they are known to do, you’re going to play hostage.”

You gulp as you stare up at him, suddenly feeling very afraid. Your scent spikes in the air, clouding it with the bitter scent of anxiety. It was the plan all along. You knew it even if you hadn’t been told outright. Deep down you’ve always known it wasn’t about strengthening packs. It wasn’t about studying how an omega would increase or decrease the efficiency of military packs. With the events of the last few months, the idea had started to form in your mind. You know you weren’t alone in those thoughts. John and Simon were digging into the cameras for a reason. They were put up for a reason.

It was always about control.

That was the point of the initiative. That was why they put cameras up, that was why General Shepherd was so invested in the state of your pack and if you had been mated. He needed to ensure you were close enough to them so if something happened that wasn’t supposed to, you could be used against them.

You’re nothing more than leverage.

Your scent spikes in the air, clouding the room as reality sinks into you. Something happened that caused this. Something called your pack away to isolate you, to leave you vulnerable. They wanted you alone as a contingency.

Something did happen.

Now you’re here, being held captive by a man you used to know, a man who could have been your alpha had things not played out the way they did. The thought has your stomach churning. How far will they go? How far will Phil take things? Could he be merciful because of your history? Or will his ruined plan make him more ruthless?

You’ll be punished for something you can’t control.

Phil makes a soft sound as he looks at you, shaking with fear in the chair. “Don’t be scared. As long as your pack does as they’re told, I won’t have to hurt you.” He turns the light back to face you, nearly blinding you. “Now, smile for the camera.”

They’re safe.

It had been close. A rough position to be in, but they managed it. He never doubted them and their abilities, but four against nearly fifty with no backup were not good odds. He’s been in tighter places before, and while he had his doubts, he is grateful Johnny and Simon were sent in when they were. Even if it was a bit suspicious.

“All accounted for.” John says as he sinks down onto one of the jump seats next to Kyle.

They’re all battered and bruised from their final fight. He’s ready to get home, ready to get back to you. From the sound of it, things were not going well, according to Johnny and Simon. He has a lot to make up for, a lot of apologies to make.

“Fucking Russian PMCs.” He says, speaking to Kate over the comms. “It’s not a coincidence Kate.”

Kate lets out a sigh that crackles through the comm. “No, it’s not. My team and I came across some information while we were digging into the cameras.”

“What information?” He asks slowly and carefully. He doesn’t like being kept in the dark, especially when it comes to his pack. Especially when it comes to you.

“Not just information on the initiative, but information on General Shepherd.”

“What information?” He asks again, slower this time as Johnny and Simon move in closer.

“Shepherd was the one that sold those weapons to AQ and the Russians.”

John looks at the other three members of his team. He knew something was wrong, something was off about the way Shepherd had acted while informing them about this mission. “He wanted those missiles found and destroyed so he could cover his own ass.” He says, his stomach starting to twist. He doesn’t like the way this is going.

“But we found out the truth before you could find all the missiles.” Kate continues. “He sent you on a wild goose chase to give himself a chance to escape.”

John’s hand tightens into a fist. “Where is he now?”

“He’s gone dark. Totally off radar.”

John pushes himself up to stand, the adrenaline pumping again. “I’m going to find that bastard-”

“John.” Kate says, cutting him off. “There’s something else.”

The twisting in his stomach intensifies. There’s a bad feeling tickling in the back of his mind. He doesn’t want to entertain the dark thoughts that are brewing. “What?”

“They took your omega.”

His stomach clenches, his breath catching in his lungs. The other three shift on their feet, all of them stepping closer. The scent in the plane thickens, anger and confusion mixing into a toxic cocktail. He hopes he heard that wrong, that there was some kind of interference in the connection and his brain made up the words he missed. “Repeat that.”

“They took your omega.” Kate says again.

He lets out a long breath, his muscles tensing. He’s had a bad feeling tickling in the back of his mind for the last few days. Something was wrong, something was off. He should have known it was all a ruse. Why would AQ and the Russians store a missile in any of the places they had been sent to in the last week? It hadn’t made sense, and he had wanted to voice his doubts, but the consequences of a missile being launched because they decided not to look in one place was greater than his own perceived doubts.

They had been right though.

Of course it had all been a plan. Of course there had been something fishy about it. He’s hardly ever wrong. He’s been praised on his instincts on the field and off. He should have known. Pulling Simon and Johnny when they did should have been enough evidence, even if they had been needed in the end.

“You’re positive?” He knows she is. There’s no mistaking something like that, there’s no doubting it.

“There’s a video.” Kate says, John’s stomach dropping. “I’m sending it to you now.”

John pulls out his phone, his fingers white as he holds it up. He’s angry, beyond angry. If they’ve laid a hand on you...if you’ve been hurt because of his own failings, his own inability to see the truth...

He clicks on the video when it comes in, a familiar face popping up on screen. “Hi boys. Been a while.”

“Fucking Graves.” Johnny growls, his hands closing into fists in anger.

“I have a little something of yours I think you might be interested in.” He turns the camera around, your face popping up on screen. You’re restrained in a chair, wrists red from the zip ties, but there’s a glare on your face, looking as mean and threatening as you can. There’s a bruise on your cheek and what looks like a healing cut on your lip. Someone hit you.

“Smile for the camera.” Graves says, a bit too cheerfully.

You don’t smile, your glare sharpening as the camera gets closer to your face. There’s still fight left in you. Whatever has happened hasn’t been too bad. Yet.

“Let’s make this simple.” Graves says. “You stay away from Shepherd, and I won’t have to hurt this pretty little face. She is pretty, isn’t she?”

You shift in the chair, your leg lifting before you kick outward.

“Ow, you little bitch.” The camera jostles for a moment before it’s straightened back up, a hand shooting out to wrap around your throat. There’s no sign of any struggle, the glare still prominent on your face. “Feisty thing. Gotta keep up with those wild boys somehow.”

The hand tilts your face just slightly, showing the mark on your neck. It is you, not that John doubted that from the beginning. It may have been almost two months, but he wouldn’t forget your face that easily.

“Like I said,” Graves continues. “Follow your orders and she’ll be released unharmed.”

The screen goes dark and John resists the urge to throw his phone. He shoves it back into his pocket, turning towards the wall of the plane. He throws his fist against the metal as hard as he can. It hurts, but he can barely feel it over the rage burning hot in him.

“Fucking Shepherd!” He shouts, rearing back to throw his hand against the wall again.

Graves has his omega. Graves has his omega and now you’re being used as leverage. They’re all being played like puppets.

A hand catches his fist before he can punch the wall again, easing him back. “Easy.” Kyle says, trying to soothe him as best he can. “We have proof of life, we know that she’s alright for now.”

“For now.” He growls, looking around at the members of his team. “But for how long?”

“They knew we’d go after Shepherd as soon as we learned the truth.” Simon says. “This has been in the plans for a long time.”

“They’re trying to get us to make a choice. Focus on getting our omega back while letting Shepherd escape, or go after Shepherd and let our omega be tortured.” Kyle says.

“Those fuckin’ wankstains.” Johnny says, shifting on his feet. He’s angry, the bitter scent filling the enclosed area of the plane. They’re all angry, angry at those responsible, and angry at themselves for falling for it. “They were usin’ us the whole time.”

John lets out a long breath. It’s a hard decision to make. Go after Shepherd and cut the head off the snake, or go after you and let the person orchestrating all of this escape. Graves won’t stop, even if they do manage to take out Shepherd. He has his orders, and he will follow them, with or without Shepherd pulling the strings.

There might be a second contingency. They kill Shepherd, you die too.

No matter what, you won’t be safe. If they go after you, Shepherd escapes and if they try to hunt him down later, he’ll use you again, or worse. They don’t have to kill Shepherd, though. They have proof he’s a traitor. He can be brought to justice if he’s caught. Death is too gentle of a punishment for what he’s done. He deserves to rot in prison for the rest of his life.

They have to make sacrifices for the good of the world.

“We’re going after Shepherd.” He says, taking a deep breath. “None of us will be safe if we don’t.”

“That’s dangerous, John.” Kate says. “We don’t know how far Shepherd or Graves will take this. You know how Graves is. He may not be able to be stopped, even if Shepherd tells him to.”

He takes a second to breathe. His pack is silent, all three of them staring at him, waiting for him to make this decision. He is pack alpha, he is their Captain. They do what he tells them to do, follow his orders no matter what. Kate is right, this is a risk, but sacrifices have to be made. Hands have to be dirtied to keep the world clean.

He just hopes you’ll forgive him.

“We’re going after Shepherd.” John says definitely.

“This is a bad idea, John.” Kate warns him.

“It’s the only option we have. They’re trying to draw us away. It’s a risk we have to take.” He can see the apprehension on his packmate’s faces. They’re all feeling it, the drive to go after their omega, but deep down he is right. They’ll never be safe until Shepherd is taken care of. Going after Graves only removes one small piece of the puzzle. The job always comes first.

“Get us locations, places he might try to dig in and hide.” He says, heading towards the cockpit. “We’ll find this arsehole and kill him ourselves.

***

Kate lets out a sigh as the comms close off. It’s a mistake. She knows it is. The guilt is eating her alive. She fell for this, she brought you into this, and now you might get hurt because of it. How she didn’t see the reality has shame burning through her. They were all blind, all led astray, all fooled by the red herring.

There was never an initiative. It was never about strengthening packs. It was always about control. They wanted a way to control packs. Shepherd knew if the secret ever came out, there would be no stopping the consequences. Legal or illegal, retribution would come for him if the truth was revealed.

This was his way of stopping it.

That's why the 141 were the guinea pigs.

They are the most dangerous threat to Shepherd, and he handed them a way to control them under the guise of strengthening packs, experimenting on how their dynamics and efficiency would shift with an omega added in. Even worse, they all fell for it.

John is making a mistake. Graves won’t stop so long as Shepherd knows they’re coming after him. The last thing she wants is for you to get hurt because of their decisions, their mistakes. Shepherd won’t order Graves to kill you. That’s too much of a risk. It would give the 141 nothing to lose, and that would put them at their most dangerous.

Will Graves listen to that order?

She can send out a team to get eyes on Graves, find his position at least. That way, if things do take a turn, she’ll at least have a direction to point them in.

They were all too trusting and ignorant. You’re innocent in all of this.

It’s her fault.

They’re going to need help.

Christine can’t sit still anymore. She can't take it. It’s been almost eighteen hours since your disappearance and there’s been nothing. No word, no news. She knows you’re alive. Kate had confirmed that, but that hasn’t eased the burning questions eating away at her mind. What is your current state? Who took you and why? Where is your pack and are they even aware of what’s happening?

She’s been sitting and twirling her thumbs. She can’t bring herself to do any paperwork, any research. What is there to do besides sit and worry? She doesn’t have a patient to take care of because she lost the one she was supposed to watch.

She huffs out a breath, pulling her phone out of her pocket and dialing Kate. If Kate won’t call, she’ll call herself. Kate’s probably busy though, so Christine can’t blame her too much for not calling. She’s probably so far from the front of Kate’s mind right now.

The phone rings twice before Kate answers, sounding tired and disheveled, just as much as Christine feels.

“Laswell.”

“Kate, I need to be there.” She doesn't hold back, doesn’t try to make small talk. There’s no time for it. She knows how Kate is doing, and it’s not great.

“Christine, I don’t know if I can take that risk.” She says.

“I need to be there. I can't take sitting around here anymore, and when you find her, she’s going to need someone she knows there, someone that knows how to take care of her.” Christine lets out a breath, the relief of getting her thoughts out taking some of the weight off her shoulders.

Kate sighs, but she has to know Christine is right. She’s not sure what state you’re in, and depending on how bad it is, and where your pack is, you’re going to need her. Even if you think she was behind this. “I’ll have a plane ready to go in thirty minutes.”

“Thank you, Kate.” She says, letting out a sigh of relief.

“Don’t miss the flight.”

Christine hangs up, gathering a couple things from her office before closing and locking her door. She nearly runs to her barracks, packing a bag quickly. She’s not sure what to bring, or how long this will take. She’s not even sure exactly where she’s going.

She hurries to the airfield, phone in hand. She’s not sure where the plane is or which one she’s taking. She’s just relieved Kate is doing this for her.

Her phone buzzes as she reaches the tarmac, making her puse. She lets out an annoyed sigh before answering the call.

“Of course you have to call at the worst possible moment.” She says.

“I’ve always had the worst timing.” Alex’s voice comes through the speaker, and she can almost hear the smile on his face.

“I can’t talk long. I’m about to board a plane.” She says.

“I know. We’ll pick you up on the tarmac.”

She blinks in surprise. It’s been years since she’s seen her brother, months since she’s spoken with him. Ever since he retired from Delta Force, his regular calls have been happening less and less, and they’ve reached near radio silence over the last couple years. Now he’s involved in this too?

“Kate called in a favor.” He continues, and that’s all she needs to know. “We’ll see you in a few hours.”

“Yeah.” She says, tears brimming in her eyes as she smiles. Despite everything, she’s glad she gets to see her brother again. Glad she has some support in this. Your pack will be mad. They’ll blame her. She’s not afraid of them, but she knows Alex will stand behind her no

**Content Warning: light torture, ‘mega gets punched, further injury to previous injuries, panic attack**

Your hands are starting to go numb. The constant attempts to free yourself from the zip ties isn’t helping, but you’re beginning to get twitchy. Your omega is scratching at the back of your mind, begging to be free, but you know you won’t survive it. The room is full of armed mercenaries, and you’re sure if you tried to take out Phil first, you’d be pumped full of bullets before you could even do any damage.

He’s leaning against the wall far too casually, staring at the phone he’d used to record the first video of you. His explanation had been simple. Your pack stops going after General Shepherd, you don’t get hurt. The longer they chase Shepherd, the more Phil gets to torture you until they decide your life is worth more than Shepherd’s.

Will they choose you over Shepherd? What if they’ve already decided to abandon you? What if your fears were right and they’ve given up, and that’s why they were gone so long? They won’t care what happens to you, if they have written you off as a burden, as a loss. They’ll let Phil torture you to death and they won’t even blink an eye. You’ll just be another casualty.

It makes your stomach hurt, the idea of your pack letting you die. Even the idea of someone who had once been a friend of your family being so cold towards you has nausea bubbling in your belly. He doesn’t care. His only worry is money, not the past. He doesn’t care. He’ll do the bidding of whoever offers the highest price.

He lets out a sigh, pocketing his phone as he pushes himself off of the wall. “Looks like your boys don’t follow orders well.” He bends down, putting his hands on his knees so he’s face to face with you. “They’ve decided to leave you here with me. Looks like Shepherd was wrong. They don’t really care about you as much as everyone thought they did. Makes me sad, them abandoning you so easily.”

You try to ignore his words, try to convince yourself he’s doing it on purpose, trying to mentally break you. Yet you can’t deny those words play exactly into your doubts, your fears. Have they really left you here, choosing Shepherd over you? Would they decide to do that? How easy had that decision been made?

Tears blur your vision as you stare up at Phil, your eyes burning as you try to put on the bravest face you can. You won’t let him have the satisfaction of knowing he’s getting to you, playing into your fears.

“Unfortunately, that means I have to hurt you.” He stands up straight, staring down at you for a moment before pulling his fist back, hitting you across the face.

You see stars for a moment, your head snapping to the side. The left side of your face is numb, the taste of metal flooding over your tongue. You’re bleeding, blood pooling in your mouth. A hand grips your chin, pulling you back so you’re sitting up straight in the chair. You stare up at Phil, the fear fading away to anger as you glare up at him. Your face is throbbing, and you know it’s going to swell and bruise later, more than it already has thanks to Corporal McKinney.

Traitorous bastard.

They all are.

“I do feel bad for hurting that pretty face.” He says, stroking your jaw with his thumb.

The movement is impulsive, the anger becoming too much. You spit the blood in your mouth in his face, the droplets splattering across his skin. He turns his head away for a moment, bringing his other hand up to wipe at the blood.

“That wasn’t very nice.” He says, looking down at you.

“Fuck you, you fucking creep!” You yell, kicking at him with your bad leg.

He releases your face, catching your leg easily. He pushes his thumb against the bullet wound, all the fight leaving you as pain tears through your body. You let out a scream, trying to pull your leg away but he won’t let you. He holds his thumb there as you scream, the tears streaming down your face.

“Okay, okay please! Please stop!” You beg, the pain radiating up into your hip and side. You can’t take it anymore, your brain starting to go fuzzy as you hyperventilate.

He releases your leg, his hand wrapping around your throat to lift your face. The tears are streaming down your cheeks, mixing with the blood from the cut on your cheek. There’s no sympathy, not even regret in his eyes as he stares down at you.

“I don’t want to hurt you, but if you can’t behave, I’ll have to do just that.” He releases you as you continue to hyperventilate, your eyes starting to glaze. You’re distressing. Will Phil help you? Will he do what he has to do to keep you alive? If you die, there won’t be anything stopping your pack. The entire plan will be over. They’ll go after Shepherd, then they’ll hunt down Phil.

Cold ice water hits you in the face, shocking you back into clarity. Phil is holding the cup of water he’d been letting you drink from periodically. You blink at him as water drips into your eyes, your breaths hitching but far slower than they had been. You’re awake and aware now.

You didn’t even know it was possible to do that.

“Don’t distress on me now.” He says, putting the cup down. “We have so much ahead of us.” He moves around to the back of your chair, bending down until his breath hits your ear. “Besides, you make me help you out of distress, I might not be able to stop myself.”

Your eyes pinch closed as his lips brush the shell of your ear before he stands back up, tears mixing with the icy water still sliding down your face.

Christine nearly runs down the ramp once the plane has stopped on the runway. She’s jet lagged and worn out after eight hours of worrying, but she’s eager not only to finally get some news on you and your status, but to see her brother for the first time in a long time.

It’s not hard to find him.

“Chrissy!” He grins, hugging her tightly.

She has half a mind to complain about the nickname she’d endured her entire childhood, but she can’t find it in her as she hugs her brother tightly. She’s missed him, more than she realized. Their jobs have kept them busy, her with her medical studies and practice, and Alex with...whatever it is he does.

“It’s been far too long.” She says, pulling away from him. She’d love to stand there and hug him for an hour, but she can’t. They have more important things to do. Time is of the essence, if her worst fears are true.

“A lot has happened, a lot has changed.” He says.

She looks him over, spotting the more noticeable changes in comparison to the last time they were face to face. “You could say that.”

“We can talk about it later.” He turns to the other person with him, a woman. “Christine, this is Farah.” He introduces her. “Farah, this is my baby sister Christine.”

“Nice to meet you.” Farah says, shaking her hand.

“You as well.” Christine looks between them for a moment. She knows that look in Alex’s eyes as he looks at Farah.

“We should get moving.” Farah says, ignoring him.

“Laswell has moved off the grid.” Alex says, opening the driver’s side of the SUV.

Smart, if things are as bad as she thinks they are.

Christine gets into the back, letting out a long breath. She’s closer now to finding out what’s happened to you. The guilt is still eating her alive. If she just hadn’t left, if she hadn’t believed the phone call, put it above your safety.

Things might have been worse if she had stayed.

“Kate filled us in about everything.” Alex says as he drives away from the airfield. “At least in regards to the pack and your involvement.”

“There’s some things she’s not telling us.” Farah says. “Though if things are as bad as they sound, I don’t blame her.”

“I don’t know much of anything.” Christine says, staring out the window as they drive out of the city. “I feel like it’s my fault. If I hadn’t left her alone...”

“It’s hardly your fault.” Alex says, glancing at her in the rearview mirror. “If this was all planned, there wouldn’t have been anything that would stop it from happening.”

“They might have done worse if you had stayed there.” Farah says, speaking Christine’s own fears aloud.

“I wish I could see her. Make sure she’s alright.” Christine says. “If something happens to her...”

“From what I hear she’s a hardy omega.” Alex says, trying to comfort her. “She’s withstood a lot. She can survive the 141, she’s probably giving them hell as we speak.”

**Content Warnings: light torture, choking to the point of almost passing out, blood, very detailed descriptions of pain, non-fatal stabbing**

It’s getting hard to breathe. Phil’s grip around your throat is getting tighter and tighter, less and less oxygen getting to your bloodstream and your brain. Your mouth has an almost permanent metallic taste as blood drips down your chin. Blood stains Phil’s arm from where you bit him, teeth marks red and angry looking from where they broke the skin.

“You fucking bitch.” He growls, jaw clenched. “Your alpha should have taught you some manners.”

His hand squeezes tighter, cutting the air off entirely. You begin to panic, tugging against the restrains with your raw, cut up wrists. Black dots begin to dance in your vision, your legs straining against the zip ties keeping them attached to the chair. Your hands and feet are going numb, your entire body tingling. This is it. You’re going to be choked to death.

He holds his hand there for a moment, letting you struggle before he lets go and you suck in a gasp of air. You slump over in the chair, blood splattering on the floor as you cough, your throat raw and sore. Tears burn in your eyes as you heave, trying to get the oxygen flowing through your body again.

Phil bends down to your level as you sit there, head hanging as blood drips from your mouth. Your tongue is raw from how many times you’ve bitten it. It’s impossible to tell how much time has really passed. There’s no windows in the room. The only light source is the cracks around the door behind you. Even then with the bright light in your face constantly, it’s hard to tell anything anymore.

“Feisty still, but everyone has their limits.” His hand cups your chin as he stands, lifting your face to follow him. His hand holds the back of your head up as he wipes at the blood under your nose and on your chin almost gently.

Tears stream down your cheeks as you stare up at him, unable to even care anymore that his hand is so close to your neck. All he has to do is move it down just slightly and squeeze and you’ll be unaware of anything around you, at the mercy of his bidding.

That would almost be a relief.

He dumps another icy cup of water over your head, keeping you from slipping too much into a panic. The cold water stings the cut on your chest and the one on your arm as it slides down your shoulders. You’ve lost the ability to feel the throbbing in your calf, numb to most of the pain in your body.

Why haven’t they come for you? Where is your pack?

Have they written you off for good? Was finding Shepherd more important than you?

Phil’s phone goes off, your stomach dropping. He stares at the screen for a second before turning back to you.

You shake your head, the tears cascading down your cheeks. “No,” You start to shake. “No, please-”

“You know I have to, darlin’.” He moves behind you, tugging on your hair to keep your head up as one of his men stands in front of you with a phone in hand.

He counts down on his fingers before pressing record.

“Seems you boys still can’t follow orders. Your omega sure wishes you would.” Phil says as he reaches around your head, holding your chin in his hand. He tilts your head back making you look up at him. “Don’t you, darlin’. Tell them. Tell them how much you wish they’d follow orders.”

You’re still crying, unable to stop as you stare at the camera. They really have given up on you. They’ve deemed you unworthy of saving. They’ve let you sit here and be beat up and tortured all because they put the job first.

They really have given up on you.

Are they even watching?

“Please,” You croak out, half begging your pack to care, half begging Phil to have mercy.

“Since you can’t seem to bring yourselves to care about your own omega,” He shifts slightly, someone handing him something behind you. You catch a glint of metal, your heart rate picking up. You’re panicking, breaths coming in shaky gasps. You know he can do worse. He’s threatened worse, but what is he going to do? “It seems you need a little more...motivation.”

You try to wiggle out of his grasp in panic, wrists bleeding again from tugging at the zip ties. They’re coated in your blood, your leg throbbing but you don’t care. You need to get away, get free. “No, no-”

You let out a scream.

It’s sharp and piercing, but nowhere near the sharp pain in your neck. It fires through your very nerve endings, making you aware of the very cells in your body. It shoots up into your brain, igniting every neuron in your brain. Your very blood feels like it’s boiling, your skin on fire from the pain. Every inhale feels like you’re breathing in sand, and every exhale is like glass shards dragging through your lungs and up your throat. The tears streaming down your face may as well be slicing through layers of skin, every wound pulsing and throbbing with a new kind of angry vengeance.

You’re sobbing, nearly choking on air as the pain continues to pulse in your body. It’s too much, every sensation inside and outside of your body meshing together in an agonizing harmony.

“Shhh.” Phil tries to shush you as he bends down, his cheek resting against the side of your head. “I know, I know. You’ll be alright.” He presses a kiss to the side of your head before letting you go limp in the chair.

Your scream still hangs in the air even after the video ends.

It’s otherwise silent in the room, all eight of them feeling the weight of their decisions on their shoulders. The scents in the air are full of pain and regret and guilt and anger.

“Was that fatal?” Kate asks, breaking the tense silence.

“No.” Christine chokes out, her voice shaky. Her hands are trembling where they’re tucked against her sides. Her arms are crossed over her chest, trying to bring herself some kind of comfort after what she had just watched. “He went for the scent gland. It’s not a fatal injury, unless you go too deep, but he knew what he was doing.” She swallows the lump in her throat. “It’s just incredibly painful.”

Her words hang in the air for a moment, all of them still trying to process what they had just seen.

John slams his hands on the table, all of them jumping. “I fucking told you.” He says, his voice laced with the deep growl of his alpha. “I fucking told you Kate, she should have been flown out here as soon as you made the call.”

“I know.” Kate says, undeterred by his anger. She’s seen it many times, though she’s rarely been on the receiving end of it. “I know, I made a bad call. None of us knew they would take it this far.”

“But we knew something was going on behind the scenes.” John says, still radiating anger. “All precautions should have been taken.”

“There was no guarantee her being here would have stopped them. She might not have been any safer here.” Kate says, trying to ease his anger, even though she knows it’s completely warranted. “This goes far deeper than we thought it did. Even before this plan was set into motion.” She waits a moment, letting the air settle. “A year ago, a convoy was smuggling missiles and other weapons into the Middle East in an off-the-books operation. The convoy was attacked and the missiles and arms were stolen by a Russian PMC group. The operation was conducted under the command of Shepherd, and the soldiers in the convoy were all Shadow Company.”

“That’s how Graves is tied into this.” Kyle says.

“It goes deeper than that.” Kate says, pulling up a file and displaying it on screen. “The missiles and weapons being smuggled weren’t being sent to aid allies in the Middle East. Shepherd sold them to AQ and the Russians. The PMC group that attacked Shadow Company was hired by Shepherd to make it look like an ambush.”

“Fucking weasel.” Simon growls.

“I don’t know how much Graves knows, or how much he helped hide the entire operation, but his ties to this go even deeper.” Kate says, and they all shift closer. “Graves has history with your omega.” She says, pulling up an old photo. “We combed through one of her brothers’ Facebook pages. Found an old photo of her dad with Graves. They served on the same base when her family lived in Texas before Graves left to join MARSOC. She would have still been a child at the time.”

They stare at the photo, Graves clearly identifiable as he stands next to another man, beers in their hands. There’s two other boys in the photo, young and grinning at the camera. Standing in front of Graves is a little girl, a happy grin on her face. They’re all in various combinations of red, white, and blue.

4th of July, they assume.

“That’s how she got into the institute so fast.” John says, staring at the photo. He’s never seen a photo of your father before. You must take after your mother. “Graves pulled the strings.”

Kate nods. “He did, but under the condition he would be the one to claim her when she grew old enough. The CIA wiped out that claim when they froze her file.”

The 141 all shift on their feet, sharing looks. John feels a sick twisting in his stomach at the implications. Your position in the photo suddenly makes sense. Anger burns in him, deep and bubbling like magma. He’ll kill the bastard.

“This is revenge then.” Johnny says.

“In a way, I think.” Kate says. “We took away what he wanted. Graves wasn’t going to pass up this opportunity. He’s not afraid to get his hands dirty.”

“This all is what the initiative was created for.” Christine says, leaning against the table. “A contingency in case this all was uncovered.”

“A way to control us.” Kyle says.

Kate nods. “Yes. It was all a plan to give the 141 a weakness, a way to be controlled should the situation arise. In this case it just so happened to be the uncovering of his traitorous arms deals.”

“We were all pawns in this.” Christine says.

“We let them walk right in and take control like that.” John says, turning to Christine. “You let them walk in and take our omega.”

She turns to face him, undeterred by his agitation and anger. “I did what I thought was right at the time. I got a call from one of the front desk workers in the med center saying that someone was waiting in my office for me.” She explains. “They wouldn’t say who it was, and the whole thing felt off. I knew whoever would be visiting me was not going to be friendly, so I felt it was safer to leave her in the barracks than take her with me and risk something happening in a place she doesn’t know well. In the barracks at least she’d know places to hide and barricade herself.”

She takes a deep breath, still facing down John fearlessly. He’s coiled tight like a spring, ready to jump at any moment should he deem it necessary. It’s those protective instincts, the knowledge that his omega is somewhere else, taken unwillingly and being tortured feeding into that need to fight.

“My office door was open when I got there.” She continues. “I always leave it locked. I went in prepared to fight, but I was attacked from behind. Hit over the head and drugged with something fast acting, something that would keep me incapacitated long enough for him to strike.” She stares up into his eyes, projecting her scent just a bit to try and get him to calm down. “We all made mistakes here, things we thought were the right choice at the time.”

She’s not wrong. They all know it. They had just seen proof of it.

“The assailant?” John asks, turning back to Kate.

“Corporal McKinney.” Kate says. “He was in Shepherd’s pocket from the start. Someone who could watch first-hand. Someone who could sneak into the barracks unnoticed without many questions. He was likely the one that put the cameras up.”

“Fucking wanker.” Simon growls. “He approached her once in the mess. Early on. Tried to introduce himself to her. Backed off as soon as I intervened. Never tried again, at least that we know of.”

“She never mentioned him.” Christine says. “Or anyone else on base that might have tried to approach her.”

“Where is he now?” Kyle asks. They’re all angry, frustrated. How had they not seen this happening?

“Local police tracked his car to an abandoned airfield not far outside of Hereford.” Kate says. “He was dead inside. Police ruled it suicide.”

“I’m sure it was.” John says.

They all know it wasn’t.

“Shadow Company likely picked her up from there with orders to stage a suicide.” Kate says.

“One less loose string to worry about.” Simon says. “Covers their tracks in England.”

They all go quiet. How this had all happened right under their noses? They’re all guilty of falling for it, for being too trusting in a world they know they can’t be too careful in. Allies can turn on a dime and become enemies. Betrayals can be easily bought. Things can turn downhill within a blink of an eye. They’re supposed to be prepared for the worst, ready for every possibility.

They had written this off as a conspiracy, and now their omega is paying for it.

“We need a plan.” Farah says, breaking the silence.

“We can’t let Shepherd get away.” John says.

“We cannae just leave her.” Johnny argues against his alpha. It’s a brave thing, considering his alpha’s current mental state.

“I don’t know how much more she can take.” Simon backs his beta up, the desperation and pain on your face still visible in all of their minds.

“Let us go after Shepherd.” Alex says, offering up a solution. “He’s obviously watching for you to come after him.”

“We can move undetected.” Farah agrees. “He’s less likely to expect us. You need to focus on your omega. Shepherd will show himself again eventually.”

“Do we have a lead on their location?” Kyle asks, turning back to Kate.

She nods. “We do now. I sent a team out to try and track location through the videos and where they were being sent from.” She pulls a map up on screen. “We have a location.”

“Texas.” Alex says.

“He took her home.” Christine says.

“We have a plan then. We go after Graves, Farah and Alex start tracking Shepherd. Kate is eyes in the sky for us.” John says.

“She’s going to need medical attention as soon as possible.” Christine says. She looks at Kate. “Where is the nearest military base from their location?”

Kate types on her computer. “Naval Air Station Joint Reserve Base in Fort Worth.”

“Get me there and I’ll be waiting. She’s going to need someone she knows.” She says, looking at John. “She’s not going to just let anyone close to her after this. She may not even let you close.”

John stares down at her for a long moment. She stares back unflinchingly. She doesn’t get intimidated easily, not after years of dealing with institutes and alphas alike.

He lets out a breath, staring down at her for a long moment before he nods. “I trust you.”

“Short reunion this time.”

“I’m just glad I got to see your face again.” Christine says, looking up at Alex.

“Things are...complicated.” He says. “Maybe after all of this is over we can go and get some coffee. Talk about our lives...as much as we can.”

The corner of her mouth twitches up in a smile. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Alex pulls her into a hug, holding her tightly. “You’re doing good work, Chrissy.”

She shakes her head at the nickname, but she holds him just as tightly. “I’m trying to.”

Alex pulls away, squeezing her arms. “I’d say you are. You care a lot. To the point some might call it a character defect.”

She scoffs, slapping his chest playfully. “Not like you’re much better.” She glances at the car where Farah is waiting patiently. “I’m happy for you.”

“Oh, we’re....” Alex blushes to his ears. “We’re not...”

She gives him a look. “Mhm sure.” She looks up at him one more time. “Be safe.”

“As best I can.” He says. “Take care of yourself. Don’t be too hard on yourself either.”

“I try not to be.” She squeezes his hand before stepping away.

She watches the SUV drive off, stomach churning with nerves for both of them. Shepherd is dangerous, but Alex has fearlessly faced down danger since he was a kid. He’s always been brave and determined, loyal and unafraid to do what he thinks is right no matter what. She trusts him to take care of himself, she trusts Farah to help him, even if she only met the woman today.

She trusts them both to take care of each other. She trusts them both to help put an end to this.

**Content Warning: Blood, vomiting, 'mega forces herself into a panic attack**

Your body aches, muscles screaming. You can’t take much more. Your cheek throbs painfully, swollen to the point you almost can’t see out of your left eye. The pain burning from your neck makes the other pain in your body nearly irrelevant, nearly nonexistent. It’s like electricity, burning through your very cells. Every movement seems to make it flare, makes the electric shock jolt through you. The burning pain that follows makes you whimper, a pathetic choking sound squeaking out from your bruised throat.

The pain makes you nauseous, vomit staining the front of your shirt and pants. It’s mostly bile and the little food you’ve gotten since your kidnapping.

Nutrient bars, meant to keep you fed and nourished for a short period of time.

You may never be able to eat them again.

“Fuck.” Graves curses, staring at his phone. “They’ve backed off.” He steps up to you, looking down on your pathetic form. “Looks like your boys do care about you after all.”

Do they? Are they really coming for you, or have they simply given up chasing Shepherd because they lost all their leads. Will they come for you, or will they leave you here to rot? What will Graves do then? Try to take you as his own omega? Kill you out of anger?

Your stomach churns and you can feel the bile rising.

You vomit again, the warm liquid splashing into your lap. You can’t lean far enough anymore, not without the risk of not being able to pull yourself back up, not with the pain burning your every movement. You can’t even lift your head anymore, your body weak and battered and bruised. There’s blood everywhere, on you and on the floor. You can still taste it in your mouth, mixing with the sourness of bile.

Graves gives you a disgusted look before turning to the others in the room. “Duran, Lewis, keep watch. The rest of you come with me.”

He leaves the room for the first time in what you assume is days. For once the cocktail of scents begins to disperse, all but two of the alphas finally disappearing. Where they’re going or what they’re going to do, you don’t know. You can’t bring yourself to care either way. You just want to go home. You want to see your mother again, your brothers and sisters, even your father would be a welcome sight after this. You want your alpha, you want him to hold you, to take you in his arms, keep you safe.

He abandoned you. He left you to suffer like this.

Your breathing picks up as you sit there, chin to chest as you stare at your bloody shirt. The smells in the room are awful, the scents no longer there to block out the sour bile and metallic stench blood. Tears are streaming down your cheeks, pink tinted splatters dripping onto your pants. What are you going to do now? What are they going to do to you now? Will they keep you alive long enough for your pack to arrive then kill you in front of them? Will they torture them too, make them watch as the life slowly leaves your eyes in revenge for chasing after Shepherd?

A sob rips through your sore throat up out of your lips.

You just want to go home.

You just want to be free.

You can be.

Distress. The final defense. The last ditch effort omegas have to save themselves. Distress will lead to your omega taking over, and if nothing else, a quiet death you won’t even realize is happening. Your body will give out and you’ll be safely tucked into the back of your brain, comforted by your instincts. You won’t have to worry anymore. You won’t have to care.

If nothing else, the pain will be over.

I’m sorry.

You begin to breathe heavier, ignoring the pain in your body as you push yourself to hyperventilate. The alphas behind you might do something, might try to stop it. They could, but would they even know how? Would it even work if you got too far? They’re not your alpha. They can’t comfort you, bring you back from the edge without forcing you. Will they even bother?

You tilt your head to the side, putting pressure on your injured scent gland. You sob at the pain, the burning flowing straight into your very cells, making them scream. You push through it, your wrists twisting against the zip ties, digging them further into your already damaged wrists. The pain pushes you to a point of panic, your heart rate through the roof. You can feel it, the tightening of your muscles, your joints locking into place.

You’ve never done it purposefully before, but in this state, it’s not hard.

They left you. They’ve abandoned you. They’ve given up. It’s all your fault they left. They’re not coming for you. You’re not worth it.

The thoughts send you down the spiral, the edges of your vision starting to go dark. You’re floating away, hands and feet going numb as your wheezing, shallow breaths block the oxygen from getting to your brain. You’re sinking, your body floating as you begin to retreat into the back of your mind. The cage is open, your omega soothing you as you drift off, curling up in the back recesses of your mind.

You’re safe now. She whispers.

There’s no going back.

You’re going to get out.

Even if you have to do it yourself.

The last breath you remember taking is shaky, making you cough before your vision begins to fade to grey, then to black. You’re getting out of here no matter what. You’re going to go to sleep. If you fail, you’ll never know it. Your death will be quick and gentle and you’ll never know it happened until you’ve moved on to whatever is next.

You won’t remember any of this. That’s your only consolation.

Your vision fades to black as all memory and awareness leaves you. The last thing you remember is the snap of the zip ties around your wrists as they break.

“Graves has moved with some of his men to the western building. It’s likely the hostage is being held in the eastern building. Gaz and I will go after Graves. Ghost and Soap will try to secure the hostage.”

“Keller is on her way to NAS JRB as we speak. They’re on standby for medevac.”

“Stealth is our priority. They know we’re here, we risk losing the hostage. Quick and quiet, take them by surprise. The faster we do this, the sooner it will all be over.”

**Content Warning: blood and slight gore, someone gets shot offscreen, some gorey and explicit imagery towards the end**

He’s not unfamiliar with high stakes missions. It’s his specialty. He’s cool and calm under stress and pressure, which is why he gets chosen for them. He can detach easily, get the job done and then go home and forget.

So why are his hands shaking?

This isn’t a high stakes mission, not like one he’s used to doing. The stakes are higher, higher than he’s ever had before. It’s not just eliminating some faceless target, it’s not just rescuing some faceless hostage.

It’s rescuing you.

He hates that you were involved in all of this. He hates that they all fell for it, blind to the truth, blind to Shepherd’s traitorous actions. They refused to entertain those conspiratorial thoughts, and now you’re paying for it. He knows why Price made the decision he did, he understands the logic behind it.

He hated it, though.

How far would Graves have taken it if they had chosen to go after you first. Would things have gotten this bad? Or would he still have hurt you, tortured you just out of sheer anger for what happened between the two of you? He wouldn’t give up just because Shepherd told him to stop. He’s ruthless and uncaring of who he hurts and why. He gets his orders and he completes them, no matter what, so long as whoever is giving those orders can pay a high enough price.

How much did he get for this assignment? How much did he settle for once he learned you were involved?

Far too much despite that fact, most likely. Maybe he should become a merc. Less rules and more money.

It’s not a bad idea.

He lasers his focus on the building as they creep through the trees, moving silently. Two against however many are inside. It was impossible to tell with how many were moving between the two buildings constantly.

He brought the whole squad. He planned on putting up a fight regardless.

At least they have the element of surprise on their hands.

“We move silently through the building.” He says as they approach the door. There’s two guards standing outside. “They know we’re inside, things could go downhill quickly.”

“On you, LT.” Johnny says, taking point beside him.

“Drop one, I’ll take the other.” He says, aiming at one of the two Shadows guarding the door.

It’s quick and quiet, their bodies slumping onto the damp dirt. Simon scans the area before moving forward to the door. It’s unlocked, Johnny pushing it open slowly to check for a trip wire.

None.

Sloppy, or perhaps on purpose. They can’t be too careful. Shepherd will have let Graves know they’re not on his trail anymore. He’ll be expecting them.

They split up, combing the bottom floor of the building. He takes out two more Shadows, checking every room for a sign of their target, but they find none.

“Second floor.” He says, waiting at the base of the stairwell for Johnny to join him.

“You think she’s in here?” Johnny asks as they creep up the stairs, careful not to make too much noise.

“Well, we’ll find out.”

It’s far too unguarded to where they’re holding you. Graves will have assumed they’d split up. He must have moved most of his men to the western building to put up as much of a barricade as possible. He can picture Graves standing there, the smirk on his face as he holds a gun to your head. Will he take that risk, shoot you in front of them and give them nothing to live for? Or will he use a knife, letting you die a slow, painful death in front of them?

Or, maybe he moved them to the western building to make them think that’s where you are. Focus their attacks there so they leave you behind. He gets cornered, he send the word to kill you before any of them can get to you.

More red herrings.

He pauses before he reaches the top of the steps, taking out the shadow standing down the hallway. They split up again, looking through rooms at the top of the stairs, making their way down the hallway.

One of the doors is open, and he silently motions for Johnny. He counts down silently in his head before rounding the corner, rifle up as he scans the room. His stomach churns as he looks inside, taking a couple cautious steps forward. He’s seen a lot of things in his time, done a lot of things, but this is different.

“Screaming Jesus.” Johnny says, lowering his rifle as he steps in behind Simon.

There’s blood everywhere.

It’s coating the floors, leaving a sticky residue as it dries. It’s the room you were in. He recognizes it from the video, and the bright light in the corner is a dead giveaway. The chair in the middle of the room has been broken, the wood of the arms snapped off and splintered. There’s four bloody zip ties on the floor, along with several instruments on the floor including the ice pick.

He wants to shove that into Graves’ eye for what he did to you.

There’s two bodies on the floor, one of them dead in a pool of his own blood, the other choking as blood seeps onto the floor under him. He steps up to the shadow, putting his boot on his chest and pushing. The Shadow lets out a groan, coughing up blood.

“Where the fuck is she?” He growls, staring down at the quickly paling face.

“Fucking bitch went crazy.” He chokes out. “Went running.”

Simon steps back, pulling out his handgun and firing two bullets into the Shadow’s head.

“Price, we found the room.” He says into his comm. “The hostage isn’t here. A half-dead Shadow said she bolted.”

“LT.” Johnny says, motioning to the door, the only other exit from the room. There’s a bloody handprint on the door, one too small to be one of the Shadows’.

“I think she managed to get out.” He says, staring at the handprint. His stomach drops, his hand tightening around his rifle. He glances down at the bodies, throats cut and faces bloody. “I think her omega took over.”

“You and Soap go after her. She’ll do the one thing she knows to do, the one instinctual thing she can do if she has nothing to fight.” Price says. “We’ve got Graves cornered.”

Simon pushes the door open, cool air flowing into the stuffy room. There’s bloody shoe prints heading down the stairs. He can see the rapid turn on the concrete below before they head off towards the trees.

“I’ve got a trail.” He says.

“Go.” Price says. “Simon...you know what you have to do.”

He does.

He motions for Johnny to follow before hurrying down the stairs. The longer they delay, the further you’ll get. He doesn’t doubt some Shadows followed you if you made that much of a ruckus. The more time they waste, the more dangerous things get, and not just because they might lose you or the shadows might catch up.

He races towards the treeline, rifle in hand, but there’s no one else standing guard. Price and Gaz will have taken care of those in the other building, and those that were outside probably went after you.

He slows once they break the treeline, trying to catch any hint of your scent that might be left. His only hope is that you’ve left a trail. He’s a tracker, he knows what he’s doing. His senses are stronger, more in tune. He can find you. He can track you down. He has to.

The guilt is eating him alive. If something happens to you, he’ll never forgive himself. He’s right here, so close and yet so far. You’re running on borrowed time and there’s only so much of it left. Eventually you have to slow, eventually your body will start giving up. Will it be too late then? If a Shadow finds you when you can’t fight back...

“Dead Shadow ahead.” Johnny says, motioning to the slumped over body ahead of them. “We’re on the trail.”

“Let’s hope she left more markers on the way.” He says, kicking the Shadow, but the stab wound in his neck is all Simon needs to know. “Keep going straight.” He says, continuing on the path they’ve been following. He needs just a whiff, a hint of your scent. Something.

They come across another dead Shadow, this one off to the side of the path they had been following. He turns, making an adjustment before moving forward. Johnny keeps close, both of them watching for more Shadows, or for any glimpse of you. All they can hope is they’re on the right path.

He nearly sets off in a run as he hears a sound ahead. It’s a yowl, almost like a mountain lion. It sends a tingle down his back, his alpha blaring warning alarms. A threatened omega is a dangerous thing. Fierce and protective of themselves, capable of great feats and lethal if you get too close.

It’s you, no doubt.

Price had been right.

He has no choice.

He pushes forward, his steps quick as he makes his way through the bushes. He spots you near a boulder, trying to fight off a Shadow. He’s got the upper hand, using his size against you. You’re getting tired, your movements slowing. Simon aims with his rifle, a shot to the head dropping the Shadow. You drop into a crouch, surveying the trees. You’re covered in blood, a knife in your hand as your wild eyes search for them.

“Distract her.” He says to Johnny. “Make yourself as unthreatening as possible. I’ll go around and get her from behind.”

He doesn’t even wait for an acknowledgement before he’s moving, slipping around to the side of the boulder. Johnny steps into the clearing slowly, holding his hands up, talking to you quietly.

“Easy, kitten. Ye know who I am.” Johnny is careful not to get too close, his steps slow as he moves to the side, getting you to turn. “We’re just here to help ye. Get ye home and safe.”

You’re holding the knife up, brandishing it at Johnny. Simon isn’t sure if you’ve ever thrown a knife before, but he doesn’t put it past you to try in this state.

He hopes Johnny’s reflexes are fast enough.

He slips out from behind the boulder as you pause, wasting no time as he races up behind you and grabbing you before you can bolt or go for Johnny’s neck. You let out another yowl, struggling against him as he wraps an arm around your chest. Your teeth sink into his arm and he lets out a curse, but he doesn’t let go. He lets go, they won’t get another chance. It’ll be too late.

He doesn't want to do it. His mind flashes back to his father and mother, one of the few times his mother fought back. It hadn’t lasted long before her body went limp, practically a ragdoll in his father’s hold. Simon had grabbed Tommy and ran, barricading them in his room. They didn’t want to see what was going to happen next.

He doesn’t want that kind of control over you, he doesn’t want to put you through that trauma. The disorientation, the fear, the confusion. That must have been what it felt like after being sedated during your heat. You had been sick for days, crying in Johnny’s room. He had heard every sob, every attempt to soothe you.

He put you through that. He made you face that down despite the fear on your face as Johnny escorted you to the med center.

And now he has to do it again.

He has to this time. He has no choice. His only other option is to let you die. Price will never forgive him. Johnny won’t even look at him again. He’d betray them worse than you did, worse than Shepherd, worse than Graves.

You never really betrayed them in the first place, though.

You were afraid, untrusting of them, unsure because of your past. He had been foolish to blame you, foolish to think it was somehow your fault. You acted out of fear, out of terror. How you must have felt in those moments when that beta showed up, when you faced down Shepherd alone, when you returned to find your space invaded and those cameras all over your room. They weren’t there to protect you, they weren’t there to support you. They left you alone and you hid it from them because you didn’t know any better, because you were so afraid.

He’s a goddamn fucking prick he’s been.

Tears blur his vision as he tucks his free arm behind you, shifting your position just enough so he can get his hand around the back of your neck. You kick out with your legs, releasing his arm, your head tilting back in a last ditch, instinctual effort to protect yourself.

His eyes squeeze closed as you let out a yelp, his fingers digging into the back of your neck. It’s hard enough it will leave a bruise, but he has to be sure. It’s the only thing that might save you. It’s his only option, his only chance to keep you alive.

“There you go.” He says quietly into your ear. “Need you to relax for me.”

Your body goes limp in his hold, head resting back against his hand as he holds you there. Your muscles twitch as the tension leaves you, eyelids fluttering before they close. His arm stings where your teeth had sunk into his skin, hard enough to draw blood, but he doesn’t care.

“Keep resting.” He says, easing his hand from the back of your neck as he shifts you in his arms. “Gonna get you somewhere safe.”

You’re like a ragdoll in his arms as he lifts you up, cradling you against his chest. You’re warm, hair sticking to your forehead.

“Call it in.” He tells Johnny, his eyes still glued to your face. “We need that medevac now.”

“Price, we got her.” Johnny says into his comm. “We need medevac stat.”

You look so peaceful despite the blood soaking your body. Partially yours, partially the Shadows you killed in your escape. You look like a gruesome painting, a gorey depiction of an omega pushed too far. Something they’d put on display in a museum, a photo that would win prizes in celebration of such a natural state caught on camera. It would be circulated for decades, something talked about centuries from now.

A raw view of humanity’s inner beasts.

He can’t stand it, seeing you like this. They did this to you. They are the reason you’re like this. They made the bad call in the end, they put you through this. You won’t forgive them, not after everything. You went weeks without them, without a word and then this happened. Innocence tainted in the blood of the guilty. The bloodstained omega held in the arms of the blood-tainted alpha. He should be the one covered in their blood. He should be the one carrying the weight of torture and desperation on his shoulders.

The guardian dog covered in blood in the name of protecting his innocent sheep.

How he’s failed you. How they all failed you.

He pushes past the pain, past the grief, past the guilt and the horror of what they did to you, what they put you through.

They’ve got you back. You’re safe.

It’s over.

NEXT ->

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#call of duty #call of duty fic #poly 141 #poly 141 x reader #tf 141 x reader #John price x reader #captain price x reader #Simon Riley x reader #Ghost x reader #Kyle Garrick x reader #gaz x reader #soap x reader #John mactavish x reader #a/b/o #alpha/beta/omega dynamics #omegaverse

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jjunieworld · 7 months

Text

sex for dummies! 𓄹 📈 ₊˚ ␥

pairing: park sunghoon x fem!reader

genre: academic rival au, rivals to lovers, smut, some angst, university au, academic rival!sunghoon, glasses!sunghoon, kinda tsundere!sunghoon, some fluff if you squint, mentions of debates

synopsis: your life seemed to be going perfectly as student body president and smartest person in your university… until your grades started to slip. it got worse when you have to be tutored by the student body vice president, park sunghoon, your rival and the person you hate the most. it then somehow got even worse when he ends up being your partner for your debate team’s competition.

warnings: mean dom!sunghoon, bratty sub!reader, brat & brat tamer dynamics, unprotected sex (gasp, no!!), creampie, multiple orgasms, petnames (baby, good girl, slut), a lot of overstimulation (f. rec), slight fingering, hate sex, rough sex(?), dirty talk, exhibition(?), a lot of degradation/humiliation (f. rec), some possessiveness, some marking, they’re arguing all the time (like all the time), manhandling, some hair pulling (f. rec), super sweet aftercare …. jesus this is so filthy LMAOO

word count: 14k┊masterlist

a/n: plotting this was a wild ride but actually writing it… that was a whole journey… i didn’t mean for it to be this nasty but i dunno what can you do ¯\(◡‿◡✿) /¯ hdjsbfjdnd!/;)! and i’m gonna be real with you all… idk shit about debates i had to google everything lmaooo i hope you enjoy! ♡

“i certainly didn’t expect this from you, y/n,” your teacher said, a look of deep disappointment on her face. “you’re the top in all your classes, in the whole school, why are you letting your grades slip like this? is there something going on?” she put a comforting hand on your shoulder, her eyebrows furrowing as she looked between you and your latest test scores.

it’s not that they have dropped dramatically—like from an A+ to a sudden D average—but they have been slowly going down more and more. your once perfect scores now barely making it past a ninety percent. you didn’t even know why your scores were falling. you haven’t felt particularly stressed and there wasn’t anything going on in your personal time. maybe it was because exams were nearing closer and closer? but you’ve always aced them, so that couldn’t be why. maybe you’ve been distracted? you felt like you’ve been distracted.

you gave your teacher, mrs. yoo—who was also your debate coach, a shake of your head, “no, ma’am, there’s nothing like that. i’m not sure why they’re slipping, but i’ll work harder from here on out!” she nodded, putting the papers back into the manila folder they were in. “good, we can’t have our student body president falling behind, especially with our debate competition right around the corner and the upcoming exams! i took it upon myself to ask one of the debate team members to help tutor you.”

it was your turn for your brows to furrow, “but, ma’am, i don’t need tutorin—“ mrs. yoo cut you off with a deep nod and a raised hand, “i know, i know. let’s not call it tutoring… let’s call it… helping. assistancing.” as she spoke there was a knock at her classroom door and the sound of it opening. “oh! here he is!” mrs. yoo added. you had to hide the anger that wanted to make itself known at the person who walked into the classroom. with a smile and hidden smugness in his walk, park sunghoon stepped into the classroom and to you and mrs. yoo.

you didn’t miss the way his stare mocked you, the slight upturn in the corner of his mouth. mrs. yoo gave sunghoon a warm smile, “y/n, i’m sure you know sunghoon, the student body vice president!” it took everything in you to twist the corners of your mouth into a polite smile. “of course, i know him well!” you said as you turned to him. oh, you knew him well alright. knew how good and well you hated every inch of him. knew well how infuriating he was, especially since he noticed your grades slipping. knew well every snide remark he would make about how he was ahead of you, smarter than you, better than you.

sunghoon pushed the frames of his glasses up his nose bridge, his smile widening at you. you could read his expression, how the mighty fall. you were sure him “tutoring” you until your grades got to how they were before would fuel him for lifetimes to come.

sunghoon nodded at you, his attention turning back to mrs. yoo, but the smugness in his smile never leaving. “he’ll be assisting you until you’re back on your feet. the meetups will be on your time, so discuss that amongst yourselves. i’ll be checking up on the two of you here and there for updates on how the process is going,” mrs. yoo said, giving the two of you one final look. “oh! and before i forget—the two of you are teammates for the debate competition. your president should be holding a meeting about it all, so the two of you can work on that as well!” mrs. yoo added, giving the both of you a bright smile.

just when you thought things couldn’t get worse today, you now have to be his teammate? your blood boiled inside and you so badly wanted to wipe the smug grin off of sunghoon’s face. giving your teacher a forced smile and a nod, you turned to leave the room with sunghoon hot on your trail.

“didn’t you say that you were the smartest here?” sunghoon asked you, coming around you to face you and making you stop in your tracks in the middle of the hallway. the polite facade had dropped and smugness reeked from him. he crossed his arms over his chest, cooing sarcastically, “is the student body president falling down a couple notches? do i have to step in for you?” you scoffed and rolled your eyes as you pushed past him, “i don’t need help, especially not from the likes of you.”

sunghoon fell smoothly into step beside you and you cursed him in your head for his long legs. “seems like you do if i’m being begged to help you,” sunghoon remarked. he moved in front of you again, leaning against the archway before the exit of the building to block your path. “just try not to drag me down with you. i don’t need my scores being effected by fucking idiots, and i don’t need to waste my time tutoring them either. meet me in the library tomorrow after the debate meeting so i can get this over with.” sunghoon swiftly turned and exited, leaving you fuming in the archway still.

slamming the exit door open, you furiously scanned your surroundings to see that sunghoon was already gone. groaning loudly, you stormed off to where your car was. you hated him. hated all of his stupid little remarks and snide comments. hated all his taunting in and out of classes. you hated how he thought he was better than you when everything stated that you were better than him. sure, your grades may be a bit on the lower side right now, but you were still the smartest in your university. still student body president—even if the title didn’t really mean much in regards to power, you still fucking had it, while he was vice president.

and now you had to be his debate partner. now the two of you have to spend even more time together than you want to, writing your speeches around the other’s and making sure nothing coincides. it felt like your life was beginning to slip through your fingers. what was happening?

your foot tapped in an annoyed rhythm as you checked the time on your phone again. sunghoon was late. you didn’t know how—you both left the meeting at the same time. at the sound of approaching footsteps, you looked up, a sneer on your face. “what the fuck took you so long? you’re wasting my time,” you spoke at sunghoon’s approaching figure.

sunghoon gave you a lame grin, “i was reserving a study room... and we both know you have nowhere else to be.” he made his way past you, not even stopping his stride, and you followed behind him. he looked back for a moment and added, “except for below the ranks.” you scoffed at him as he turned into the study room.

“the only one who will be falling in the ranks is you after these exams,” you shot back, throwing your stuff onto the table and sitting down in one of the seats heavily. sunghoon raised his eyebrows, pressing his his lips into a tight-lipped smile, “tell me that when i’m not the one tutoring you right now.” you huffed in annoyance as you got your books from your bag.

the triumphant smirk didn’t leave his face the entire time he walked you through all the portions of the subjects you were falling behind in—which you barely needed his help with since you knew them so well already. “so now do you understand why they can’t intersect?” sunghoon asked slowly, staring at you behind wide wire frames with slightly wide eyes. he spoke to you as if speaking to a child who didn’t know that the sky was blue.

“im not fucking stupid, the concept is easy,” you spat, leg shaking underneath the table that you leaned onto, your head resting on your hand in annoyance. sunghoon shrugged a little, “apparently not!” with a roll of your eyes, you closed your textbook with a little hostility. flipping your notebook back to the front and sliding the books back into your bag, you said, “that’s enough for today.”

sunghoon snickered and cooed, “is the dummy too fried? i can dumb it down more for you!” you stopped your motions to give him a sharp glare. “same time tomorrow, asshole,” you stated as you swung your bag over your shoulder. sunghoon leaned back in the chair across from you, his arms crossing against his chest and exposing his bare arms from his rolled up sleeves. he shook his head, “no. busy.”

you exhaled deeply at the simplified sentence. “i don’t care,” you replied as you turned towards the door. “cancel,” you added, and walked out. out the corner of your eye, you could see the smile on sunghoon’s face.

for the rest of the week, you met up with sunghoon for your “tutoring” sessions. they were always in the same study room in the back of the library that was less occupied, “i don’t need anyone seeing me with someone like you,” sunghoon had said.

sunghoon slapped a packet onto the table in front of your seat as you took your bag and coat off. except for your first session, he was always here before you.

you looked at him with a raised brow, “what is that?” sunghoon tilted his head to the side and squinted his eyes slightly, “me giving you the pleasure of a mock-up exam. made just for you, aren't i so sweet?” a large smile that showed his teeth appeared at the end of his sentence. scoffing as you took the seat across from him, you slide the packet over to you and flipped through it.

“complete it, and i’ll grade you. you may begin,” sunghoon said and pulled out his phone as he got comfortable in his seat. “grade me?” you laughed incredulously. who did he think he was? “that’s what i said,” he replied, not bothering to look up from his phone. “you’re not my teacher!” you exclaimed and just as quickly sunghoon replied, “i am right now.”

sighing scornfully, you flicked the page of the packet over, the loud sound making sunghoon raise an eyebrow but not his eyes. you rolled your eyes and threw the packet back on the table as you got out a pen. “this is ridiculous,” you muttered as you looked over the first question. “i know trying to sweet talk the teacher usually works in movies, but that’s not going to work here,” sunghoon spoke as he glanced up from his phone at your constant complaints.

“i didn't waste my time making the mock-up for you not to complete it,” he added. your jaw hung open and you clenched your hands into fists. “you wish i wanted to fuck you for extra credit right now,” you shot at him with a raise of your eyebrow. sunghoon just gave you a pity laugh as he turned his attention back to his phone, “you wish you could fuck me. sorry, babe, i’m too high up for you to touch.”

the next session he slapped the graded mock-up onto the table as you walked in. instead of sitting in his usual seat, he was sitting against the table on the side nearest to the door. “you’re wasting my time. why do you still show up if you’re not improving?” sunghoon said as he rose to his feet, annoyed. you took the packet and looked at the grade he gave you and turned to him in confusion. “what are you talking about? this is an A+!” he narrowed his eyes slightly at you, “and it’s not good enough, did you hear what i said? you claim you're so much smarter than me, yet your score isn’t even touching mine.

you scoffed as you threw the mock-up exam on the table next to you. “let’s see your score then!” you replied, raising your arms in the air and letting them fall to slap against your thighs heavily. “what did i tell you yesterday about the movies? we have a test coming up and i bet you’ll fail. are you seriously this dumb?” sunghoon said, shaking his head with furrowed brows.

he couldn’t be serious right now. you sarcastically nodded, turning away. “yeah… why don’t you unzip your pants and i can suck you off for a higher score?” you asked, turning back to him with a tilt of your head and your eyebrows raised. sunghoon laughed wryly, “you wouldn’t even be able to handle it… you can’t even handle the simple questions i give you. what makes you think you could handle my dick down your throat?”

“well, pull it out and we can see for ourselves!” you said loudly as you crossed your arms. the two of you breathed heavily, anger coming off of you in waves as the tension in the room grew thicker and thicker. a long moment of silence spanned between the both of you as you glared at each other, daring the other to stand down.

sunghoon shook his head to himself ever so slightly before taking one long stride and closing the distance between the two of you. he pushed you up against the wall behind you and his lips were suddenly on yours. your mouth opened in a slight groan and he slid his tongue inside your mouth as your arms raised to wrap around his neck to pull him closer. sunghoon’s hands fell to your hips and he pressed you tighter against the wall.

your tongues battled each other for dominance as you kissed each other desperately. your fingers tugged the ends of his hair and the motion caused him to let out a low moan. sunghoon gripped the jacket you wore at your hips and you could feel the growing bulge against his pants, the kiss turning sloppy.

a small whimper escaped your lips and that broke you out of your fog and made you realize just whose lips are on yours. you push sunghoon off of you, causing him to stumble backwards a little, as you take heavy breaths against the wall. sunghoon’s hands are clenched into tight, white knuckled fists near his sides and his glasses had fell down his nose. his chest rises and falls heavily with his labored breathing. the two of you stare at each other with wide eyes, slight shock and horror flowing through the both of you and—now sexual—tension suffocating you.

you licked your now plumped lips and sunghoon’s eyes followed the motion. silently, you grabbed your bag and walked out the door of the study room. you walked through the library as quickly as you could, not wanting to spend another moment in the same place as him after what had just occurred. not wanting to look at him and kiss him again.

to say your next couple session were awkward and tense would be an understatement. you had thought about not even showing up, but you didn’t want mrs. yoo to be on your case. you and sunghoon had barely spoken to each other at all, not even your usual remarks here and there. either he would give you another mock-up test and you would fill it out and he would grade it the next session, or the two of you would be on opposite sides of the table with your laptops opened, working on your speeches. the most communication the two of you had was when one of you would spin your laptop around with a raised eyebrow to make sure you were both on the same page with your speeches.

you couldn’t stop thinking about his lips on yours, the need in the way he kissed you. why did he do that? and why would you kiss him back? clearly, you weren’t in your right mind. you would leave your sessions early, the tension in the air so thick you just had to get out of the small study room.

“i hope everything is going well?” mrs. yoo asked the both of you after class. you glanced over to sunghoon who stood next to you near your teacher’s desk. a big smile was suddenly plastered across his face, “everything’s going great! y/n is really improving!” you had to resist the urge to roll your eyes. mrs. yoo’s face lit up, clearly charmed by the resident golden boy of your university, “that’s wonderful! i’m curious to see how you’ll score on tomorrow’s test!” mrs. yoo turned to you, a warm and encouraging smile on her face. “i’m curious too!” you exclaimed as you smiled back.

you and sunghoon walked to the library study room in silence. it was starting to wear at your mind and you couldn’t take it anymore. “i thought you said i was gonna fail?” you asked, turning to sunghoon with raised eyebrows. his hands were buried deep in his pant pockets as he turned to you, “you are.” rolling your eyes as you opened the study room door, you sat your stuff down while taking your jacket off and turned your attention back to him. “so then why didn’t you say that to mrs. yoo? trying to protect my feelings?” you cooed as you mockingly put a hand to your heart.

it was sunghoon’s turn to roll his eyes, “somehow your score keeps dropping. do you have worms for brains or are you not taking this seriously?” he shut the door and sat his bag on the empty chair next to the one he usually sits in. you walked up to him and trailed a finger down his chest. “oh, i’m taking this very seriously,” you replied overly flirtatious, not being able to help the slight laugh that escaped your lips at the end.

sunghoon pushed your finger off of him. “if you’re not gonna take my grading seriously then you can tell mrs. yoo why you’re gonna fail her class and be dropped to the lower ranks. you can also tell her how you’ll lose your title as president and how it’ll go to me.” he said with his signature smug smirk. you just laughed more, it was so easy to get him annoyed.

you leaned on the table towards his standing figure, giving him your best bedroom eyes, “you can grade me in something else, mr. president…” sunghoon gave you an incredulous look and was quiet. it was hard to stifle your laugh at his reaction. sunghoon sighed deeply, squeezing the area between his eyes and he shut them tightly. “fine…” he muttered and it was so low that you barely heard him. you leaned towards him further with a smile, “what was that?”

what you didn’t expect was to be pushed up against the wall again, sunghoon’s lips on yours hungrily. “i’ll grade you on how well you please me,” he said against your lips as he pinned your arms above your head. you caught your breath and replied, “i bet i’ll get an A+!” your blouse was then being pulled over your head, leaving you in your bra. your eyes caught the large square window that looked into the room and you were suddenly glad that nobody really came back here.

sunghoon’s lips were back on yours and you jolted at the cold touch of his fingers at the hem of your panties under the skirt you were wearing. “take these off,” he demanded breathlessly, pulling them down a little. your fingers overtook his and you did what you were told as sunghoon pulled his shirt off and started to unbuckle his belt. shivering from the cold air of the room, you pulled sunghoon back towards you for a kiss as your hands worked at the buttons of his pants once his belt was off.

you were dripping with need as he pushed your hands away and broke your kiss so he could take his pants and boxers off. your eyes fell down to his large cock with wide eyes. “like what you see?” sunghoon smirked as he grabbed your arm and moved you to the table.

he instructed you to take your bra off as he harshly pulled down your skirt. never in a million years would you think that you would ever be completely bare in front of park sunghoon and he would be completely bare in front of you. never in a million years would you think that he would be pushing you up onto the edge of the table, his hard cock brushing against your clit, as he spread your legs so your wet pussy was on full display for him.

sunghoon trailed the wetness with his thumb, causing you to jolt. he chuckled a little giving you a mocking sad face, “i barely even touched you… i thought you could handle it?” you glared at him and shut your legs, shifting them to the side. “says the one who was so desperate to get me naked,” you scoffed. “i could say the same about you,” sunghoon replied as he gripped one of your knees to open your legs again.

when you opened your mouth to retort, he pressed his lips to yours in an open mouthed kiss to shut you up. “you’re a good girl, aren’t you?” sunghoon asked against them and chased your lips when you tried to pull away. all you could do was nod in slight annoyance. you gasped when his fingers entered you and he started to pump them in and out. “then shut up and take my cock like one.”

sunghoon removed his fingers after a couple moments and spread your wetness over your clit. your back arched as a moan escaped you lips. smiling, sunghoon pulled away and lined his cock with your entrance. you gripped onto his biceps as he slowly started to push himself inside you, his hair falling over his glasses as he looked down.

“i hate you,” you finally spat back at him. he glanced up after bottoming out, letting out a heavy breath. you glared sharply at him. it was the only thing you could think to do to distract yourself from how full of him you felt, to stop yourself from grinding your hips towards his. sunghoon rested his hands on your knees, squeezing them slightly. he cocked his head to the side and teasingly asked, “do you? the way you’re clenching around me right now says otherwise.”

without warning, sunghoon started rolling his hips at a fast pace. your nails dug into his biceps as your brows knitted together from the pleasure. “fuck…” sunghoon muttered as he closed his eyes and threw his head back with an open mouth. “you don’t fucking know what you do to me. i imagined doing this every time you opened up that stupid little mouth of yours.”

you whined at his relentless pace, and had to sit back on your hands with a heavy breath. “like—like you ever could…” you moaned out. you were well aware that he was doing just that right now, but you didn’t care. you just wanted a reaction out of him. sunghoon looked down at you with a stupid grin, his hand moved from your knee to rub circles onto your clit with his thumb, “baby, what do you think i’m doing right now? i know you aren’t this dumb…”

you took your lip between your teeth to stop the moan that wanted to desperately come out of you. “t-this is nothing… this is me doing you a favor,” you whimpered, squirming at his fast circles. sunghoon laughed arrogantly, the loud sounds of his skin slapping against yours filling the room, “a favor? please. you were so eager for my cock like the little slut that you are that it was all you talked about since we started these fucking sessions.”

your body twitched as the knot in your stomach got tighter. sunghoon put the hand that wasn’t circling your clit behind your head to pull you to him, looking at you with blown out wide eyes and an intensely strange type of hunger. pulling your head back by your hair, his lips crashed onto yours sloppily. moaning against his lips loudly, you felt your walls clench around his hard cock tighter.

sunghoon let out a low grunt, pulling away from you and squeezing his eyes shut. it was a miracle nobody had come back to the study room yet. he was fucking you so hard that the table shook with every thrust and the chairs rattled. the sound of your moans and skin slapping together along with the wet sounds from his cock inside you should raise some warning bells. if you were in your right state of mind right now you wouldn’t be doing this at all.

your legs started to tremble and your whimpers got louder. you tried to push sunghoon’s hand away from your clit but all he did was swat away your attempt. “no. you get what you ask for, my stupid little slut. this pussy is mine until i’m finished with it,” sunghoon said lowly and kissed you, thrusting faster. you moaned against his lips and tried to still your heavy breathing, but to no use.

sunghoon pulled away, his teeth biting your lip briefly, when you tried to squeeze your legs together. “what did i just fucking tell you?” he spat as he harshly pushed your legs apart again.

you barely even heard his words, too busy with the sweet relief of his hands off your throbbing and sensitive clit. the way his thrusts slowed. “t-too much…” you trailed, crying out when his pace picked up again. his hand was back at your clit again, fast circles sending you over the edge as your back arched more and you gripped his shoulders for support. you buried your face into his bare neck as loud whimpers flew out of you.

“shh…” sunghoon shushed lowly in your ear. for a second, you thought he was gonna be sweet until he harshly added, “keep quiet before someone hears us and we both get in trouble. don’t wanna ruin that good girl image you have now, do you?” you cut off another whimper with the bite of your lip. you were sure to draw blood with how hard your teeth were biting down.

“that’s my good girl,” sunghoon soothed, pulling your head back. he pressed a sweet kiss to your lips as he looked down at you through the frames of his glasses. you avoided his eyes, shutting yours tightly altogether with knitted brows as the band finally snapped and you came around him, your body twitching. you could just hear the smug smirk in his voice when sunghoon suddenly said, “i’ll stop when you beg me to.”

your eyes flew open and your grip on his shoulders tightened. how was he not a mess from all of this like you were? how could he still ram his cock in and out of you, fingers rubbing fast against your clit, with your mixed release and arousal making everything so slick without a single tremor in his voice? you stared at him with the most furious look you could muster, “n-never.” sunghoon’s smirk widened. “you’ll be too stupid on my cock that you won’t even think twice,” he replied.

sunghoon pulled out of you, letting out the first moan you’ve heard from him as you pulsated around him. “fuck…” he breathed as he watched your cum drip out of you. your head fell back as you breathed deeply through your nose, legs still shaking. sunghoon grabbed your arms and pulled you off the table. you wobbled tremendously as your feet hit the floor and you had to hold onto sunghoon for support. he spun you and pushed you down hard on the table, sticking his cock back inside you.

he held your shaking hips steady with firm hands as he pounded into you from behind. sunghoon must’ve been close, because he was letting his moans out more freely. “fuck, y/n… your pussy feels so good around my cock,” he whimpered. the overstimulation had your fists clenching and whines leaving your lips. “f-fuck you, s-sunghoon,” you murmured and looked back at him. with another moan, you came around his length again.

with a stuttered laugh, sunghoon lifted you up against his chest and your head fell back to rest against him. his arm wrapped around your breasts and your lower stomach, holding you tight to him as his cock thrusted deeper into you. your eyes fluttered open to look up at him. sunghoon pecked the side of your mouth, “you are, baby.”

his lips fell down to your neck and he began sucking marks onto it, making you shiver. “when i’m done, everyone will know who you belong to,” sunghoon whispered lowly in your ear. he groaned and buried his head into your neck as he came undone inside of you. you whimpered at the feeling of being so full, sunghoon’s low whines in your ear, and the fact that he just didn’t stop. even after he came.

you felt the cum dripping down your thighs and for once in your entire life, you were grateful for sunghoon. if he wasn’t holding you so tightly to him you would’ve fell over. “s-sunghoon…” you whined just before he brought his lips to yours. he hummed against your lips, a smile spreading. you didn’t want to beg, you refused to beg, but the pornographic sounds emitting from your two bodies and the waves of pleasure flowing through your body were making you extremely hazy.

“sunghoon…” you whined again against his lips. he kissed you slowly, which was a contrast to how fast he was fucking into you right now. “i already told you what to do,” he replied before going back to kissing you. you shook your head, you didn’t want to. whimpering as you came once again, you whispered “p-please…” against his lips.

pulling away and chuckling lowly, sunghoon said, “please what, baby?” you scrunched your face up. you just couldn’t believe that he was making you beg and you just couldn’t believe you were actually about to do it. “please… it’s t-too much. p-please stop!” you begged him. placing another slow kiss against your lips, which he made sure to drag out with a smirk, he leaned you against the table to pull out.

your legs trembled and your walls clenched around nothing at the sudden feeling of emptiness. you fell onto the table for support as your chest rose and fell hard. vaguely, you could hear sunghoon moving around behind you, but you could barely keep your eyes open right now.

you felt gentle hands pulling you up and turning you around. “lay back on the table,” sunghoon said softly, tissues in hand. you didn’t have it in you to argue so you did what you were told. you felt him wiping between your legs and squirmed and jolted at his touch with how sensitive you were. at least the coldness of the table helped provide you comfort against your burning skin.

sunghoon grabbed your waist and helped you sit up. at some point he had grabbed your blouse, which he was now putting above your head after helping you with your bra. there was silence in the air as he got you off the table to put the rest of your clothes on, but it wasn’t a heavy silence, it was actually a comfortable one.

once you were all dressed and sitting in a chair with your coat on, he put the rest of his clothes back on too since he was only in his boxers. he outstretched his arm once he was done for you to take and you stood up with wobbly knees to grab it. “why are you being so nice to me?” you asked him quietly, more genuinely curious than suspicious. he swung your bag over his other shoulder, “i just overstimulated the shit out of you, it’s the least i could do.”

after making sure the two of you had everything, he then added, “or call it post nut clarity… i don’t really care.” you rolled your eyes at him as he led you through the library. both of your names were suddenly called and you heard approaching footsteps. turning in unison, a confused look on your face, you saw as your debate team president ran up to you.

she looked over the two of you, your intertwined arms, your closeness, and the fact that sunghoon was carrying your things with a shocked smile. “oh! you two have gotten close!” she remarked. you gave her a polite smile, your nose scrunching slightly to speak but sunghoon beat you to it, “she was having a hard time and i was around, so i’m just helping her out!”

you so badly wanted to glare at him for the double meaning of his words but didn’t want to give away what had just happened in one of the study rooms. “oh no, what happened?” your debate president asked, her brows drawing together with worry. “she’s overstimulated,” sunghoon smiled and your eyes widened as you glanced at him. “it’s been a long day…” you quickly added, cheeks heating up as you ignored the smile on sunghoon’s face. “you know, all the fluorescent lights and everything…” your president nodded, putting a comforting hand on your shoulder as she wished the both of you well.

once you were out of the library, you harshly nudged sunghoon, which didn’t really do much but make you stumble. “you fucking asshole! why would you say that!” you whisper-yelled, looking around you to make sure none of the students passing by heard. sunghoon beamed, laughing loudly, “it’s not my fault you thought of it that way!”

throughout the test, you kept looking across the room at sunghoon. you wanted to walk over and laugh in his face. this test was absolutely easy, even easier than before. you were going to pass this test with flying colors and score above whatever sunghoon gets. you were giddy with excitement to brag in his face.

at the end when all the tests were collected, you looked over at sunghoon again only to find him already looking at you. his head was resting in his hand and he looked slightly spaced out, but when your gaze met his he straightened and cocked his head to the side while raising an eyebrow. “A+, asshole!” you mouthed with a wide smug smile. sunghoon shook his head with the ghost of a smirk and mouthed, “you wish.”

“when did the two of you start dating?” you heard your debate team president say as she came up to you, leaning next to where you sat. you turned to her with a confused upraised brow. “what are you talking about? we aren’t dating,” you gave a shocked laugh. is she serious? you dating sunghoon of all people? please. you had standards. letting him fuck you was more than enough.

your president looked at you with complete surprise, “you aren’t? oh…” you laughed again as you packed up your things. “you two would make a cute couple!” she smiled. you rapidly shook your head and scrunched your face up at her comment, hanging your bag off your shoulder, “he wishes.” your president laughed, giving you a look, as she turned to leave.

you started to walk after her but felt a hand grab your wrist and pull you back, keeping you in the empty classroom. turning with your eyebrows raised, you gave sunghoon an annoyed expectant look. “how was the test, dumbass? too hard for you?” he pouted and you scoffed at him, crossing your arms over your chest. “it’s gonna be so good to watch your face fall when you see i’ve gotten a better score than you!” you exclaimed and then moved to walk out of the class.

sunghoon followed behind you, “oh, please! i already told you your scores aren’t even touching mine in the slightest. keep dreaming.” you pushed the door open to the building and the afternoon breeze brushed against you. walking towards the direction of the library, you said, “yet i can guarantee you i passed that test with flying colors!” sunghoon just scoffed and the two of you walked the short distance to the library in silence.

when you pushed open the study room, you sat your stuff down and got your laptop out to finish working on your debate speech. the competition was in a couple days and you still had half of your speech to write and make sure was absolutely perfect. “so, what is my grade? A+? i bet it is,” you asked, looking up at him from your seated position as he pulled his laptop out across from you. sunghoon furrowed his eyebrows at you, pushing his hair out of the frames of his glasses. “yesterday…? and you say i’m the idiot,” you added, muttering the last part.

sunghoon mockingly thought for a second before swiftly replying, “i’d give you a D-.” you scoffed, “a D-? you’re such a liar.” he shrugged, clicking some keys on his laptop in front of him. “you sucked, but it was what i expected from someone of the likes of you,” sunghoon replied.

“you weren’t saying that when you were moaning over how good my pussy felt,” you smirked at him with a triumphant raise of your brow. “couldn’t even keep your lips off of me! hm… i’d give you an F average.” sunghoon snorted, “you weren’t saying that when my cock was deep inside you and you kept cumming around me.”

your eyes narrowed at him and you felt your face heat ever so slightly, “only because you were overstimulating me! of course i was gonna cum! then you wouldn’t stop or slow down!” sunghoon leaned forward onto the table on his elbows, a devious smirk playing on his lips. “don’t act like you didn’t fucking love it like the little slut that you are,” he said lowly. you leaned forward too, using his own smirk against him, “only if you stop acting like you don’t want to strip me naked right now and fuck me again.”

“yeah, only so you’ll stop acting like a fucking brat,” sunghoon replied. you smirk grew into a flirtatious smile, “awe, you wanna kiss me so bad!” sunghoon rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to his laptop and you smiled widely before doing the same.

after about an hour of working on your speeches and cross checking them with each other, your laptop dinged with a notification that your test was graded. “test scores are out!” you exclaimed, hurriedly clicking on the notification to take you to your gradebook. out the corner of your eye you saw sunghoon lean into his laptop.

“98.75,” sunghoon said. you jumped to your feet in celebration, “99.25, fucker!” you then leaned over your laptop towards him so your face was only a short distance from his. “suck. on. that!” you exclaimed, smugness dripping from your voice. “miss me! miss me! now you gotta kiss me!” you then teased, tilting your head back and forth at him. sunghoon got up from his seat slightly and leaned towards you until your faces were just inches apart. “now everytime you get a high score you’re gonna think of me fucking the shit out of you. right on this table. congrats!”

sunghoon pressed a kiss to your lips before going back to his speech. you stood there for a quick moment completely stunned as your face heated. sunghoon didn’t even glance back up at you or anything. he was completely focused on his speech, eyes trailing the lines on the screen. “fuck you,” you mumbled, going back to your speech with annoyance flowing into you. “think you’d be able to handle it again?” he replied smoothly, eyes never leaving his screen.

your debate team competition was tomorrow and you were so thankful that you managed to perfect your speech a couple days before. you were also thankful that you no longer had to be “tutored” by sunghoon since your grades were back to what they once were. though, you were not thankful that you still had to spend more time with him. that would all end soon though, thankfully.

stepping onto the bus that your debate team president somehow managed to secure, you made your way towards the middle of the bus and chose a seat at random. there weren't a whole lot of people on the debate team, so it was a small bus. you scooted towards the window and leaned your head against it, staring out at the parking lot of your campus.

the location at which the competition was being held and where your hotel was wasn't that far away. maybe a two or three hour drive from your university? either way, you felt exhausted and all you were excited to do was sleep the ride away.

turning, you watched your members file into the small bus, laughing and chatting away amongst each other. your eyes couldn’t help but trail sunghoon as he stepped onto the bus and the sun reflected off his glasses, catching your attention. his eyes immediately found yours and the corners of his mouth lifted ever so slightly. you rolled your eyes and looked away, finding the seat in front of you way more interesting.

you looked back over to him when you saw him getting closer. he sat in the seat ahead of you on the opposite side of the bus. leaning against the window and throwing his feet up onto the rest of the seat, he looked over at you over the rims of his glasses. “like what you see?” he mouthed and you rolled your eyes again, ignoring how his words brought up memories of the two of you fucking, and continued to stare.

sunghoon pulled out his phone and started scrolling on it for a little bit. he must’ve felt you still staring at him, lids droopy, because he glanced back up at you. “sleepy?” he mouth and then pouted, doing a fake crying motion. you didn’t have the energy to shoot something back at him so all you did was nod, lids fluttering closed for a second. “so go to sleep,” he mouthed.

you sighed deeply and glanced around the bus. the bus was quiet besides the sounds of wheels going over concrete and the occasional rattling of the things on the bus. majority of your members were either asleep or on their way to it, and mrs. yoo was asleep as soon as she got comfortable in her seat at the front. “can’t,” you mouthed to sunghoon, followed by a shrug.

even though you were dead tired, for some reason your eyes just wouldn’t close besides the occasional flutter. you watched as sunghoon sighed lightly before moving over to your seat. he sat his bag down on his lap, patting it down a little, and turned towards you. you looked back at him, confusion clear in your eyes. he wrapped his arm around your shoulders and pulled you towards his lap, insinuating that you rested your head on his bag.

shifting a little so you were more comfortable, you laid your head on his bag. sunghoon’s arm laid across the side of your waist and his hand rubbed soothing circles into it. “don’t think this is because i like you,” he whispered to you. you looked up at him. “mhm… and you wanna kiss me,” you quietly muttered, sleep heavy on your tone.

“you want me to kiss you again,” sunghoon quietly shot back. your eyes drooped shut as you replied, “mhm… sure do.” sunghoon’s hand moved from your waist to your face as he turned it so you were facing him again. he leaned down and his lips met yours in a slow and sweet kiss. when he pulled away, he whispered with no punch, “you get what you ask for, idiot.” you just hummed, already half asleep as he continued to rub soothing circles onto the side of your waist.

at some point, probably immediately after sunghoon had kissed you, you had fallen asleep. it’s quite surprising how easily you were able to simply from laying your head in his lap. when you woke up, the sun was setting and the streaks of pink and orange greeted you. you were still facing sunghoon a little, and you could see how he was fast asleep.

his hand was still across your waist, and you had to gently and slowly move it to his lap so you could sit up without waking him. the whole bus seemed to still be asleep, except for the bus driver, and you checked your phone to see that there was still about forty minutes until you reached your hotel. turning back to sunghoon, you giggled lightly to yourself at how his head leaned back on the seat as he slept. slowly you took his glasses off his face and put them on yours.

poking his cheek, you had to stifle your laugh as he jolted slightly. you stared at him with a dumb smile on your face as his eyes fluttered open and he blinked rapidly for a moment. he straightened, his eyes finding yours with a ghost of a smile on his mouth. “damn your vision fucking sucks,” you immediately said, your voice low not to wake anyone.

his vision actually wasn’t that bad, only slightly blurry for you, but you could still see out of his glasses just fine. “no shit sherlock,” sunghoon replied. “what do you think i need glasses for? and my vision isn’t even that bad, i can still see fine without them.” it was just so funny to tease him and see what his reaction will be. you couldn’t resist doing it, especially not when he would always deliver.

you started dramatically posing with his glasses, trying to keep the smile from growing on your face. “do you think your glasses are the look for me?” you playfully asked him. “do i look beautiful?” immediately sunghoon replied, “no, you look hideous.” he took his glasses back from you and put them back on his own face, his eyebrow raising at you after.

you let out a quiet laugh and wrapped your arms around his neck. you then countered, “awe, baby, you think i’m so beautiful? you wanna kiss me again?” you pouted your lips as you waited for his answer. sunghoon just rolled his eyes. “totally…” he whispered, placing his hands on your waist. “i definietly do.”

smirking slightly, you leaned in and kissed him just as slow and sweet as he did to you earlier. only this time, you deepened it. you could practically feel sunghoon’s shock coming off of him in waves and it made you smile into the kiss. you pulled away suddenly, a playful smile on your lips, “you get what you ask for!” you then gasped lightly and whispered really low, a hand over your mouth, “not here, nasty! there’s people around!” when he tried to kiss you again.

you tried to move your arms from his neck and turn away but sunghoon pulled you closer to him. “nuh uh…” he muttered his lips pressing to yours for a chaste kiss. “that didn’t bother you before in the study room,” he whispered close to your ear sensually. your face heated as he pressed another kiss to your lips. “didn’t bother you when we were shaking the table and your moans could be heard across campus,” he whispered in your other ear before pressing sweet kisses to your neck. you had to resist the urge to moan as you glanced around the bus to see everyone still sleeping, your face on fire.

the marks from his lips on your neck the last time has just started to almost completely disappear. you had to wear turtlenecks or keep your scarf on during the day, which—thankfully—the weather outside was chilly. “go back to your original seat,” you replied, pushing his head away from your neck. you pushed at his chest but he didn’t budge. “or what?” he challenged eyes boring into yours.

you rolled your eyes and tried to scoot as far from him as his hands pulling you towards him would allow. “we both know who’s in charge here,” he spoke quietly, lips on your jaw when you turned your face away from him. “and we both know i have more than enough reasons to punish you.” his breath fanning on your skin sent a shiver down your spine and it made sunghoon chuckle.

sunghoon guided your face back to his with the tip of his finger. he gave you another slow kiss before breaking away with a smug smirk and grabbing his bag to move back to his original seat. you breathed heavily and tried to still your rapidly beating heart. every moment you spent with him was always filled with such intensity, such tension that by the end of it you felt like you ran a marathon while holding your breath the entire time.

you glanced at him to see that he was leaned back against his window towards you, arms crossed in his lap, his hair over his glasses slightly and eyes shut. you stared at him for a moment as your heart rate increased more. how did he always manage to make you feel like this?

shaking your head at the thought, you watched as his chest rose and fell until he was asleep again. you didn’t have anything better to do, and you weren’t tired, so you watched him until more people started to wake and it was almost time to get your suitcases from the back of the bus to go into your hotel.

“are you sure you don’t want to go to the pre-competition party?” your debate team president, and hotel roommate, asks while half her body is wrapped around the door to your room. a couple of your other members are outside the room waiting for her. “i’m fine! truly, i am. i’m really tired and just want to head to bed early,” you tell her, lying through your teeth. “go have fun! don’t stay out too late!” she laughs and responds before stepping out, “can’t say that i won’t!”

you sigh as the door closes and the keycard lock clicks into place. dropping onto your bed for the night, you stare up at the ceiling as thoughts of sunghoon flow through your mind. that’s what you really wanted to stay in for. he’s been in your mind a lot recently, and not just of the occasional thoughts of how much you hated him.

do you even still hate him? you didn’t know. the relationship between the two of you was all over the place, lines blurred everywhere. you hate each other, but the two of you have slept together—and you don’t even know if you could label it as hate sex at this point. you hate each other, but occasionally sunghoon kisses you, and today you kissed him?

what makes you even more confused, and shocks you to your core, is the fact that you don’t seem to mind the weird relationship you and sunghoon have. in fact, you actually kind of like it. it makes you look over all of your interactions with brand new eyes. you’re ripped out of your thoughts by a knock at your door. sliding from the bed, you walk over to the door and open it, only to be faced with the person running rampid in your thoughts himself.

sunghoon had his laptop in his hand and he looked at you expectantly. wordless, and still a little in your thoughts, you move to the side to let him in. “what are you doing here?” you ask him. sunghoon waved his laptop in the air as he got settled at the desk in your hotel room. “we need to go over our speeches one last time before the competition tomorrow,” he replied.

a smug smile graced your features and you boasted, “i’m already finished with mine! must be because you’re so inferior to me that you aren’t!” sunghoon snorted, “these are just revisions, i finished mine a week ago. can’t say the same for you, unfortunately. i’m not the the one who was feverishly scrambling to finish my speech two days before the competition.” you rolled your eyes even though his back was to you. you completely forgot that you had finished your speech with him present at the study room. “fuck off,” you muttered.

a comfortable silence filled the room as you laid on your bed staring at the ceiling and sunghoon typed at the desk. you were bored out your mind. the music from the party outside where the pool was floated up to your ears. even being on the third floor, the music was decently loud. almost every debate team that’ll be partaking in the competition was down there.

“sunghoon,” you whined. “i’m so fucking bored can you hurry up.” you heard him chuckle, “that just makes me want to go slower.” silence overtook the room again for a couple minutes before you whined out again. “i’m bored,” you turned to stare at sunghoon’s side profile. you just realized how pretty he was. “what do you want me to do about it? shut up so i can focus,” he replied.

every couple minutes you would whine about how you were bored. you could see the irritation continuously building in sunghoon’s shoulders every time you opened your mouth. at first you really were bored, but then you saw how it was annoying him and that became entertaining to you. especially when he started to just flat out ignore you.

standing from the bed, you walked over to him, running your fingers through his hair and resting your head on top of his. you whined out once again, dragging out the vowel, “sunghoon i’m bored!” you glanced down to his laptop and saw that he was basically almost done. he had only a few more paragraphs before the end. a mischievous smile curled your lips as you thought of something that would make him really annoyed.

moving to the side and leaning in front of him, you lifted your leg over his to straddle him. sunghoon let out a loud annoyed sigh as you put your hands on his shoulders. he stared at you with furrowed brows, his arms falling to his sides. you pouted, “what? you don’t want me now?” sunghoon breathed in hard, “no, i don’t.”

you grinded against him and his hands flew to your hips. “do you really wanna get on my nerves?” he asked harshly. truthfully, besides being entertained at seeing him annoyed, you don’t know why you were straddling him. why you were currently grinding against him again and his hands at your hips were holding you firmly still. you didn’t know why being in his presence filled you with such an intense need that you just had to provoke him to the point where he would touch you in some way.

a playful smile started to take over your pout. sunghoon sighed deeply and scooted his chair back away from the desk a little. your smile only grew when suddenly his lips were on yours. the kiss was just as desperate as you felt and just as intense. it reminded you of the time the two of you first kissed. the desperate need that left you breathless and made you run. but you weren’t running now. you wanted sunghoon—you needed him.

grinding against him again, he sharply inhaled and pulled away from you. you could feel his growing bulge and could feel how much wetter you were getting. he moved to stand and you got off of him. your body felt of fire and you shook ever so slightly in anticipation from whatever might happen next.

sunghoon moved to your bed, “where’s your roommate?” he asked and looked to you. his stare was intense and emotions that you couldn’t decipher swirled in his eyes. “the party,” you replied simply. “she won’t be back until late… or at all if she’s with her boyfriend.” a shiver ran down your spine at sunghoon’s satisfied smirk.

he laid on your bed, back against the headboard with an arm behind his head, his intense eyes never leaving yours. “are you just gonna stand there like a fucking idiot or are you gonna start taking your clothes off?” he asked you in the sweetest tone you’ve heard from him yet. “you want my cock so bad? come here and ride me.”

your mouth fell open and you stuttered over what to do next. you didn’t know why you were suddenly so shy. “and if i don’t?” you managed to say, the confidence was leaking out of your voice. sunghoon tilted his head to the side, his eyes trailing up and down your body from across the room and heating it up even more than it was before. “then i’ll leave you here all fucking needy,” he said simply.

slowly, you started to remove each article of clothing one by one. you kept avoiding his intense eyes that never left you, especially when he lifted his hips off the bed to take his sweatpants and boxers off, hard and leaking cock on full display. you only got a brief moment of tranquility from his stare when he went to take his shirt off.

you stood completely naked in front of him. he had shifted down on the bed a little, him completely naked now too. for some reason, even thought this isn’t the first time you were naked in front of him, this time felt different. you felt suddenly exposed, like the fog between the two of you had disappeared and you were seeing each other clearly for the first time. he had to feel it too, or else he wouldn’t be staring at you so intently, his brows slightly knitted together.

after a moment of silence, a moment that felt like eternity with the thick tension in the air, sunghoon finally broke it. you stood with your hands intertwined together in front of you, squirming a little to find some way not to feel so exposed. your eyes were firmly on the bottom of the bed where you could just barely make sunghoon out in your peripheral vision.

“come here,” sunghoon said softly. your eyes fluttered up to him and you moved slowly towards the bed, perching just at the end as you sat back on your knees. the room suddenly felt cold and goosebumps formed on your skin. sunghoon shifted a little so he was sitting more against the headboard again. “closer,” he said in the same soft tone. he put his hands to his sides as his eyes trailed over your face.

you crawled towards him slowly, and immediately regretted it when you looked up at his sharp intake of breath. you straddled his thighs, his big and hard cock brushing against your stomach. sunghoon moved his hands from his sides to your waist and caught your lips in a sweet and soothing kiss.

you moved your ridgid arms from your sides to around his neck, fingers combing through the bottom of his hair. the longer you kissed sunghoon, the more you felt your nerves dissolve and the more your need for him grew. you got up on your knees and grabbed sunghoon’s cock, which made him let out a moan against your lips, and lined it to your entrance. slowly, you slid down his length until he was fully inside of you.

you did as he told you to do and started to grind your hips, pulling away from his lips to whimper at how good he felt. his long cock rubbed against your sweet spot so well and you rolled your hips faster and faster as the waves of pleasure hit you one by one.

sunghoon kissed you slowly as you came undone on top of him. he smiled against your lips as you kept pulling away to moan or whimper from his cock inside you. it almost made you forget that he was annoyed with you—almost. it almost made you forget until you fell against him with your head buried in his chest as you pulsated around him and he lifted your hips so you were sitting on your knees slightly. until you pulled away from his chest with knitted eyebrows and he stared at you with intense, blown out eyes. until he gripped your hips so you wouldn’t move and fucked up into you so hard that it made you cry out.

tears brimmed in your eyes and you couldn’t stop the breathy stuttered whimpers that escaped you even if you tried. “s-sunghoon…” you moaned out. sunghoon threw his head back onto the headboard at his name on your lips. “what? this is what you wanted, isn’t it?” he asked you, mock sweetness in his voice. “when you kept grinding against me, this is what you asked for, isn’t it?” he slammed his lips on yours, humming at the way you clenched around him again, warm cum dripping down his cock.

“a-asshole,” you pushed out, glaring at him because that was all you could do. his eyebrows raised at you and he let out a wry laugh, “baby, you have no idea.” suddenly you were being pulled off the bed. suddenly sunghoon was throwing the balcony door open and the cold air was nipping at your skin.

you were being pulled to the balcony, party in full swing below you and music attacking your ears. you were lucky that if someone were to look up three floors that they’d only see your fucked out expression as sunghoon bent you over the railing and stuck his cock back inside you. “since you wanna be a fucking brat for me, you can be a brat for everyone. let’s show everyone how much of a fucking slut you are.”

the retorts quickly died on your tongue when sunghoon began moving, smacking his hips harshly against your ass. “aren’t you such a good girl? already cumming twice against my cock. you want more? cause i’ll give you fucking more,” sunghoon leaned down to your ear to ask you over the music. you nodded, severely regretting pissing him off. your legs wobbled underneath you.

you already knew what was coming next when you felt his hand wrap around your waist. he pulled you up and said harshly, “use your fucking words. are you trying to annoy me more?” you swallowed down the moans in your throat. “n-no,” you whimpered and squeezed your eyes shut. “i w-want you to give m-me more…” if you thought him making you beg for him to stop the first time he fucked you was humiliating, it had nothing on this.

your back arched and that just made it worse. he pulled you back to him by your hair and you moaned at the pain and from the pleasure of his cock ramming in and out of you. you heard him smugly laugh behind you and you opened your eyes to look at him. he stared directly into your eyes, “you’re mine. and your pussy for the night is mine to do with what i please. do you understand?” you nodded.

remembering to use your words, you pushed out, “y-yes.” sunghoon’s lips were on yours with a sloppy kiss that ended just as fast as it started. “and who do you belong to?” he asked you, mouth by your ear. you inhaled as deeply as you could with the pleasure ripping you apart. “you,” you breathed, barely above a whisper. sunghoon gave you the sweetest smile and followed it up with the sweetest kiss. “good fucking girl.”

he brought you back inside and shut the balcony behind you. you barely got to breathe a sigh of relief that cold air wasn’t nipping at your skin before your face was buried in the comforter and you let out the loudest moan you’ve ever let out before. sunghoon fucked into you so deeply, his own loud moans escaping him, that it sent you over the edge. you clenched around him again and he whimpered out a, “fuck, baby… you’re gonna make me cum if you keep clenching around my cock like that.”

you whimpered out something even you couldn’t understand, thick tears rolling down your face from the ecstasy. you let out another loud moan, the rope inside you about to snap. “you drive me f-fucking crazy, y/n. do you know that?” sunghoon stuttered. the two of you came at the same time, intertwined moans and whimpers filling the hotel room.

sunghoon fell over you, managing to catch himself with his hands at your sides as you felt his cock twitch inside you from his release. he pulled out from you slowly, whimpering at how you clenched around him in the process. he laid down on the edge of the bed and helped pull you up so you straddled him again and laid against his chest. sunghoon’s arms wrapped around you as you both breathed heavily.

once you felt your body still and you no longer felt like you were being ripped apart by his huge cock giving you waves of pleasure, you sat up with sudden determination. sunghoon looked up at you through half opened eyes and tilted glasses. you took his cock, relishing in the way he moaned and dug his head into the blankets as his eyes squeezed shut, and slid it back inside you. you tried not to double over at the sensitivity and how you could feel every vein on his cock inside you.

you placed your hands on his chest and looked down at him, eyes burning and the hint of a smile on your lips. sunghoon laughed, and it had to be the first time you’ve ever heard him genuinely laugh. a genuine smile spread across his lips after. you felt your heart flutter at the sight despite your plans. “want me to get a taste of my own medicine, huh?” sunghoon smiled up at you, causing your own to grow, and you nodded as you started to rock your hips back and forth.

sunghoon put his hands on your hips, whimpers leaving him and making his teeth clench. you picked up your paced and he stared up at you through knitted eyebrows. your smile grew more as you got to watch every moan, every whimper, and every whine that left his mouth, just as he did you. it didn’t take long for sunghoon to cum again, and thank god for that. you didn’t know how long you could take being hit with more waves of pleasure.

his hands gripped your hips hard as he moaned out your name. you giggled and continued to move your hips, creamy sounds coming from the motion. “o-okay, y/n…” sunghoon whined and you shook your head. “beg me to stop,” you demanded, giggles on your lips. “st—okay! s-stop. please stop!”

you smiled and pulled yourself off of him slowly. sunghoon let out a shaky breath and looked over at you, “that’s the only time i’ll let you do that.” you looked over at him from your spot next to him, an eyebrow raised in a challenge. “who says there will be a next time?” you replied. sunghoon just shook his head at you and laughed, “we both know this isn’t the last time.” you laughed and gave him a quick kiss. “so then you know that that won’t be the only time!” you sweetly exclaimed.

he sat up and you followed, standing to your feet and almost falling to the floor had it not been for sunghoon catching you. he sat you back down on the bed, helping you to move back against the headboard. “stay here... i’ll get a towel to clean you up,” he chuckled and you nodded. you weren’t even shocked like how you were the last time that he was being so sweet. in fact, after the way he just fucked you, it was a welcome change. even if the one-eighty made you dizzy.

sunghoon grabbed your clothes off the floor and sat them beside you as he started to clean you up. “you might want to put on something warmer… i did have you out in the cold naked,” he spoke softly as you put your shirt on. the clothes you were wearing before was a long sleeved pajama top and pajama shorts. the room was already a little bit cold, so maybe he was right. “all i packed was pajama shorts…” you trailed as he finished cleaning between your legs.

“you can wear my sweatpants,” sunghoon replied and reached down to the floor to grab them. he handed them to you and stood to his feet to clean himself off. “well then what would you wear?” you asked, brows furrowing. sunghoon shrugged, “i’ll be fine. i’ll just wear my boxers and put a different pair of sweatpants on when i get back to my room.” he put his boxers on and helped you to put your underwear and his sweatpants on. he then turned for the bathroom.

suddenly, and at full force, you realized that your night together—your time tonight with him—was coming to a close. and you realized how you didn’t want him to leave. sunghoon came out the bathroom in just his shirt and boxers and halted in his steps to stare at you. it was the most openly longing brief stare and it made your heart explode in your chest before he turned away to his laptop.

he gathered his laptop and turned back to you, a less intense version of his intense stare from earlier drilling into you. you could see that brief longing hiding behind it. you panicked from the intent attention and said, “don’t stare at me like that.” there was that genuine smile that made you want to melt. “or what? you can’t even move,” he replied, a laugh at the edges of his voice. you rolled your eyes playfully as he came up to you and pressed a kiss to your lips.

sunghoon turned to leave and you grabbed his hand, making him turn back towards you with knitted brows. “can you stay with me?” you asked shyly as you looked down to where your hand held his, “…please?” you dared a glance at him and saw as the corners of his mouth were trying hard not to lift. he nodded and moved to set his laptop back on the desk, along with his glasses.

you scooted over in the bed and got under the covers and he did the same after turning the lights off. sunghoon pulled you closer to him in the darkness, until your head was to his chest. you looked up at him and he kissed you slowly, and this time it felt more intimate rather than teasing. “you don’t hurt anywhere do you? are you sore?” he asked quietly between kisses. you shook your head, “no but i’ll probably be sore in the morning.”

“i’m sorry, baby,” he spoke, kissing you a final time before resting his chin on your head and pulling you closer. you inhaled his scent and shut your eyes, a sudden wave of tiredness hitting you. “i know you’re tired,” he then said. “go to sleep, i’ll be here to help you.” you nodded and let yourself drift off. when you woke up the next morning, sunghoon was gone.

you and your debate team members were rounding back up onto the bus after a successful debate competition, tired smiles and sleepy yawns everywhere. it was a miracle that you were able to speak so confidently at your competition after what happened last night. especially with your emotions all over the place when you woke up to find that you were completely alone in your hotel room.

you and sunghoon haven’t spoken—besides at the debate—all day. and if you were being honest… you were kind of avoiding him. you just couldn’t be around him after last night. he made your head foggy and your heart pound and you were helpless to stop it. the two of you weren’t even friends, and you clearly weren’t dating, so what were you?

all of your members were sound asleep as soon as they stepped on the bus and you smiled a little to yourself. they must’ve had a fun time at the party last night. you had your head leaning on the window as you watched the passing scenery. you didn’t turn when you felt the seat dip next to you.

you had felt sunghoon’s eyes on you, that burning intensity, but you couldn’t look at him right now. you closed your eyes when you felt his arm wrap around you and you were pulled to him. “sleep,” he spoke softly, his hand brushing the side of your face that was now in his lap. you couldn’t, so you just nodded as you kept your eyes closed. you slowed your breathing until you felt his slow and cracked your eyes open as you slowly turned to look up at him.

sunghoon was fast asleep, his head drooped down towards you and glasses hanging down his nose. you wanted so badly to cup his face and kiss his lips, and that thought caught you off guard horrifically. slowly, you began to put the pieces together.

the way your face would heat and your heart rate would pick up... the way you always seemed to find him in any crowded room, your eyes always lingering on him… the way you wanted to be near him—needed to be near him, to have his lips on yours to the point where you would constantly provoke him… you had feelings for park sunghoon.

your eyes widened significantly and you were glad that everyone was asleep for your realization. you liked sunghoon. you liked him, and your feelings for him were only growing more and more as you spent more and more time with him. before you even realized it, your hand was raising to move the hair that had fallen in his face. your eyes widened as he stirred slightly and you froze. thankfully, he stayed asleep and you dropped your hand as you continued to stare.

you had stayed there like that, just silently watching him for almost the whole bus ride. when you saw him stir you quickly shut your eyes and slowed your breathing again. you felt him shift ever so slightly and heard him let out a low sigh. his fingers brushed your face softly, the pad of his thumb brushing back and forth before his arm rested across your waist.

after a few minutes had passed, you pretended to wake up, eyes fluttering open and connecting with his. you blinked a couple times before moving to sit up. glancing around the bus to everyone’s sleeping forms, you saw him furrow his eyebrows a little in your peripheral.

when you looked back at him, head leaning back against the bus seat, sunghoon had cupped your face and pressed a kiss to your lips. he went to stand but you grabbed his hand. your eyes widened slightly and he turned back to you in slight shock, eyebrows raising. you stared at him with wide eyes and pulled him back down lightly.

what if he didn’t want this, didn’t want to be with you? what if all he enjoyed between the two of you was all the kisses and the sex with no strings attached? sunghoon sat back down and you turned to lean against the window, thoughts racing.

when you got to campus you had basically sprinted away from the bus after getting your things to your dorm. you were glad that you didn’t really have to spend anymore time with sunghoon, since you didn’t need his “tutoring” and the debate competition was over. maybe you can try and get rid of these feelings, try and go back to the way things were before you and sunghoon ever even kissed.

you laughed wryly to yourself as you put your stuff away in your dorm. things will never be the way they were before. that ship sailed as soon as his lips touched yours, as soon as you were both naked and your bodies were pressed together.

you had avoided sunghoon in all the classes you shared, inside the hallways, and anywhere on or off campus. you never realized how much he was always in your orbit before you were actively trying to stay out of his. it was going well, you were ignoring his stare on you, lost in your own thoughts as the class was about to end.

that’s when you felt someone lean down next to you and a, “you’re mine.” was uttered. at least, that’s what you heard. you jumped, looking over to see no one other than sunghoon. your mind flashed back to the hotel and you blinked a couple times to clear your thoughts. with knitted brows you said, “what?” sunghoon raised an eyebrow at you, giving you a weird look. “i said you’re my partner,” he replied, brows furrowing when you gave him a confused look. “for the presentation…?” he added and you tried to think about what he was talking about.

vaguely, you remember your teacher talking about some powerpoint project that she wanted you to group into pairs for. you wanted to bang your head against the wall at the fact that you were gonna have to spend even more time with sunghoon. your feelings haven’t even left! if anything, they’ve intensified. you inhaled deeply, “okay.”

the two of you were now sitting in your study room, silence hanging in the air with tension that couldn’t be cut with a fucking chainsaw. your laptops were in front of you, open to your shared slides. under the table, sunghoon’s leg shook furiously. throughout your time in here, he had tried to kiss you twice. he had given you a confused look when you turned your head away both times, opting to focus on something else. the first time he thought you were being bratty, but when it happened the second time he had raised an eyebrow at you.

“can you stop changing all the slides i make?” sunghoon suddenly spat out as he looked at you angrily. you gave him a glare. “well maybe if you would stop thinking with your dick and use your brain you wouldn’t be struggling with this easy ass topic and i wouldn’t have to keep editing all your slides,” you shot back.

sunghoon scoffed, “maybe if you would stop thinking about my dick and focus we wouldn’t be having all these problems and we would be on the same page!” you couldn’t help but take his words as a double meaning. the two of you stared at each other with angry, intense glares. you sighed heavily and stood to your feet, annoyance dripping from you as sunghoon watched.

you stormed over to him and sat on his lap, grabbing his face and bringing your lips to his roughly. his hands immediately came to your hips as he kissed you back with just as much roughness. “i hate you so fucking bad,” sunghoon muttered against your lips. there was no heat in it. “you want to fuck me so fucking bad,” you immediately replied.

sunghoon started to turn the kiss sweet, holding you against him as his hands moved to your lower back and the back of your neck. his touch sent a shiver down your spine. “i want you, y/n…” he said after a moment. you pulled away and tried to get off of him, but he held you tighter. in what way did he want you? “i want you too,” you spoke, quietly.

your gaze fell and you then said, “what is this between us, sunghoon?” he went quiet and the silence between the two of you was deafening. you pushed his arms off you and got off of him, moving to return to your seat. before you could get far, sunghoon grabbed your hand. “y/n, what do you mean?” he asked seriously.

harshly turning to him, you tried so hard to keep the sadness from your voice, “the morning at the hotel… why did you leave?” sunghoon gave you an incredulous look. “what?” he breathed, and shook his head ever so slightly. “the morning after we had sex. you said you were gonna stay with me and when i woke up you were gone,” you snatched your hand from his grasp, not caring anymore if he heard the hurt in your voice.

there was concern and worry etched clear in his expression. “i didn’t think you’d want to see my face once your head was clear…” sunghoon said quietly. the anger in you only grew. “you should’ve let me decide that!” you shouted in frustration. sunghoon stood, grabbing your hands, “okay! i’m fucking sorry that i assumed… okay?” you looked away.

sunghoon took your chin softly so you would look up at him. “i’m sorry,” he repeated, his voice softer. “it won’t happen again.” you blinked a couple of times to get rid of the building tears. “so?” you asked quietly, referring to the question you asked him. sunghoon cupped your cheek, “we can be whatever you want us to be. i’ll be happy as long as you don’t avoid me again. i told you, i want you—to be with you.”

you pressed your lips to his, “i want to be with you too.” he laughed and teasingly said, “awe, you want to be my girlfriend?” you rolled your eyes, a smile on your lips, as you playfully pushed him away. his laugh grew, that same genuine laugh, as he pulled you towards him to capture your lips in a kiss. “you get what you ask for,” he spoke, making you giggle.

the next day you walked into mrs. yoo’s class together hand in hand, a big smile on your face as sunghoon teased you. your debate team president practically cheered as she yelled how she was right. “finally it’s official! now i don’t have to watch the two of you longingly stare at each other from across the room!” she exclaimed. your face heated tremendously and before you could look away in embarrassment sunghoon kissed you with a large grin.

when you had gotten and A+ on your presentation, you smiled at sunghoon. “who’s the idiot now, idiot?” you asked teasingly. he hummed in thought for a moment, “you still are!” he gave you a chaste kiss and wrapped his hands around your waist. “let me take you on a date,” sunghoon then said.

you hummed in thought for a moment, copying his actions as you wrapped your arms around his neck. “no, thank you!” sunghoon playfully rolled his eyes, kissing you again, “i’ll pick you up tomorrow at eight.”

taglist: @jjunberry @gothgyuu @spooksh0wbabe @beargyuuzz @kittyhyuka @dani-is-tired @soobieboobiedoobiedaboobie @rapmonie2047 @riaawr @hoonloml @deobitifull @pinkkami @amortenha @whateverhoon @sleepdeprivedline @beomgyuspeach @nxzz-skz @dayziiducks @enhypens-baby @sunghoonnsupremacy @run2min @hoonharem @whowantshota

masterlist┊request rules

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suguru-getos · 1 year

Text

࿐ husband neuvillette headcanons (f!reader) ࿐

neuvillette, the most respected man in the nation of hydro, more than their archon focalors. he commands respect wherever he goes, his aura still polite, ever so approachable. however, the power of his position cowers people. they are often rendered scared to approach him, some of them literally profusely sweating around his nimble aura.

you, were his wife now, his significant other. someone he cherished more than life itself & someone who made you feel safe, heard, protected. it was said that he was the most sought out bachelor in fontaine before he left his heart for you one day. “break it or keep it. it isn’t mine anymore.” is what he said, when he proposed you. oh the words ring into your ear like the finest melodies till date.

the steambird/ the media was eager to cover everything about the wedding; but to their surprise— neuvillette took you outside fontaine. the city of freedom — monstadt is where you two tied the knot in the presence of a certain, melodious and a high alcohol simp bard.

truth be told, once you were married. there were people who forced false allegations on you. how you manipulated the chief justice into falling in love with you. how you are fake and you act in accordance to his liking to be loved by him. some people even tried to forge false cases against you. all of which— deeply entertained furina. thankfully, neuvillette was never someone to pay attention to any of these things. at one time, he himself fought for you in a false trial. you couldn’t be more thankful.

rains— the legend of hydro dragon weeping causing the rains was famous throughout the country of fontaine. one day, when neuvillette came home a little early, looking distressed, you noticed a harsh, unforgiving thunderstorm drenching the country. you walked towards the terrace, looking up and gently, soothingly whispering. “oh- hydro dragon. please don’t cry.” the rain… lessened. it was as if the intensity had been lessened.

it wasn’t more time until neuvillette confessed to you about him being a hydro dragon. ever since then, whenever there had been rains in fontaine, you make sure to find your beloved husband and hug him tightly, kiss his forehead and tell him everything will be alright. it breaks you apart seeing him like this after all.

sometimes when he comes back home, he always brings your favorite flowers, maybe your favorite desserts, along with a beaming smile only you have seen. people who are aquainted to you often ask if neuvillette being the chief justice and being the most powerful man in fontaine makes your married life difficult. truth is.. it could never. they just haven’t had any access to the good that your beloved dragon holds.

things do get riff-raffy when furina acts a little too childish around him. he pays no attention to her self-centered, self-absorbed behavior but it pinches you how she bothers him for every little thing. once, there was a celebratory banquet held for the same and your displeased face told neuvillette in that very instant — how you’d like the archon to ‘behave’ around your husband. he has been extra careful ever since. <3

your husband might look stern, but he is a soft man. you have witnessed this first hand with how respectfully and tenderly he treats you. on the bad days of your period, the chief justice is nothing but a doting husband for his wifey. you can always be snuggled up to him and cry, or just spend time.

he is a HUGE cuddle bug. would love to destress off work by wrapping his big arms around you and peppering your face with tender kisses. he smells amazing too! always making you feel warm and fuzzy inside.

#neuvillette #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin fluff #genshin comfort #neuvillette x reader #neuvillete fluff #neuvillete genshin #neuvillette x reader fluff #genshin impact fluff

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melzula · 7 months

Note

Can you please write jealous Zuko? It can be however you like😊

a/n: i love jealous zuko! however this ended up being more angsty than i intended😭 hope you enjoy!

summary: a party at the palace leads to a deep revelation for zuko

He was miserable.

The palace didn’t throw parties very often these days, but the recent conquering of another Earth colony was deemed a call for celebration, and so all of the noble families in the Capital City were invited to attend. A grand feast was held and praises were showered upon Ozai throughout the night. It was one of the rare times Zuko didn’t have to worry about his father’s wrath, and so he should have been enjoying himself.

But he couldn’t, not when he could see that across the way another boy was flirting with you right in front of him.

You were Zuko’s everything- his childhood best friend that he’d always held harbored feelings for. During his banishment he thought of you constantly, and upon his arrival he immediately asked you to be his girlfriend. You were sweet and friendly, easily approachable and always able to cheer him up despite his moodiness, you were perfect. And apparently this other boy could see this too.

You smile out of politeness and nod along to the boy’s rambling story about his fire bending skills and high IQ, not very interested in listening but too nice to brush him off. It infuriates Zuko to see someone else take advantage of your kindness, and he’s unable to just sit back and watch any longer.

A harsh hand lands upon the boy’s shoulder, startling both of you in the process. Zuko’s eyes are blazing with fury, his palm scorching the fabric of the boy’s robes and scaring the spirits out of him in the process.

“Can’t you take a hint? She doesn’t want to talk to you!” the Prince bellow angrily, prompting a few guests nearby to turn their heads curiously towards the commotion. A bit embarrassed at the sudden attention, you gently pull Zuko’s hand away and drag him out to the gardens before he can escalate the situation any further. The last thing you need is for him to cause a scene at his father’s party.

“What?” Zuko says defensively as you wordlessly walk through the palace hallways. “I was helping you!”

“You were acting jealous again,” you chide gently.

“No I wasn’t!” He argues defensively only to shrink under your pointed gaze. “…I was.”

“I love you, Zuko, but I don’t love how jealous you can get sometimes. I’m your girlfriend, don’t you trust me?”

“Of course I do!” He interjects quickly, almost offended at the notion.

“Then what is it? Why do you act this way?”

Zuko is silent, his eyes casted sullenly to the floor as you patiently wait for his answer. You take his hands in your own and give them a reassuring squeeze to let him know you’re there for him, and the act seems to coax him out of his stupor.

“I’m afraid you’ll change your mind about being with me, and once the right guy comes along you’ll realize you’re better off without me,” he admits quietly, almost ashamed to voice the thought out loud.

“Zuko…” you utter sadly, heartbroken at the fact that he could even believe such a thing.

“Why do you want to be with a boy who’s been exiled from his own country before? Whose own father burned his face? Who’s so messed up in every way possible?”

Gently carefully cupping his face in your hands, you tilt his head upward to meet your sincere gaze. His eyes are glossy with tears he refuses to let fall, and your heart aches for the poor boy before you. You wish you could take away all of his hurt in agony, but you can’t, so you do your best to take away his insecurity instead.

“I wish you could yourself the way I see you,” you tell him lovingly. “You are more than enough for me, more than I could ever ask for. You’re strong, you’re brave, you’re smart. You’re you. I love you, Zuko. No one’s ever going to get into the way of that.”

He says nothing in response but simply yanks you into his arms for the tightest hug you’ve ever possibly received. You know he isn’t the best at words or emotions, but his embrace conveys that he is grateful for every word to come out of your mouth.

He knows he may be jealous at times, but he also knows that he doesn’t have to be anymore.

Because you’re not going anywhere.

| atla tags: @sirkekselord @niktwazny303

| zuko tags: @thebluelcdy @royahllty @the-firebender-girl @ilovespideyyy @yiyibetch @eridanuswave @lammello @a-monsters-love @knaite-solo @taeeemin

#zuko #zuko x reader #zuko imagine #prince zuko #prince zuko x reader #prince zuko imagine #atla #atla x reader #atla imagine #avatar the last airbender #request

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loveanddeepthroat · 11 days

Note

can i mc reader and sylus where mc ends up in hospital after a mission gone wrong and sylus shows up but she wants him to leave in case someone sees him there

Careless

Pairing - Sylus x f!MC

Summary - You landed yourself in the hospital overnight after a mix up at HQ had you fighting too many Wanderer’s alone. You’re already bummed about being stuck at Akso, so the feeling of dread when Sylus turns up unexpectedly only adds to your unease.

Word Count - 2.3k

Warnings - Set in a hospital. Angst and fluff.

The incessant beeping of medical machinery echoing throughout the ward was getting to your sore head.

Akso Hospital was rammed full of casualties and emergencies, seeing as it was a Friday night. You felt a bit out of place amongst the partygoers and adventurous folk who had taken their fun a little too far.

In your opinion, you didn’t really need to be here. The eggplant coloured bruise on the right side of your forehead definitely looked a lot worse than it felt, but the doctors weren’t buying your claims that you weren’t in any pain.

Likely because you were wincing when you’d said it.

A night under their watch was what the doctor ordered, and it wasn’t up for discussion. You were just relieved that Doctor Zayne was working away for a week. He’d have checked you in indefinitely and scheduled an hour long lecture on why you needed to be more careful.

A mix up at HQ had the system only requesting that you attend a spontaneous Wanderer attack in Linkon Library. Just one had been reported, but seven of the ruthless bastards had accosted you the minute you stepped foot in the evacuated building.

Confident that you could handle them, you didn’t bother calling in for more Hunters. As it turned out, that confidence was misplaced, and the last thing you remembered before blacking out was a loud screeching sound. You had no idea what it was, but it hadn’t been important in your unconscious state.

When you eventually awoke in the hospital, Jenna had been hanging over you, immediately giving you the third degree for continuing alone. You should’ve known that the alert for only your assistance had been a mistake in the system, and you should’ve insisted that someone accompany you no matter what it had said.

She made sure to drill that into your head more than once.

Admittedly, you were glad to see the back of her once she had finally left. Your head was starting to throb with the volume of her voice, and all you wanted was the bliss of being unconscious again.

It was late now, and you were exhausted. Sleep was looking to be impossible tonight, however. There were several other patients on the same ward, all admitted with varying ailments. The injured man opposite you had done nothing but stare coldly from the moment he was wheeled in in a full leg cast.

You tried to speak to him. You offered him a polite smile, which was met with a sneer. Whatever his problem with you was, it was beginning to get on your nerves.

You just wanted to go home.

“Miss,” a softly spoken nurse greeted as she approached your bed. “There’s a visitor here to see you.”

You frowned, wondering if you heard her correctly over the hustle and bustle of the ward. It was well past visiting hours, and you couldn’t think of anyone other than your colleagues who knew that you were even at the hospital.

The man with the broken leg frowned, too. “What? She gets special treatment because she’s a so-called hero? I should get visiting rights, too!”

“Would you like me to let him in?” The nurse asked, ignoring the grumbling patient.

Him. That didn’t exactly narrow things down.

“Uhh,” you faltered, a little unsure. You didn’t want to cause any issues with the other patients. “Are you sure?”

The nurse nodded and smiled, though it looked a bit forced. It almost seemed like she was desperate for you to say yes to your mystery visitor.

“Okay,” you finally agreed.

The look of relief on her face was not lost on you. She quickly hurried away to retrieve whoever came to see you, leaving you to endure the displeasure from the man opposite.

“I used to be a mailman, you know? If it weren’t for me, people wouldn’t have had their mail. Do I get special treatment, though? No, of course not. You Hunters get all the glory and adoration. And I’ll tell you another thing—”

“You’ve told her plenty.”

Prominent footsteps sounded from the doorway, the atmosphere immediately becoming heavy and tense. You almost choked on absolutely nothing at the sight of him.

Sylus.

Your eyes flared, heart hammering against your ribcage like a drum. He couldn’t be here. The risk was far too great.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” the grumpy man sneered back, looking him up and down, “…vampire.”

It was a colourful insult, and one that made your unwelcome companion chuckle. “If you’ll excuse us,” he began, the swirling red vines of his Evol appearing to drag the man’s cubicle curtain to a close at a leisurely pace. “Mailman.”

To your relief, there was no backlash from the irritated patient across the room. Although that did make you wonder if he wasn’t retaliating by his own choice, or if Sylus had silenced him somehow. The latter wouldn’t have surprised you.

“What on earth are you doing here?!” you hissed quietly. “You can’t be here, Sylus.”

Crimson eyes didn’t meet yours, his cold gaze set only on the bandages around your head as he approached your bedside, closing your curtain behind him. He didn’t quite look like himself. His hands were balled into fists at his sides, green and blue veins prominently making an appearance.

“I’ll think twice before taking advice from a woman who was very recently knocked unconscious amidst a 7v1 Wanderer fight,” he rebuked monotonously.

You scoffed. “I’m fine, if that’s why you came. Feel free to go back to—”

“Fine?” His face quickly turned from emotionless to severely unamused as he cut you off sharply. “That’s quite the contradiction, sweetie.”

You raised an eyebrow barely high enough for him to see your questioning expression. The gesture hurt, which wasn’t helping your case. “To what?”

He dragged a plastic chair towards your bed before sitting down, his ankles crossed in front of him. You couldn’t really read his demeanour. He almost seemed cross with you.

“To what I saw from Mephisto,” he responded tightly.

Mephisto.

That explained the screeching you heard before you slipped into unconsciousness. “And what exactly was Mephisto doing there?”

Sylus merely shrugged, offering nothing verbal in response. The lackadaisy gesture did nothing but piss you off. You’ve told him countless times to stop sending Mephisto out to keep tabs on you, and each time it seemed to fall on deaf ears.

He clearly was not pleased with you, but you weren’t stupid. He was here because you had concerned him. Sylus was a busy man, especially at this time of night. He wouldn’t have come just to berate you with words that could’ve been put into a text message.

Not that you knew where your phone was.

The atmosphere between you both fell into silence, only the sounds of medical machinery filling in the lack of conversation. You didn’t really know what to say to him, and he wasn’t typically the type to lose his words. But it was clear to see that he didn’t know what to say, either.

After a long moment, he cleared his throat, his hands flexing in his lap. “I told you those guns of yours were pathetic.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my guns,” you mumbled with a roll of your eyes.

“So it’s a skill issue?”

You glared harshly at him, flinching noticeably as you did. You weren’t sure what was bothering you more, the pain in your head or the mood that Sylus was so clearly in.

His features softened ever so slightly as he recognised your pain. Still, that didn’t stop him from being an asshole. “It’s one or the other, kitten.”

You felt your cheeks heat up. If there was one thing you didn’t want Sylus to think of you as, it was weak. You weren’t sure why you cared so much, but you did.

“I suppose my guns are a little on the outdated side,” you murmured begrudgingly.

He smirked, his hands finally relaxing a little in his lap. The awkward atmosphere was slowly fading, which you were grateful for. You didn’t want to pry into his mind and make things worse again.

You buried your head a little further into the pillow beneath your sore head, letting your eyes fall shut for a moment. Fatigue was starting to settle in your body, almost dragging you into a swift sleep before your chilly hand was captured in a warm embrace.

Your eyes shot open again, finding Sylus out of his seat and leaning over you. His eyes were a bit wider than usual. “Have they checked you for a concussion?”

“Yeah,” you told him gently. The close proximity had you flustered. “I’m a little concussed, but I’m allowed to sleep.”

His brows drew together slightly as he studied you. You’ve both had these strange little moments before, when his mask slips away just enough to see his true feelings.

“I’ll be fine,” you whispered in reassurance. “You should go, Sylus.”

He shook his head, his hand tightening slightly over yours. It looked like an effort, but he managed to smirk at you again. “Trying to get rid of me already?”

Beneath that facade of humour, he was a little bit wounded. You wouldn’t point it out, but you could see it. He was a stubborn bastard who wasn’t going to let you push him away, but he also didn’t like that you were trying to push him away.

It wasn’t as if you wanted him to go. Your relationship with him was…complicated.

Complicated in the sense that you weren’t in a relationship, but he had a habit of establishing a level of intimacy between you both that you weren’t blind to. Good morning and goodnight texts, constant invites to events as his plus one with no other reason than to be beside him, and random gifts left on your doorstep so often that your elderly neighbour recently asked if you were ‘getting some.’

A relationship with him would be very difficult to maintain. You both come from entirely different worlds that just could not merge. No matter how much you desired him, you had to maintain your composure.

“I’m not trying to get rid of you,” you sighed. “I just don’t like how careless you’re being by showing up here. Some people do worry, you know.”

He slowly lowered his loom over you so that his nose was just inches away from yours. You couldn’t help but swallow, feeling his steady breath on your lips as he spoke. It was intimidating and yet so intimate that you didn’t know whether to cower or cut him off with a kiss you never knew you wanted.

“You don’t think I’m worried about you?” he drawled in a rather serious manner.

“That’s not what I—”

“Do you not realise how it looked through Mephisto’s eyes when you were walloped a great distance across a library and crumpled to the floor like a lifeless body.” His teeth were gritted in his mouth, the word ‘body’ coming out tightly like his tongue was rejecting the word. “You’re not the only person who is worried here. Do not brand me incapable of such feelings.”

Your mouth went a little dry, tears threatening to invade your eyes. It wasn’t that you didn’t believe in his worry, and you hadn’t meant for it to come across that way.

“I just don’t want you to risk your freedom for me,” you whispered shakily.

He lifted his hand from where it was holding him up beside your free hand, carefully moving some strands of your hair that had fallen over your bandages.

“I’d risk it all for you.”

He had never said such a thing to you in all the time you’d been acquainted. You knew that he would carry out every need you might have of him. You knew that he would listen to you sit and ramble on and on about anything, never interrupting you. You knew that he cared about you.

But you were still in the dark when it came to the extent of that care.

“Tell me what’s on your mind,” he murmured.

Thankfully, you caught yourself before you were about to shake your sore head. “Just…trying to figure you out.”

A smile slowly spread across his lips. A real smile. It was enough to make your heart flutter, embarrassingly made noticeable by the heart rate monitor you were hooked up to.

“It would require a lot of brainpower to do that, sweetie. Maybe lose the concussion first,” he said in his typically sarcastic tone.

You managed your own small smile, which blossomed into a chuckle. This was the side of Sylus that had you coming back to him whenever he asked for your company.

His real side.

He kept his hand atop your head, avoiding the bandages completely. His thumb swiped gently over the parting of your hair, pulling you off to sleep again. You were pretty sure that he was doing it on purpose to force you into rest, but you were in no position to argue with him. You were officially exhausted.

“Would you really like me to leave, kitten?” he asked in a soft whisper as your eyes fluttered.

The very thought of him leaving made you a little upset. Despite your attempts at convincing the doctors you were fine, you damn well were not. You needed his comfort, and he needed to know that you were safe and on the road to a speedy recovery.

“No,” you whispered, succumbing to the soothing strokes on your scalp.

A soft brush of his lips was the last thing you felt before you finally drifted off, feeling secure enough to do so with his company.

“Good,” he’d whispered back before you fully clocked out. “I’ll always be careless so long as I get to you.”

A/N - Long time no fic post. I apologise, life has been crazy. I haven’t proof read this cause honestly I’m just too tired so I’ll read over it in the morning and edit any mistakes. Hope you’re all doing well! 🖤

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lokischocolatefountain · 7 months

Text

Warning || Men Like Me

Masterlist

Fandom: The Last of Us Pairing: Joel Miller x Virgin!Reader Rating: 18+ Warnings: girth age gap, virgin!reader, eventual loss of virginity (not in this chapter), gratuitous descriptions of Joel Miller's body, somewhat creepy!Joel, fetishization of youth, dom!Joel, breaking and entering, playboy magazine, objectification, fingering, sexual discoveries. Word count: 6.2k Summary: Joel's warnings about what men like him would do to girls like you only makes you want him more. A/N: Back in the depths of hell again, you guys. Now this isn't the most depraved thing I've written by any means but it's up there. Come say hi in my chat or inbox, I'd love to talk. Keep a look out for follow up parts and pleeeeease give me comments. I am very very desperate.

Joel Miller was a bad man. That much he knew.

Even as he fixed taps and renovated houses that were falling apart, he could see the blood on his hands. The very hands that packed lunches for Ellie snapped necks, pistol whipped men, stole from a starving child so he could feed his grown brother. But there were lows even he didn’t stoop down to.

Not that he didn’t have the opportunity. Men always did. And in this world, opportunities had only tripled. Even the Boston QZ, as strict as it was, had an underground brothel. He knew Tess to frequent it and never asked questions. Sometimes she needed to bury her face between a good pair of thighs and wrap her lips around a pretty pussy, and this wasn’t something he could give her. There was a lot he couldn’t give her.

Being in Jackson should’ve civilized him. It did in many ways. He’d reverted to the southern gentleman with table manners. ‘Yes, Ma’am’ spilled out of his lips effortlessly when he spoke to women. He held the door for anyone walking in after him. He even went to Church– sorry, the multifaith house of worship–to help renovate.

That was where his troubles began.

There was no point in him going where people prayed. Being back in civilization did not erase his decades of disbelief in a cruel God who would take his baby and keep him on this accursed Earth. But he did because he was back to being a contractor and Tommy asked him to go fix up the pews instead of him. He didn’t have much time, being a new dad and all.

He was on his knees checking out the rotting wood and evaluating how much wood he’d need for building new ones when he was confronted by a pair of legs and a sweet voice. Yours.

“Lemonade, Mister Miller?”

He looked up, his eyes traveling up your legs, bare until he got to your knees where the hem of your flowery skirt sat. Pure, unblemished knees, never taken a fall, didn’t fucking creak, and never knelt before anyone but God. You looked down sweetly, eyes wide and innocent like a newborn cow. Everyone had a kind of darkness about them in this world. Everyone except the kids who didn’t know a world outside the insular walls of Jackson. And you, it turned out, even though you weren’t a kid.

He wiped his sweat off with the greasy rag he carried and looked up at you once again. You had a pitcher and an empty glass in your hands. A sweet smile on your lips and hair falling down your shoulders and reaching your breasts. A yellow ribbon sat in a bow where your neckline dipped between your breasts, adding to the innocence of your look.

“Yes please, Ma’am. Thank you,” he said, giving you a nod. Your pretty plush lips curled up, a giggle escaping them as you poured him a glass of lemonade.

His hand brushed against yours as he accepted the glass, his hand too large to curl around it without making contact with you. You giggled again before retracting your hand and occupying it with adjusting your hair.

“I’m younger than you, you know? Don’t have to call me Ma’am.”

“Just being polite. Ma’am.” He took the glass to his lips, mindful to take only a small sip instead of downing it in desperation. Another adjustment to make when food was no longer a scarcity. Sweet, sour, and salty danced on his tongue before it glided down his throat. Just a sip refreshed him. And the sight of a nice girl didn’t hurt the cause either.

It’d been so long since he had a nice refreshing glass of lemonade. Summers meant worse infestations of infected, not the barbecues, lemonades, and swimming of past. When surviving each hour was under threat, small luxuries like this became out of reach of even one’s dreams.

“Well, guess I should call you Sir then,” you said, leaning against the wall. You held the pitcher up to your chest and the tails of the ribbon on your chest dipped into it, the soft shiny yellow turning dark, tainted.

His mouth watered and fucking hell, it wasn’t the lemonade you just gave him. He took a sip of the drink and licked his lips, imagining how you’d taste if he wrapped his large hand around your neck and pressed his chapped lips to your plush ones. Better yet, if he held your legs apart and devoured you other pair of lips until you were leaking down his mouth. Would you call him Sir then? His cock twitched in his jeans as he pictured you bent over one of these pews, your skirt pushed up and his hand in your hair as he slid his cock in your hole.

Jesus fucking Christ! What the fuck was wrong with him?

“Made the lemonade yourself?” He asked, groaning as he managed to get himself back up on his feet. His knees creaked like the floorboards of the houses he renovated, but ultimately supported him as he stood. He towered over you, making you appear smaller, more fragile.

“Depends. Do you like it?”

“It’s wonderful, of course. Hot summer day like this…I really needed it,” he said, raising the glass up a little before taking another sip.

“Well then yes, I did make it.”

He chuckled, feeling himself pulled in by your easy charisma. It was nice to have normal conversations like this once again. No agenda, no need for establishing himself as someone who wouldn’t hesitate to beat someone up if even mildly threatened. It was just…normal.

“It’s very sweet, Ma’am. Like you I assume,” he added, mentally dusting off the part of his brain where he stored skills for conversing with pretty girls.

You laughed, holding your free hand up to your mouth to cover your lips that widened and revealed your teeth.

“Is that the southern charm that I hear our townspeople talk about?”

“They talk about my charm? I didn’t hear.”

“Oh yes, they do… Joel Miller, charming pants off of everyone in town.”

“Pants? Well that’s disappointing. I was hoping I’d charmed some pretty skirts off.”

“Lots of experience with that, Mister Miller?” you asked, sliding your hand over the soft fabric of the skirt of your dress. Such delicate fabric. He could fist the hem and give it one tug and it’d rip right off.

“More ‘n what you got for sure,” he said, loath to hint at how infrequent his encounters had become in the recent past. Tess died, he did a cross country hike with an annoying kid, he needed to maintain a good reputation in his new town. One buried after the other. Enough to leave a man with nothing but his fist and his imagination. He would kill for a fucking Playboy magazine. Literally. He’d killed for less.

“What do you know about how experienced I am?”

“Been experiencing longer than you’ve been alive, Ma’am.”

“Oh well. Nothing I can’t learn.”

He laughed nervously and stuck his hand in his jeans pocket. Surely you couldn’t be flirting… Why would a young thing like this flirt with him? He was in his late fifties looking like mid sixties and you were… He didn’t know. Young.

“If you could teach me, Mister Miller. Give a girl some experience?”

“I’m sure you can find someone else.”

“Oh. Not your type, am I?” you asked, and he deluded himself thinking you sounded disappointed. No chance.

He didn’t have a type. Long time since he thought of frivolous shit like that. But you shouldn’t be his type.

“There’s much more eligible men in town is what I’m saying,” he said, suddenly hesitant to lie. Lying had never been an issue for him. The right thing was to lie, say you weren’t his type so he wouldn’t cross lines. It’d been a long time since he did the right thing.

“I’ll be the decider of that,” you said with a shrug of your shoulder before taking the empty glass from him. “Have a good rest of the work day, Mister Miller.”

Later that night, he wrapped his fist around his cock in the privacy of his room. His mind flooded with images of you spread out for him, sweet lips and a sweeter pussy milking him. He couldn’t even recall the last time he was with a woman. It was Tess, of course. Sometime before she got thrown in FEDRA jail for the last time. Too fucking long ago.

Surely it was only because it’d been a long time since he got his dick wet. He’d never, in his entire life, pictured a woman so much younger spreading her legs for him. Sucking his cock. Crying out his name. How old was she even? Not past mid twenties for sure.

It was wrong, he knew, as white hot spend spurted out of his cock and covered his hand. A sour tang took over his mouth as the fog of unadulterated lust cleared up to reveal the ugliness in his head. He shuddered, feeling like something had crawled under his flesh. He hadn’t felt guilt like this in so long.

Wrong, wrong, wrong.

You weren’t even as old as his kid would be had she been alive.

He’d known men like that back in the day. Grays in their hair and skin like old leather, but pretty young things old enough to be their daughter hanging off their arm. It was obvious that none of them kept these girls around for love or for their personality. It was always sex and the feeling of self-importance when a sweet young thing paid attention to balding heads, beer bellies and limp dicks that needed a blue pill to get up.

Fucking disgusting.

He began avoiding you whenever you happened to be in the same space. At the house of worship, the town clinic where you interned, trading days when people exchanged what they had for what they wanted. His eyes never met yours and he always quickly looked away when they stared too long at your uh…feminine features– pretty legs, cute ass, round tits. Where the fuck did you get sundresses anyway? Who kept that shit around in this world?

He didn’t know that when he avoided you, you took note of him. When he took glances of your features, you memorized his for later in the night when you buried your head in your pillow and pushed your fingers inside your pussy to simulate what it must be like to be with a man.

He was older. That much you knew from his grey hair, sun-damaged skin, and gait that exuded bone-deep weariness. You knew Tommy had just turned fifty. Hard to miss occasions that meant a free slice of cake from the canteen. Joel had to be in his mid-fifties at the very least. At first glance, he wasn’t what you’d consider handsome. There were younger men in town. Fit and muscular. Didn’t groan and scrunch up their faces when they got up. Didn’t have lines on their foreheads. No bags under their eyes.

Yet there was something about Joel that was more entrancing.

After your first meeting when you offered him lemonade, you made sure to visit under the guise of worship. You didn’t know much about religion and were conflicted about embracing a god. The only faith you had rested in your medical instruments and the medicines the town’s chemist concocted. But it was a nice place to meet people, to check on healing patients.

The visits were worth it for a glimpse of Joel’s large hands wrapped around his carpentry tools. When the sun was the hottest, he sometimes stripped down to his tank top, giving you a show better than any film played in the community theater. His broad back looked masculine enough in his flannel shirts. But you didn’t know desire like the first time you saw him in a white tank, showing off his muscular arms as sweat dripped down his tan skin.

When you pleasured yourself in your room, it took time, imagination, your fingers, and a lot of effort to make slick pool in your pussy. That day, all it took was the sight of Joel Miller working. You sat with your thighs pressed together, rubbing them against each other in the most inconspicuous little movements.

Could it be blasphemy if the God who was supposedly orchestrating everything made this man take his shirt off in front of you?

It made no fucking sense. Joel was old. He looked like he woke up on the wrong side of the bed every goddamn day. He had been chewed up and spat out by whatever the fuck was outside Jackson these days. Hardened expressions, graying patchy beard, hands calloused from carpentry and decades of using weaponry. Features that only indicated a long life lived, not attractiveness.

You were supposed to be attracted to the soft, sweet ones like the guys in the worn out copies of romance stories that the previous inhabitant of your house stashed in the basement. Even his little brother would be a more reasonable target for your lust. Younger, taller, softer, head full of dark, silky hair with few grays. But you wanted Joel Miller with his rough graying beard that would prick your skin were you to cup his cheek like the women on the novel covers.

Something about him just screamed Man. Something that none of the other guys in town had. There was nothing wrong with any of the other Jackson men, but none of them made you want to take the plunge and lose your virginity. It wasn’t the lack of offers, per se. You’d gotten looks from many eligible Jackson bachelors. You had drinks with a few of them. Dinner with fewer and shared a kiss with more than one. Alright, two. But anything beyond that had you trembling in anxiety.

It wasn’t anything precious to you, virginity. But you’d waited so long. Focused so long only on survival and then helping to build this town and now training to become a doctor. Whatever passed for doctor these days. With all your life dedicated to everything but your love life, you simply had no experience. What if you messed up and they laughed? You knew anatomy, but that didn’t translate to practical stuff. What if you couldn’t make them feel good? You’d have to see the guy all the damn time in the small town. There would be no escaping the awkwardness.

Sure it was counterintuitive to keep pushing away sexual encounters because you had no experience. But you didn’t know what else to do. You were too old already to not have done anything. But each day that passed with you rejecting perfectly nice men meant you were getting even older for your first time.

You didn’t know where Joel fit into your need for exploring your sexuality, but it didn’t hurt to stare. God knew everyone else in Jackson did.

So you stared. Work with his carpentry tools. Riding on horseback into Jackson after patrol. Helping with the fucking sheep. Walking around with Tommy. Carrying his nephew around town. It should be inappropriate to be fantasizing about a man when he was doing something as innocent as carrying a baby. But seeing his large hand cradling the baby’s little head made you want to scream into your pillow and kick your legs.

“You alright, sweetheart?”

Your heart fluttered and you let out a nervous laugh at being caught. You smoothed out the wrinkles on your clothes just to make it look like you were alright. Unfortunately you were wearing a pair of fucking jeans. You didn’t even want to know how awkward you looked.

“‘m alright, Mister Miller.”

“Joel’s fine,” he said, rocking his nephew in his arms.

Oh fuck, his fucking arms!

“Oh I don’t know,” you said, fidgeting with a belt loop on your jeans. “Wouldn’t want to be impolite addressing you by your first name like that.”

He smiled, recalling your conversation from the house of worship when you called him Sir and had him fucking himself in the shower to the memory. “Ah. ‘cause I’m an old man,” he said, more as a reminder to himself to fucking behave.

“You’re not that old…” you trailed, looking him over in a way that set fire to every inch of skin that you laid eyes on.

Behave, Miller. You’re out with your nephew.

“That so?” he asked, eyebrow raised.

“Mhmm. You don’t look a day over seventy.”

He snorted, making Miles stir in his arms just a little. That stung a little. It shouldn’t. Your estimation of his age, whether you were serious or not, was reminder enough that he was too old to be lusting after you.

“Thanks. I’m actually eighty-two.”

You giggled your pretty little giggle, lowering your gaze to the ground and looking back up only when it had turned into a wide grin. “How old are you actually?”

“Old. Fifty six.”

“Fifty-six isn’t that old…” you trailed as you brought a hand up to his bicep. Joel gulped, praying to the non-existent God that you would stop before praying to the same God that you would keep your hand right there. God answered his second prayer. You squeezed, licked your lips and looked up at him with your doe eyes.

“Checking if the hardware is still working, Doctor?”

“I’m not a doctor yet.”

“When do you become one then? Ain’t no Harvard handing out medical degrees in this town.”

“Howard?” you asked, squinting at him. Ah, of course you didn’t know. Harvard didn’t mean the same thing to you. Now it was just like every other building in Boston. Run over by infected. These ones were just the nerdy kind with glasses on.

“That was a thing, too. But I said Harvard. They were big universities back then.”

“Ah. Did you go there?” You asked, with no malice or bite. Oh, bless your heart. No one expected a dummy like him to have gone to university at all, much less Harvard. No one in his family had gone. Sarah was meant to be the first.

“Yeah. Traded some oxy and threw molotovs at clickers in the campus.”

You rewarded him with a giggle and that was incentive enough for him to keep going. “Guys like me didn’t get into Harvard. Or Howard. Didn’t even go to community college. I finished high school and got a job in construction.”

“You didn’t go to uh…construction college?” You asked, cocking your head and raising an eyebrow as though testing out the term.

“No such thing. Well, there were civil engineering programs, but I just learned on the job.”

“Like me.”

“Guess so. I see you reading from all those fat medical books. But there’s no need to study any books in construction. ‘cept if you wanna be an engineer or architect or something, which I’m not.”

“Maybe you should write one. We could all do with some knowledge from before. It’s important to document it, pass it on to Ellie and little Miles over there.”

“I ain’t writing books, sweetheart. Don’t think I even remember how to write much. I’ll just keep to fixing things up in this town. So, if you need some help with your place…I’m happy to help.” It was the least he could do. Maybe as some kind of penance for having impure thoughts about you. Or as a fucked up trade for starring in the mental images he conjured to jack off in the shower.

“There is something, actually. But I don’t have anything to trade for, so I’ll wait until I do,” you said, clasping your hands behind your back and swaying in place in an endearing manner.

“Nonsense. You patched me up just last week. You’ve done enough for the town’s health to not have to trade for anything ever again.”

“Well, no. That’s not how it should be… It’s people’s health. Can’t put a price on that.”

“Believe it or not, health had a steep price back in the day. Cost four thousand something just to give birth. Double that if they had to cut you open.” And that was just how much it cost when Sarah was born. He was sure it had only gone up by 2003. If he hadn’t worked his ass off, there was no way he could’ve escaped debt. It helped that his Ma and his then wife’s parents helped with childcare. Would’ve been even more expensive without that.

“Damn. I don’t know how much that is, since…y’know we don’t have money now. But that sounds like a big number. It shouldn’t cost anything just to be born.”

“Tell me about it,” he said, shaking his head. “But listen. Anything you want fixed, I’ll help out. You can give me something later if you’re worried. I know Ellie’s always on the look for new books to read and you seem to have a lot of them.”

“Nothing Ellie would like. Not like the special limited edition of Savage Starlight or anything. Just medical textbooks and romance novels.”

“We could trade for the lemonade from that afternoon,” he insisted, desperate to do something for you. Take care of you as you took care of everyone who walked into the clinic be it papercuts or a fucking knife in their abdomen.

“Alright. Trade for the lemonade it is then,” you said, giving in to his pressure.

“Now tell me. What d’ya need fixed?”

⌘⌘⌘

It had been a few days since Joel promised to fix your shower for you. Each time he came by and rang your doorbell, you hid somewhere away from your windows. When he caught sight of you in public, you quickly walked away or engaged in conversation with someone else. You didn’t need shit fixed. Everything in your house was perfectly alright. Tommy and his guys had given the place a complete makeover just a couple months before Joel and Ellie arrived.

You were no paragon of honesty, but you didn’t make lying a habit. There were a few white lies here and there and this was meant to be one of them. It just didn’t fucking hit you that if you lied to a contractor that your shower was broken, he would eventually come over to fucking fix it. All your desperate sex starved brain wanted that day was for Joel Miller to come use his tools in your room and flex those muscles while at it.

So invested were you in that particular fantasy that as you unwound after a long shift at the clinic, it was with Joel’s beefy arms in mind. You stood in front of your mirror, taking in your reflection. One of the magazines you’d found in a box under your bed laid open on the dressing table. Playboy. Entertainment for Men. Each had a scantily clad woman on the cover. And many more inside.

You made comparisons to yourself and the woman in the center page of the issue.

She stood in front of a dressing table too, but much different from how you stood. Her legs were on either side of her dressing table chair and her hands on the top of it. Between her arms were breasts, big and round and with smooth skin. They didn’t have any marks on them like yours. No moles, no stretch marks. Just plain. And she just stood there, soft brown hair down, tickling the top of her breasts and her lips parted as she gazed at you. No, at the men she was meant to entertain in this men’s entertainment magazine. All she had on was panties that went high up to her flat belly that connected to high transparent socks.

You reached behind your back and unclasped your bra, wishing that you had something nicer like the woman on the cover of another one of the magazines. Bright red and showing off her breasts wonderfully, but pulled down to reveal almost everything. What was the point of a bra then if it didn’t cover or support anything? Entertainment, you decided. Men seemed to be very entertained by breasts.

Many a man had stared at yours even though you had them behind layers of fabric unlike the naked women of the magazines. Many had conversations with them instead of your face. Some brushed up against them ‘accidentally’. Joel thought he was being covert, but you felt his brown eyes rove all over them. You thought maybe that he too would brush up against it sometime, but he never did. Maybe entertainment stopped at just looking, as in the magazines.

You wondered if Joel sought out men’s entertainment magazines like this. He was from before everything went to shit, so it was very possible that he did. Did he like the women in these pages, sticking their asses out and looking through the pages at him? Would he be entertained if he saw you like this?

You didn’t know that if you turned your head to your bedroom door, you would have your answer. Joel’s cock strained against his already tight jeans as he stood awestruck by your figure. He swallowed as you held on to the top of the chair and lifted your knees, one after the other and placed them on the plush seat. You arched your back, a little too much at first before reducing the curve. Your ass stuck out enticingly and he didn’t know whether to grab, squeeze, slap, or spread your cheeks apart and fuck your ass.

He should leave.

It was stupid of him to walk into your house with a box of plumbing tools to fix your shower when you hadn’t yet given him a date or time for it. Plus you were avoiding him. Running away with your little friends and picking up stuff to hide your face from his view. He was plenty sure that when he’d rung your doorbell, you weren’t always away from home.

He should leave.

Fixing the shower could wait. He could confront you some other day.

But you were putting on such a pretty little show in nothing but your panties and he was only a man. A bad one.

His boots stayed put on your hardwood floors as you enjoyed yourself in front of the mirror. You spread your knees and let your fingers between your thighs, eyes closed, lips parted and low whines escaping your lips in just a few minutes. He palmed his growing erection over his jeans, consequences of being caught be damned. He was a foul beast already. What bad was another sin on the list? Besides, you were the one who’d left the fucking door open.

Your soft whimpers grew into moans as you brought yourself closer and he forced his feet to stay put despite their urge to walk up to you and give you something to really moan about.

“Fuu– mmm Joel, pleeease.”

He let out a gasp, all his restraint flying out the window as soon as he heard his name from your lips. You couldn’t actually be doing this… There had to be another Joel in town. Younger, better looking, smarter.

Your voice grew needy and the pitch higher as you kept at it. “Fuck, fuck, fuck! Gimme it, Sir.”

No, it couldn’t be anyone else.

Joel toed his boots off and took quiet steps towards you, emboldened by the filth that spilled from your lips. If this old man was what you wanted, he wouldn’t stop himself from reaping the benefits. He wasn’t a goddamn saint. Never was.

He stopped in front of you, surprised you still hadn’t sensed his presence. As though the universe heard his thoughts, it had you open your eyes. You gasped as soon as you saw him and buckled off the chair, but Joel caught you. You shuddered, unable to cope with the sudden touch.

“J-Joel?”

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he said, touching your cheek with the back of his hand. You whined, your body molding itself against his chest. You brought a hand to his arm, feeling the rock hard muscles underneath his sleeves and your other hand worked between your legs.

Your fingers no longer felt adequate as you felt his large fingers on your cheek. “Want you, please,” you whined, desperate to return to the edge where you had been right before you saw him.

“You don’t know what you’re asking of me…” he spoke dangerously, soft brown eyes clouded with a kind of desire you had longed to see in him for weeks.

“Want you…want you to be with me,” you repeated stupidly, your desperation clouding your senses too much for you to say anything else. While in the past you only wanted to get rid of your virginity, your goals had become more specific with his arrival. You wanted him. You wanted his big hands and broad shoulders, to hold on to them as you rode him. To watch his grumpy expressions turn to ecstasy under you.

“Tell me not to touch you,” he said, his tone low and almost threatening. Any other threat from him, you would’ve heeded. But not this one.

“Touch me!”

It was as though something in him snapped at your words. While darkness only loomed over him before, it now completely took over.The hand that previously only caressed your cheek now wrapped itself around your neck. Before you could completely process the move, his other hand slapped yours away. He replaced two of your puny fingers with his middle finger, eliciting a strained moan from you.

“Touching yourself to a Playboy magazine, huh?”

You only nodded, unable to form words now that a fantasy of yours had finally come to life.

“Dirty little thing…Thought you were a nice girl and all. Helpin’ out at the clinic, head buried in books all the time. Turns out you actually got your head in dirty magazines.”

You whined, your pussy clenching and gushing around his finger at the way he was speaking to you. The same man who insisted on calling you Ma’am despite your protests was calling you a dirty girl now. The veil of respectability seemed to have floated away at the sight of you naked and pleasuring yourself. Had you known that this was all you needed to get Joel Miller to touch you, you would’ve done it much sooner.

He added another finger, the girth of him enough to stretch you more than you had done for yourself. You brought a hand up to his shoulder and fisted his shirt, needing something to anchor yourself to.

“You ever been taken by a man, sweetheart?” He asked, his tone too cool and casual for what he was doing to you. You shuddered, partly from his phrasing– taken, he said. Taken. Like you were a thing. Like the women in the magazines positioned so uncomfortably just so their breasts could look a certain way for the picture. Printed on the cover page with the words Entertainment for Men written on top. You shook your head, feeling small as you confessed it for the first time.

“Any man?”

“N-no,” you managed to breathe out, whimpering at the way the bulge beneath his jeans twitched at your simple answer. He took a step to position himself behind you, letting you lean your back against his chest. The angle at which he touched your pussy changed, opening your world up to a wonderful new kind of pleasure.

“A virgin. Pretty young things like you ain’t for men like me,” he whispered in your neck, making you shiver. His thumb roamed between your legs as far as they could reach, caressed you gently, his softness with you contradicting his warning about men like him. The hand around your neck slithered down your torso, cold air forcing you to face your new desire of having your breath kept hostage.

He took your left breast in hand, squeezing the flesh like someone starved would hold on to a piece of bread. It felt more like a punctuation to the warning he issued than a part of sex. Just then, his thumb between your legs stopped its search, stopping a little above the fingers inside you.

A moan you didn’t recognize as yours at first filled the room and you buckled forward. Blunt nails sunk into the flesh of your breast as he saved you before you could fall. He hauled you back up, making you collide against his chest.

You gasped and quickly grabbed the hand between your legs, the sensation too intense for you to know what to do with. His thumb kept on, rolling over something there that set your person on fire.

“Fuuuck! Joel– I– I– hnnng–”

“I know, sweetheart,” he crooned, keeping at whatever the hell he was doing to make you feel this way.

“Please… I don’t– what was that?”

You felt his chest rumble before you heard his laughter. Heat rose to your face and your throat felt strained though there was no hand around it anymore.

“Never touched your clit? Do you even know what that is?” He mocked, the cruelty somehow not repelling you from him. He forced you to look up at him. Your heart lurched at how close you were to his face. You could see every gray hair, every minute blemish and line.

“Don’t know your own fucking body but you want a man? You don’t know what you’re handing me on a silver platter. I ain’t like the other guys in town. I walked across the fucking country and lemme tell ya, there’s no pretty things like you out there. I’m starved.”

“Take me, then,” you begged, using his own words from earlier. “Please. Whatever you– a-aaah!”

He ramped up the pressure on that spot– your clit– and with it, took your ability to speak coherently. It was as though he’d done it on purpose. You hated it. To be so bereft of control. To be a puppet in someone’s hand. For someone to acquaint themselves with parts of you that you didn’t know of. But it was too much to fight, so you let go. Let him play with you. Take you. Like a thing.

You renounced control of your lips too, his name slipping out effortlessly like it did when he caught you. Then you renounced what was left of your dignity and began begging relentlessly. For what, you didn’t know. In his hand, you’d gone from woman to pupper, your strings pulled by a man, your voice now his. Sounds that would be indiscernible from that of a wounded animal emanated from somewhere deep within you.

Perhaps none of this was real. Why else did your own voice grow so distant from you? Why did your vision become blurry? Your thighs shook uncontrollably and your heart felt like it was beating out of your chest. Your eyes clenched shut, depriving you of your blurred vision. Your toes curled. You wanted to shrink into yourself, shrink away from all this goodness. You went higher and higher, soaring like a bird. Every nerve ending in your body felt electrified, awoken like one switch turned on every light on last winter’s Christmas tree.

You let out a loud cry, the soaring bird in you reaching its peak before beginning its fall to the ground. You could hear your breaths again, labored but doing everything to stabilize itself. Your thighs still shook. Your chest rose and fell. A hand caressed your hand. Behind you, something strong supported your back. Kept you from falling backward.

“Joel…”

“I know, I know…” he whispered into your head. You opened your eyes and looked up at him, surprised to see a softer visage. He picked you up off the chair like you’d seen him lift giant logs before. With ease. You didn’t protest as he carried you. Didn’t protest when he laid you out on your bed.

He bent down and picked something up. No questions, no instructions. He simply spread your leg away from the other. Cold air touched the gushing mess dripping out of you and you shivered, feeling a sudden need to cover yourself but unable to defy him. His hand was on your pussy again. His hardened, calloused fingers behind a soft fabric this time. He wiped upwards, collecting the mess he made out of you. When he lifted the fabric up, you realized it was your panties.

He tucked it into the pocket of his jeans and then looked back at your face, the intensity of his gaze making you want to run. Problem was your weak legs wouldn’t take you anywhere. You didn’t screw your eyes shut. You didn’t pull your blanket to conceal yourself. You looked back at him, defiant. Like you were trying to prove something. I can handle a man like you.

“Be a good girl from now.”

That and a condescending pat on your pussy and he was gone.

⌘

Part 2

#joel miller #joel tlou #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x oc #joel miller x original character #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller age gap #joel miller fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #tlou smut #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fanfic #all that i've inflicted on the world

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staraxiaa · 3 months

Text

sunflowers

pairing: bakugou katuski x f! reader contains: childhood frenemies to lovers, fluff, mutual pining status: standalone, one-shot, completed wc: 17840

note: canon-compliant but i bend it; early childhood and then up to season 3. also cross-posted to ao3.

summary: there you stand at the beginning of the world, with you and your sunflowers; your lovely liar's smile.

The first time you meet Bakugou Katsuki, you are six-turning-seven, and you remember it well. Not just because it’s the first day of school, or even that it’s your birthday. Rather, you remember it because of him, and though you think you would rather die than admit it, there is some part of you⏤ a more rational part⏤ that can temper itself down to acknowledge the fact.

You remember it well, because that morning, your mother makes sure to doll you up extra pretty. She dons you in a frilled dress like it is your armor, taking extra care with your hair, its bows, and she does: so much that there is an extra skip to your step as you walk. You don’t just feel pretty, you know you are; a work of art atop a work of art. But you still make sure to say your thank yous to all the unfamiliar faces that compliment you with gummy smiles and a not-so-quiet, conspiratorial grin. “It’s my birthday!”

You remember the way your cheeks hurt from forcing the wideness of it, the way you think it has started to sound like a mantra. You remember smiling, nonetheless, at his friend, as he wishes you a happy birthday! in return⏤ you are smiling at his friend, and not him.

You remember it well, because the first time you ever meet him, he looks you up and down, clad in your careful curls and prettiest dress⏤ and dares to call you ugly.

If you were anyone else, you might’ve taken the words like a physical blow. Already, your new friends are tensing for the inevitable confrontation. “You can’t just say that to her,” Sueko says, her eyes already narrowing in a glare.

“And who the hell are you, extra?” The crimson-eyed boy scowls right back.

The other girl wilts a bit, but her glare remains set.

You decide, right there and then, that she is your new best friend.

You smile. If you were anyone else, you might’ve taken the words like a physical blow. But you don’t just feel pretty, you know you are; a work of art atop a work of art. So you only give him your kindest smile, because your mother told you to play nice in the morning, as she brushed out your hair. You make sure to give him a once over, glancing down, and then up.

“It’s okay!” Your eyes curve, ingratiatingly polite; ingratiatingly sweet. “Some people are just born blind. And stupid.”

“HAH?” His reaction is exactly what you hoped for, and it’s almost too easy. “WHO THE HELL ARE YOU CALLING⏤”

The slight quirk of your mouth is amused, but you only turn, pointedly, to your new best friend. “Any chance you’re free this weekend? Let’s hang out.”

She stutters an answer, eyes darting between you, and the blond you know is seething behind you, if the glare he’s practically boring into the back of your head means anything.

You tilt your head to the side. A little inquiry, a little push. “So?”

Hands slam down on your desk, cutting out her squeaked yes. You jump a little at the sound, your eyes widening⏤ both a little bit at the sound, and how close his face suddenly is. All of a sudden, you’re glad you didn’t call him ugly right back⏤ it would have sounded petty, after all, and almost certainly would have bit you right in the foot, considering how this crimson-eyed boy is so clearly not.

“I’m talking to you.” Well. You think, he’d probably be a great deal prettier if wasn’t glaring down at you, face contorted in what seems like half snarl, half scowl.

His friend adds, a little bit placatingly. “Bakugou-san’s not stupid. He’s really smart, actually, always been top of the class. He’s really cool!”

You note the way the class eyes him, the way the blond’s eyeing the door. He grunts. “I also have twenty-twenty vision.” His chin raises, arrogance in the set of his features, a bit calmer at the praise, but also a touch quieter, almost a bit wary.

The door opens. He glances back, just as a man walks in, old enough that you assume that he is your teacher.

It takes effort to keep the shit-eating grin from spreading across your features. “Are you sure?” You ask instead, completely straight-faced. ( You should really consider acting, you think. You’re practically a genius! ) You simper, a hand covering your mouth. “Could’ve fooled me.”

It’s almost too easy, you think, the way he explodes, literally.

“YOU WANNA FIGHT, EXTRA?” Miniature blasts pepper the table, and you might have thought it intimidating, if it’s not for the way your sensei is stalking over, looking almost as murderous as the boy himself. “I’LL KILL YOU!”

You coo a little, fearless with the backing of your newfound supporter. “You’re really scary. That’s illegal, you know.”

He opens his mouth. But then⏤ “Bakugou. Seeing as it’s the first day, you won’t be getting detention.” His mouth closes mutely. You grin a little at the way he’s being pulled away from your desk, fingers still clutching at the edges of it⏤ by the scruff of his collar, and somewhat like a dog, you think.

His eyes flash, a little bit angry, a little bit dangerous. He points one grubby finger in your direction. “She started it!”

The sensei also pins you with a stern look. “The next time this happens, the both of you’ll be staying after class to clean, as detention. Am I clear?”

You gape at both of them. It’s half genuine, half not. You think this verdict is a little unfair. The boy grins, smug.

A complaint is on the tip of your tongue, then you see the sensei’s expression: deadpan, tired, and unsympathetic. You sober up, frowning a little.

“Okay. Sorry, sensei. I’ll try.”

The crimson-eyed boy is still glaring at you, a little victorious, a little smug, but with a gleam in his eyes. This is war, they seem to say, silent and from across the room.

Little does he know, it has been, ever since the moment he decides to look you up and own, clad in your careful curls and prettiest dress⏤ and calls you ugly.

You blow him a kiss.

He jolts. The face he makes is obviously a frown of disgust.

The sensei straightens. You smile ingratiatingly, turning away.

This is war, his eyes seem to promise, and really, you can’t help but agree.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Your revenge is served not even three days later, on a Saturday evening, and you think it is the sweetest thing you have ever tasted.

You have your father to thank for it, actually. The boy, whose name you learn is Bakugou Katsuki, is something of a mini celebrity at your school.

This means that the surface level things are easy to find⏤ he has anger issues, an explosive Quirk, and is smart, consistently at the top of the class. ( You frown a little when they tell you. These are all things you already know, and the only new information⏤ he likes spicy food⏤ isn’t helpful in the slightest. ) But this also means that, knowing his temper, there are very few willing to actively take your side, and much more openly against you. You are the new girl, the outlier, and though he can’t quite make you an outcast⏤ you and your horde of girl-followers ( bought with your mother’s fashion, your father’s wallet, and your pure, sunny disposition )⏤ he has enough friends, or rather sycophants, that will ignore you in the hallways, or mutter names at you.

The boy in question doesn’t, though.

He storms up to your desk the second day. You are chatting with your friends, as he slams his hands on the desk and snarls: “Fight me.”

Catching your pencil just before it falls, you frown up with him. “What ever happened to: hi, hello, how are you?”

“Hi, hello, how are you.” He sneers. “Scared?”

“No, and my answer is no.”

His scowl deepens. “So you are scared.”

“I’m a healer.” You lift your chin in outrage, affronted. “I’m not violent.”

“Nah. You’re just an extra.”

Internally, you seethe. First ugly, and now an extra. You have never been called such things in your life. You open your mouth, a retort on the tip of your tongue.

The sensei walks in.

It dies in your throat, Bakugou’s face splits into a shit-eating grin. He turns away, head held high; arrogant and condescending, having won this encounter by a mile.

Wrath boils in your ears, but you tamp it down, expressionless. Your pencils are carefully aligned, your notebook opened with just a little more force than necessary. Internally, you promise yourself, he’ll get what’s coming to him. You will make sure of it.

You get your chance soon enough on a Saturday evening, dolled up again in a dress your mother painstakingly picked out for you, your hair pressed into careful curls. Your father had told you: your family had been invited to dinner by a friend he’d met at work, and that they have a son in the same grade as you, in the same school.

You had shrugged. So long as there’s a chance their son would be willing to join your Anti-Bakugou Society ( consisting only of you at the moment ), you don’t particularly mind.

“Play nice,” Your mother reminds you now, as you stand before the door; your father knocking on it. There is a bouquet of sunflowers clutched in your hands, matching the color of your dress, and you only scrunch your nose up a little at her.

“I’m always nice.”

Your mother doesn’t get a chance to respond, because then there’s a⏤ Katsuki, get the door!⏤ along with an answering⏤ “SHUT UP, OLD HAG! I’M GETTING IT!”⏤ and then, you blink.

The name sounds rather familiar. The voice, too.

The door opens. You stare, wide-eyed, as a head of blond hair enters your vision, familiar and crimson-eyed.

He’s just as stunned as you are, as you watch, with no small amount of delight, as he takes one look at you, and then the sunflowers you hold in your hands, and sneezes.

Christmas has come early, you think. “Katsuki! This is your house?” You step a little closer, a sickly sweet grin on your face.

He dodges the sweep of your bouquet. A pity, you think, but you are successful: he only sneezes all the harder.

You raise an eyebrow. “Are you… by any chance allergic to sunflowers?”

Your mother gasps, tearing the bouquet from your hands. She had been the one to pick them out.

He doesn’t need to respond for you to know the answer: as soon as they’re taken away from his immediate vicinity, his sneezes lessen.

Your mother had been the one to pick them out, and you had disliked the way they looked. But you decide, there and in the moment, that they are your favorite flower.

He straightens. His nose is still red, and there is murder in his eyes. “Why the hell are you here?”

His mother sweeps in, pinching him by the ear. “You will not address our guests that way.” She hisses, before looking up at the three of you, apologetic. “I’m sorry. I’ve been trying to teach him manners, I swear⏤”

“No worries at all, Bakugou-san.” Your mother says, correcting herself at the other woman’s oh, just call me Mitsuki! She pinches your ear in turn. “This one is much the same. A righteous demon, she is.” You narrow your eyes a little at her.

The blonde laughs, and the way she ruffles her son’s hair is terribly fond. “That’s just part of their charm, I suppose.”

He hisses up at her. She hisses right back.

You love her, you think.

“Oh, where are my manners!” She straightens, blinking. “Please come in. Masaru’s in the kitchen, just setting up⏤”

Your parents walk in first, complimenting the decor. Mitsuki beams at them, and down at you. “Masaru tells me the two of you go to the same school,” She says. “Have the two of you met before?”

You say: “Yes!” at the same time he gives a flat, but resounding, “No.”

He glares daggers into the side of your head. You grin. “We’re in the same class, and he’s my best friend!” You exclaim, the lie rolling easily off your tongue.

“No the fuck I’m not.”

“Language, Katsuki!” Mitsuki reaches for his ear again, her face the picture of delight. “I’m so happy you’re finally making friends!”

“WE’RE NOT FRIENDS!”

She gasps, affronted, looking like she wants to tear him a new one. You smile. Your parents look on, utterly lost. “It’s okay, Mitsuki-san. That’s just how Katsuki-kun shows his love. I don’t mind.”

“Oh, you angel.” And from the look on her face, one might have thought she truly believed it. She whips around to glare at her son. He glares back. “I don’t know how she puts up with you, but you’d better treat her well.” You grin at him from behind, terribly smug, and terribly victorious.

She turns around, and your smile is pretty again, pleasant and soft.

Mitsuki coos at you. You think the dichotomy between the way she talks to the both of you is like heaven and earth. “Come over to our house more often. I’d love to have you over anytime!”

“HAH? WHAT⏤”

“We wouldn’t want to trouble you, Mitsuki-san.” Your mother says, assertively. She is shooting you the look, the one that means she knows what you’re up to.

“Oh, it’s no trouble at all!” She dismisses the statement with a wave of her hand. “Katsuki has few enough friends as it is.”

Your father laughs, ever the mediator. “We’ll have to invite you over next time as well. We live just down the street.” He brightens. “Actually, seeing as they’re classmates, they could maybe walk together in the mornings?”

Your mother’s grip tightens around his arm.

There is a wicked grin on your face. “I’d love that!”

The boy in question doesn’t even get the chance to protest, because Mitsuki’s already chirping. “It’s settled, then!”

You think: it doesn’t even matter if he emerges victorious in all the encounters you have after this, because when the adults turn, you get to stick your tongue out at him.

The look on his face is so quietly violent, so blatantly murderous, as you wave your still sunflower-smeared hands in his face, that you think you will remember the sweetness of this victory for the rest of your life.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Your relationship does not change in the slightest after that.

Mitsuki invites you over to her house once a week, and your parents do the same. The adults do their own thing, and you do yours: trying your best to annoy the daylights out of your newfound nemesis, and he only does the same to you. You’ll make fun of his All Might merchandise, the ones displayed proudly in his room, and he’ll make fun of your Recovery Girl ones, the ones you have so painstakingly collected⏤ she’s not nearly as popular of a Hero. He’ll sneer: “So that’s why you used to kiss everyone you healed?”

You’ll sneer right back, cringing internally at the reminder of that phase, though you are still Recovery Girl’s number one fan. “My Quirk’s literally activated through touch. You’d be lucky if I poked you with a ten-foot pole, let alone heal you with a kiss.”

He’ll make a face. “Eugh. You wish, idiot. I’d never want to kiss an extra like you.”

The two of you have learned to act relatively civil with adults in the house. You smile up at him, sickly sweet. “Yeah. This extra is an idiot, and she definitely didn’t score higher than you on the last history test.”

By one point, but still.

He snorts, though you can tell the reminder irks him. “That’s only ‘cause you sucked up to sensei like, three classes in a row.”

You sniff in derision. “I did not.” Sure, it’s true: you’d definitely been a little more active in class, and answered more questions than usual, but you’d studied for it! You’d studied a lot!

He sneers back. “Did too.”

You have learned to imitate the murderous glare he likes to level you with, and the first time you mimic it, you grin a little as his eyes widen, stunned.

The two of you are civil for the most part, though, at each other’s houses. His mother would tear him a new one if she heard him acting anything but⏤ ( she has )⏤ and you think you like his parents too much to ruin your relationship over something as trivial as this.

School is a different story, however, as are your walks in the mornings. “Shut the fuck up,” He’ll snarl at you.

“But Katsuki-kun!” You’ll coo right back, using the tone you know he hates. “I haven’t even started talking yet!”

He’ll scowl at you. You’ll simper right back. He’ll speed up, and you do not slow, nor do you attempt to match his pace, because you know: if you slow, he will too. Always keeping that same distance, and if you speed up⏤ well, you’d tried that once. And you’d kept pace with him for all of two seconds, before he’d sped up in turn, until the both of you were practically sprinting to school.

You lose, of course. You have never run a day in your life.

( You start training right after. )

You make fun of the things he likes, and he of yours. You flop on his bed, making sure to crinkle his carefully-pressed sheets, forcing him to his desk during one of your so-called ‘hangouts’ and ‘study sessions’⏤ Mitsuki’s words, not either of yours, but there are textbooks in front of the both of you, so that is good enough. You study harder than you ever have before, and rub every one of your small victories in his face, and he studies like a demon in return⏤ ( even though he’s never needed to study in his life )⏤ until the both of you are neck and neck, with perfect grades in every subject. You buy everything sunflower-colored, sunflower-shaped, and tack sunflower stickers onto every surface you can see, pinning some cute ones to your backpack.

( Your mother picked out the flowers, but you are the one that held them, and you were also the one to decide, there and then, that these were your favorite flowers in the world. )

You make fun of the things he likes, and he of yours. You see his face more often than anything else, and he calls you an idiot when you tell him about the fictional boys you think are cute. Well, you don’t care. You tell him about them anyways, because you are bored and Kuroo-kun looked particularly stunning in the episode the other day⏤ only because you are bored and there is nothing else to do, or so you tell yourself. You find: you do not regret lying the first day and calling him your best friend, because even if you are not even friends⏤ you don’t think you are, at least, because he has never confirmed it, even if he does seem somewhat tolerant of you; punches your pseudo-stalker in the face for you, and carries you piggyback on the way home, crying all the while.

“You’re ruining my shirt,” He grouses. “Stop crying. I’m literally more injured than you are.”

You sniff. “I’m not kissing you better.”

He snarls. “Come anywhere near me with your mouth and I’ll blow your face off.”

“You want it so bad it makes you look stupid.” You tell him, and he tenses beneath you, but you only press your cheek to his neck, and think, heal.

The pain of the bruises lances through you, and you feel the way he relaxes.

You droop. “Onwards, steed.”

“I will literally drop you.”

“I just healed you. I’m tired.”

“No one fucking asked you to.”

He doesn’t make good on his promise, though, and eventually, you sigh a little into his neck.

“What.”

“Nothing.”

“What, dumbass.”

You hum, a little absentminded. “You’re going to UA, right?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“Oh, I was thinking of applying for the healer understudy openings.” You shrug. “Dunno if I can get in, though.”

“You will.” His certainty surprises you.

You smile. “Didn’t know you believed in me so much, Katsuki-kun.” Your head flops back onto his shoulder. “Will you still walk with me in the mornings, then?”

“After school, too. Even if you don’t get in.”

You shift to blink up at him in surprise.

He clicks his tongue. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him look this uncomfortable.

“Who the fuck else’s gonna punch shitty stalkers for you?”

You don’t think you’ve ever felt like this before, like the sun cresting upon the horizon, lighting up like a dawn inside your chest. You laugh at the feel of it. “Are you sure you woke up on the right side of the bed today? Besides, you don’t even know where I’d be going.” You reach up to pinch him on the cheek.

He jerks away, the look on his face disgusted.

“Then I’ll teach you to fight.”

You make fun of the things he likes, and he of yours. You find: you do not regret lying the first day and calling him your best friend, because even if you are not even friends⏤ he is tolerant of you, he punches your pseudo-stalker for you, he walks with you before school, and he walks with you after. He lets you flop on his bed, lets you push him to the desk, wrinkles his nose at you when you tell him about a boy that was cute, and calls your friends dumb when you tell him about something they said that was funny. You weasel his birthday out of Mitsuki, and get him that All Might merch you know he’ll like. There’s some Recovery Girl merch left on your windowsill the day of yours. He laughs when you try a bite of his food for the first time and cough instantly after, your face aflame. What the hell is this? You hiss, and he grins, telling you it’s real food, and that you’re just weak. He never calls you his friend, but he believes in you and your dream, and promises to walk you to and from school anyways, even if you do not attend the same one.

( That’s just how Katsuki-kun shows his love, you tell Mitsuki-san, once upon a time, and though you are not sure if it is love, you think: you do not mind it. )

This is how your relationship is, and how it remains, until the end of the second last year of middle school, right before the both of you enter UA.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

You are asleep at your desk when you are jumpscared awake.

“UA? That national school? Isn’t their acceptance rate really low?” Someone in your class is asking.

“That’s exactly why you guys are just extras!” You roll your eyes as the ash-blond jumps straight atop his desk. “I aced the mock test! I’m the only one at this school who could possibly get into UA. I’ll definitely surpass All Might and become the top hero!”

This is not the first time you’ve heard this tirade. Sueko nudges you, quietly. “Hey. Didn’t you say you were applying for one of their healer slots?”

“Oh, yeah.” The sensei glances down at his list. “Midoriya wanted to go to UA as well, right? And someone else…” You tense.

The class bursts into uproarious laughter, and it seems you are temporarily saved.

“Huh? Midoriya? No way! You can’t get into the Hero course by just studying!”

The green-haired boy stammers. “Th-they got rid of the rule! There’s just no precedent…”

You roll your eyes at the sound of familiar explosions. “Huh? Deku! You��re below the rejects! You’re quirkless! How can you even stand in the same ring as me?”

“No, wait! Kacchan! It’s not like I’m trying to compete with you or anything! Believe me!” He falters “It’s just that it’s been my goal ever since I was little! I won’t know unless I try…”

“What do you mean, unless you try? You’re Quirkless!”

You slam your textbook down with a little more force than usual, and the whole class turns to you in surprise. “He has a dream that he dares to try for,” you say, coolly and careful. “Isn’t that enough?”

“And what the hell would you know about that?”

Disbelief rushes through you, and you turn to look him squarely in the eye. The class tenses, and his own eyes widen. It has been a while since you’ve challenged him like this directly, whether in school or otherwise.

Sueko pipes up, unhelpfully, from beside you, as if he wouldn’t know. “She’s also applying for UA.”

You don’t get the chance to glare at her, because your sensei continues the thought. “Oh, yes, that’s right! You were the last student applying to UA! The healer routes are notoriously difficult⏤ how’s that coming along?”

“Ah, I applied to some hospitals for volunteering, but I don’t know if they accept middle-schoolers,” You laugh.

Your sensei nods, in support, but also a little condescendingly. “Well, it’s also a very difficult path, so don’t beat yourself up about it too much, yeah?”

The smile on your face feels a little bit painful, a little bit stretched.

You are distracted for the rest of that day. So out of it, in fact, that when the sensei calls upon you, his favorite student, you take all of five seconds to respond⏤ blinking, first, then glancing up, with a: “Sorry, what was the question?” You are so out of it that you bump your hip into your own desk as you move past for lunch, wincing at the twinge of it, and you are so out of it that you forget your pencil case when you leave after class, and have to go back to get it.

“Believe that you’ll be born with a Quirk in your next life, and take a last chance dive off the roof!”

You know that voice. You pause. But then, the blast of familiar explosions.

Before your hands, the door slams open.

You don’t know what you were expecting. Bakugou and Midoriya both, obviously, and you suppose you should have known his two lackeys would have been there, too. They turn from their face-off, and your glare is sharp and terrible. “So what if he’s Quirkless?” You snap, storming over to grab the green-haired boy by the wrist. “At least he has a dream. At least he dares to try. That’s more than I can say for the two of you.”

“Stay out of this,” The blond snarls, a warning.

You are not entirely a good person. You lie as you please, wielding the power of your mother’s fashion, your father’s wallet, and do things entirely for your own amusement, uncaring of the aftermath. You know Midoriya, or rather, you know of him, and how he is a frequent target of Bakugou’s scathing remarks. At first, you had assumed he’d just been one of the people that disliked you, but it had become increasingly evident that he was just one of the people that didn’t dare to brave the blond’s wrath. And you are not entirely a good person, because you just didn’t care. Not to talk to him, not to stand up for him, not if he hadn’t even tried to for you.

You are not entirely a good person yourself, but even so, you know that there are lines that should not be crossed.

You lift your chin, and say, quietly. “Apologize.”

“Hah?” He tilts his head. “And why the hell should I? Why the hell are you defending him?”

You feel incredulous. “What does that have anything to do with it?” You don’t see the way his eyes flicker down to where you are holding the green-haired boy, by his wrist. “There are things that you should never, ever, say to a person.” His eyes narrow, but there’s an irrational anger within you, a disbelief. “You’re literally trying to become a Hero. How can you, an applicant of UA, who hopes to become one of the best heroes in the world, tell someone to kill themselves, and not think there’s anything wrong with it?”

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” Little explosions are escaping his hands, in the uncontrolled way they do when he’s furious and unaware of them.

You think Midoriya makes a pained sound, what with the way your hands are clenching, angry and white. Heal. A sting pulses through you, and you drop his wrist, but your eyes are flashing. “You’re being an ass. Apologize.”

“You don’t tell me what to do.”

You lift your chin. “If you value our friendship in the slightest, then yes, I do.” The vehemence of your words stuns you a bit, and the blond recoils, as if he has been physically struck.

You think you have won, for all of a moment, and then he scoffs.

“Yeah, right. What friendship? The one you lied to my mom about and said that we had? That friendship? The one that doesn’t exist? Won’t exist?”

His sneer is not harsh, but the breath that leaves you is shaky.

You do not hear his next words.

( You make fun of the things he likes, and he of yours. You flop on his bed, making sure to crinkle his carefully-pressed sheets, forcing him to his desk during one of your so-called ‘hangouts’ and ‘study sessions’⏤ Mitsuki’s words, not either of yours, but there are textbooks in front of the both of you, so that is good enough. You study harder than you ever have before, and rub every one of your small victories in his face, and he studies like a demon in return⏤ ( even though he’s never needed to study in his life )⏤ until the both of you are neck and neck, with perfect grades in every subject. You buy everything sunflower-colored, sunflower-shaped, and tack sunflower stickers onto every surface you can see, pinning some cute ones to your backpack. You make fun of the things he likes, and he of yours. You see his face more often than anything else, and he calls you an idiot when you tell him about the fictional boys you think are cute. Well, you don’t care. You tell him about them anyways, because you are bored and Kuroo-kun looked particularly nice in the episode the other day⏤ only because you are bored and there is nothing else to do, or so you tell yourself. You find: you do not regret lying the first day and calling him your best friend, because even if you are not even friends⏤ you don’t think you are, at least, because he has never confirmed it, even if he does seem somewhat tolerant of you; punches your pseudo-stalker in the face for you, and carries you piggyback on the way home, crying all the while. You make fun of the things he likes, and he of yours. You find: you do not regret lying the first day and calling him your best friend, because even if you are not even friends⏤ he is tolerant of you, he punches your pseudo-stalker for you, he walks with you before school, and he walks with you after. He lets you flop on his bed, lets you push him to the desk, wrinkles his nose at you when you tell him about a boy that was cute, and calls your friends dumb when you tell him about something they said that was funny. You weasel his birthday out of Mitsuki, and get him that All Might merch you know he’ll like, and there’s some Recovery Girl merch left on your windowsill the day of yours. He laughs when you try a bite of his food for the first time and cough instantly after, your face aflame. What the hell is this? You hiss, and he grins, telling you it’s real food, and that you’re just weak. He never calls you his friend, but he believes in you and your dream, and promises to walk you to and from school anyways, even if you do not attend the same one. )

This is how Katsuki-kun shows his love, you say to Mitsuki-san once upon a time, but now, you know, because you have learned to read between the lines of his words; to understand him: that this is just how he treats liars who worm their way into his world, and how he tolerates them.

Your lip wobbles. There is a lump in your throat. But you will not cry for him, nor will you plead. Play nice, your mother chastises you once upon a time, because you are a willful child, vindictive in both your action and your speech, and petty enough to hold onto your grudges. She chastises you once upon a time, because you do not particularly care to cater to the feelings of those around you unless you feel like it; do not care to stand up for a boy who has done nothing to you, just because he has done nothing for you.

You are petty, yes. Vindictive, too. You may not be that much of a good person, and you are not without your own feelings, hypocritical as that may be. But you are trying, and you are genuine, or at least as much as you can be, as much as you ever have, and he⏤ he has just thrown all of that in your face.

“Fine, then.” You smile, and you are unfeeling as you lie. “I’ve never thought of you as a friend, either. Don’t talk to me again.”

The door slams behind you.

You do not hear his next words, so you do not hear him mean: not while you choose him, and not me.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Katsuki is six-turning seven the first time he meets you.

It is the first day of school. You are seated at your desk, a crowd of adoring sycophants around you. “Happy birthday! You look really pretty today,” His friend says from beside him, and he looks you up and down. You are wearing a sky-blue dress, with your hair pressed into careful curls.

His cheeks warm. He thinks you’re the prettiest girl he’s ever seen, but he only grunts, looking away to the side. “Dunno. She looks pretty ugly to me.”

“You can’t just say that to her,” Your friend hisses. He doesn’t know her face.

He scowls at her. “And who the heck are you, extra?”

She wilts under the force of his glare, and he feels a little better, as if satisfied.

“It’s okay!” You smile. He blinks. Maybe he should call you ugly more often.

And then you call him stupid. And blind.

And the rest is history.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

The results of your hospital volunteer application are sent back the next week, and the first thing you think of, somewhat bitterly, is that at least now, you have a proper excuse for skipping out on your weekly dinners.

You have already skipped out on the first, pretending you feel sick.

Your phone is still silent. You have not talked to him since that day, not even to check up on him when you see the news, though your fingers itch to. You think of sunflowers: how you didn’t even like them, until him. You think of how your bag now feels empty without its signature pins, how you have thrown every scrap of yellow clothing into a pile in your closet, your sunflower-themed charms and notebooks tucked away.

Proof of life comes from your mother, and you do not turn on your phone.

You break your silence two days later, pushing your vegetables somewhat morosely around your plate. “My volunteer application was accepted. They’re letting me intern at the hospital.”

Your father beams. “That’s great news! You should’ve told us earlier! Honey, we have to eat out to celebrate! Oh, I need to tell Masaru⏤”

“I won’t be going to weekly dinners for the rest of the summer,” You cut in. Your mother’s chopsticks pause midair.

Your father blinks at you. “Surely the hospital isn’t making its interns work that much.”

“Well, I’m applying to UA.” You shrug. That much is true, but it’s also just so you can fill in your hours, work yourself down to the bone. “I’d like as much experience as possible.”

Your mother is watching you carefully.

Your father clears his throat. “Well, don’t work yourself too hard.” He says, jokingly, as he dishes another helping of food upon your plate. “You tell us if they’re giving you any trouble, alright?”

You force yourself to smile back. “‘Course, dad.”

( Your mother asks you, a week later, when you arrive home from your internship. “Are you still friends with him?” She has asked you a similar question once, years ago and late in the evening, at the end of the dinner party, your father drunken and half-leaning on her shoulder.

You give her the same answer you did then, and in the same way. Cheery, and without a hint of hesitation. “Nope!”

She is watching you carefully.

You excuse yourself, and she does not ask you about it again. )

It feels like the days never end, and yet summer passes by before you can blink. You banish all thoughts of blond hair and crimson eyes entirely from your mind, and truthfully, you do not have the mind to think of him much, anyways. You steal the pain of your patients and make it your own, smiling at the brightness of their faces as you heal one, then two, then several more. It tires you terribly so, and between your time at the hospital and pre-studying for the UA exams, you’re so fatigued each night that you fall asleep before your head even hits the pillow. You don’t even have the time to meet up with your friends. And before you know it, the last year of middle school is upon you, as are the start of your applications.

It is a whirlwind of things to do, so much that you feel you do not have the time to breathe, or even think. Katsuki’s been placed in a different class from yours, which comes as a relief in more ways than one⏤ firstly, that you don’t have to see him, and secondly, because you can let your grades fall just a little, and still come out as top of your class. Between your intern shifts, your mindless studying, the applications, the tests and quizzes and preparing endlessly for interviews, the thoughts of anything else vanish entirely from your mind. You do not feel the emptiness of your afternoons, nor much of your mornings.

About two months in, Midoriya Izuku is the one to seek you out.

There is a spoonful of rice halfway to your mouth, a textbook in your other hand. You notice him when a shadow falls over it, blotting the light out. You glance up, drawling. “Yes?”

“Can I… talk to you for a moment?” He ventures, nervously, a tray gripped in his hands.

You eye him a little strangely.

You haven’t seen him since four months ago⏤ you haven’t really been paying much attention, and even the reminder sets your walls of iron slamming up. He’d been shorter then, you think, and significantly more hesitant. The boy from back then would never have even dared think about approaching you like this.

He flusters. “I-I just! Another time is also okay, or if you don’t want to, that’s also okay⏤”

There he is, you think, a touch amused. “Can it be said here?”

Beside you, Sueko’s jaw drops. You can feel the stares of your friends boring into the side of your face.

“Y-yes?”

“Then make it quick.” You flip the page of your textbook.

He hesitates. “Is it really okay…? For me to sit here?”

Your eyebrow arches, high. “Since when have you been unable to sit where you like?”

Mutely, he sets his tray down, and sits.

You only flip another page. “You can either eat or talk.” You say, conversationally. “Lunch won’t last all day.”

Obediently, he takes a spoonful of rice, and swallows. “I just… wanted to thank you.” He begins.

You know exactly what he is talking about, and your throat tightens. ( You think of your backpack, how empty it feels, but your refusal to tack on your sunflower pins anyway. ) You shrug. “No need to thank me. I didn’t do it for you.”

“Even so,” Midoriya perks up a bit. “N-no one’s ever stood up for me like that before, and especially not to Kacchan… I-I’m really grateful, either way!”

You snort a little. Never would you have thought Midoriya Izuku, of all people, would stand here one day, thanking you.

“I think you’re a really good person,” He says to you, a little bit hesitant. It jolts you a bit, the genuine honesty of his tone, but what you are not prepared for is what comes after. “And I know Kacchan does, too.”

Your spoon stops halfway to your mouth.

“He still cares about you,” Midoriya says, a touch softer. Your friends are not looking at you, but you can still feel the weight of their gazes, their ears.

You say as you set your spoon down. “If you want to be friends with me, then you will never speak of him again.”

Midoriya watches you carefully, notes the finality in your tone. His gaze rises to a point above your shoulder.

He flinches.

He does not speak of what he sees, or of this conversation, ever again.

You do not turn, and you do not ask.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

The week of UA acceptances arrive, and you await your own with bated breath.

Your father laughs as you run out exactly at eight every morning to check, before he finally deigns to tell you that the postman usually delivers to your house around twelve. “I knew that!” You say, and he laughs at the obvious lie.

You stick your tongue out at him, but you still sneak out the next day at the same time, just in case.

But as it turns out, the postman is late. You know this, because Midoriya texts you late in the evening, after dinnertime, with his signature All Might emoji and a brief: check your mailbox!!!!!

You stop, your heart in your throat. You don’t think you are breathing.

He’s still typing, spamming your text messages with a thousand All Might emojis, each of them more despairing than the last. You do not know what this means. And then, you see his next message: I got in!!!!!

It turns out that you are not, in fact, breathing.

You feel like you are holding your breath the whole time you’re fumbling through your mailbox, dropping random letters haphazardly onto your doorstep. That one looks like it’s important, you think, distantly, and it gets dropped somewhere onto the growing pile at your right, scanning them all for a familiar logo, and⏤ you see it at the very bottom of the pile.

You thumb it open with shaking hands. Congratulations, it reads, and you scream.

( You think for one moment of sunflowers, how you can imagine exactly how he’d react, hear exactly what he’d say. )

Your father pokes his head around the corner. “I heard screaming. Everything alright?”

Your mother is smiling. “Mitsuki just called. Katsuki’s in.”

Your father is looking at you with wide eyes. You are grinning, there are tears in your eyes, and you are wordless in your delight.

Your mother laughs, soft. “I suppose two congratulations are in order.”

“Midoriya also made it, so make that three.” You correct, grinning.

Your father whoops. “THAT’S MY GIRL!” For the first time in almost a year, you feel light as a feather, like the world is spread wide before you, and you are a young god before it, your wings wide and at the ready.

For the first time in almost a year, you think, for one moment of sunflowers, how you can imagine exactly how he’d react, hear exactly what he’d say. You think of reaching for your phone⏤ ( and if you did, you’d see his icon that you’d purposefully wiped blank bubbling )⏤ but you don’t. You think of a boy with blond hair and crimson eyes that you have not looked at in almost a year, how you’ll brush past him in the halls, surrounded by your gaggle of friends, your uniform and makeup, your armor, and try not to note how he’s grown taller. For the first time in over a year, you think of him, and your heart does not feel like an empty cavity in your chest; you do not feel so hollow, nor do you ache.

Your heart only squeezes, a little tight, but.

You think you will be fine.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

You are delusional. You are not, in fact, fine.

You are standing in front of the classroom door. It spells the code of your class: 1A, in bold lettering, proportions inhumanly large. You are three minutes late, but it’s really not your fault⏤ you’d simply fangirled so hard over the fact that you’re finally getting to meet your idol in person last night that you’d barely gotten any sleep, and your mother had had to haul you practically out of bed and out the door, throughout the whole of your alarm.

You slide open the door. Instantly, you’re met with a sea of faces, and you steel yourself⏤ but then.

For the first time in over a year, you see him, and all of a sudden, you are painfully aware of the lack of yellow on your figure; your backpack entirely empty of its signature sunflower pins.

The smile is frozen on your face, and he looks just as shocked as you feel.

A voice drawls at your side. “You must be the healer,” You are glad for the distraction; the source a scraggly-haired man halfway through removing himself from a sleeping bag. Your sensei, you deduce. “You’re late.”

“Sorry, sensei!” You bow. “I overslept because I was fangirling too hard over meeting Recovery Girl today! I promise it won’t happen again!”

A wave of soft laughter ripples through the class, and over the din, you hear a⏤ she’s kinda cute!⏤ at the same time as a⏤ oh, I love her already.

“If I get hurt, will I get to see you?” A voice calls, and you turn to see a boy⏤ blond, and your heart stutters for a moment, but his shade isn’t ash, it’s golden. He’s grinning cheekily up at you.

“No flirting in my class.” Your sensei warns. “But yes, seeing as she’s 1A’s healer understudy.” He turns to you. “Recovery Girl’s waiting for you in her office. You know where it is?”

You nod cheerily. “Sir, yes, sir!”

“Good.” You turn at the obvious dismissal, shooting a wave at your green-haired friend as you do.

You leave the classroom with your shoulders set, your chin tilted high, your outfit your armor, and your makeup your helm.

You pretend like you do not feel the crimson glare that seems like it’s trying to pierce through the back of your neck.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Recovery Girl likes you, and you feel as if you are floating for the whole of a day. Not even meeting Bakugou’s gaze the next morning can knock you from it, nor can the grape-haired boy’s leering from across the room. You can’t really dwell on them for long, either, not with the crowd of people aggregating by your desk. You blink up a little, surprised.

It’s not like you’ve made an effort to dress up especially pretty today, and you don’t think you’ve come off as incessantly nice. You are not the you from first grade anymore⏤ you don’t just think yourself pretty, you know you are⏤ but are confident enough in your own skin that you have stopped putting on airs; have allowed yourself to be as cold and sarcastic and dry as you want. Most of your girl-followers⏤ ( the ones you buy with your mother’s fashion, your father’s wallet, and your pure, sunny disposition )⏤ have only seen glimpses of you like this, and you can count on one hand the people outside of your parents who know you as you are.

Sueko, Midoriya, and of course, him.

You do not dwell on it for long. You are confident in your own skin, and though you would like some more friends, you do not wish to temper yourself to gain them.

You smile a little at the question the purple-haired boy asks, disliking the way his eyes are lingering at your chest. “You’re all welcome to drop by the clinic anytime you like. It’s what we’re here for, after all. Though, if you want a kiss to make you feel better,”

You pause a little bit for dramatic effect watching the eyes of several boys brighten just a bit.

“You’ll have to go to Recovery Girl.”

Your straight face is very well-practiced, but you do not hide the small quirk of your mouth as you watch their souls die.

An arm slings around your shoulder, its pink-skinned, pink-haired owner grinning at you. “I think we’re going to be best friends, you and I.”

You remember thinking the same thing about a different girl, when you are six-turning seven, and you hear the same genuinity behind it.

( You are clad in your outfit like armor, your makeup a helm. Today, you are exactly as cold and sarcastic and dry as you like, because you are confident in your own skin, and you do not temper yourself in the slightest. )

You smile up at her. “I think I’d like that!”

Her grin widens, but then, an older Hero walks in⏤ Cementoss, you think. You have made an effort to memorize the roster. “To your seats, everyone.” He calls.

You take out your notebook, neatly arranging your pens. New year, new you. You don’t have as many shifts at the hospital anymore⏤ you don’t need the experience exactly, as you’re sure UA will look good enough on your resume, but it can’t hurt. Besides, you enjoy working there anyways; the older nurses who help you out with a kind smile, the doctors who are almost always willing to answer a question. But the lessened shifts allow you to breathe, just a little, to settle back into a healthier routine; one no longer so bogged down by your thoughts.

Math transitions quickly into English. You think you prefer Cementoss’s teaching style just a little, even if Present Mic is more energetic⏤ a little bit too loud for your tastes, you think. The material is basic, seeing as it’s the unofficial first day of class, and though you’ve already pre-studied most of the content, you end up writing most of it down, anyways.

Lunchtime arrives. You balance your tray on your hands, walking side-by-side with Mina. Midoriya waves at you from his table, surrounded by an assortment of friends, and you nod back. “Let’s sit there!” The pink-haired girl points excitedly at a particular table.

You see several boys from your class, some more familiar than the rest. A head of ash blonde, crimson eyes that glance up to meet your own.

“Midoriya wanted me to sit with him today,” You say, a touch apologetic. “You’re welcome to join us, if you’d like?”

Her eyes widen a bit, and you note the glance, the observance. Her own smile is your mirror, just as apologetic, and just as assertive. “Maybe another time,” She says.

She knows what she wants, and she’s not afraid to say it. You like that about her.

You incline your head, eyelid pulling down in a wink. “Do let me know which one you like,”

She only laughs at you, her answering grin somewhat sly.

All Might steps into the room after lunch, and though you’ve never been one of his particularly die-hard fans⏤ you think of your sunflowers, how you make fun of the things he likes, and he of yours⏤ you can admit that in person, he stands a legend in real life. You are just a little starstruck, you think, as he smiles at you, and says⏤ “Do try to keep your injuries to a minimum, though not to worry! Our healer team will be here to assist you!”

You find yourself grinning a little as you respond, “Nothing fatal, though. I don’t think I’ve ever heard anything about anyone bringing a dead person back to life.”

He booms a laugh. “Naturally! You are all Heroes! You should refrain from using lethal power whenever possible!”

He speaks too soon. The first teams are called up, and the matchup is almost comical.

Bakugou will be fine. You know this. You are not worried for him in the slightest⏤ not that you would, you tell yourself, a touch sardonically.

No. What you worry for is the state of your Quirkless friend, and you are right to worry. Bakugou seems almost angrier than you’ve ever seen him, and that’s saying a lot, considering how good you are⏤ how good you used to be, you correct yourself⏤ at getting on his nerves, though Midoriya seems to be holding up very well.

Your friend has grown, you think. He is not at all the same person he was over a year ago in that classroom.

But you are right to worry, because All Might is shouting into his microphone. “Young Bakugou, stop! Are you trying to kill him?”

No, you think, immediately, instinctively. You know Bakugou is many things, but he is not that. Never that.

You feel the force of that explosion from here. “This is supposed to be a class!” One of your classmates, red-haired and red-eyed, is saying. “You have to stop him!”

“He knows what he’s doing.” You find yourself saying. Somewhat cold, somewhat callous. There are eyes on you, surprised.

You shrug.

You don’t really know why you say it, either.

“Young Bakugou, the next time you use that, I’ll stop the fight, and your team will lose. To attack on such a large scale inside is inviting the destruction of the very stronghold you are supposed to be protecting. That is a foolish plan for both heroes and villains, and you will lose a lot of points!”

You don’t need to look at him to feel his teeth gnash in anger, but you still watch the screen, anyways.

Their clash is violent. You remember saying, once, that you dislike violence because you are a healer. But that is not entirely true, you think: you see the passion in their every movement, even as your green-haired friend receives the brunt of the beating, the callous elegance of it. The careful calculations, the years of training that you have walked alongside most of to witness.

“This looks bad!” One of the classmates from before seems to shout. “Sensei!”

You don’t dislike violence just because you are a healer. What you have always disliked is the senseless brutality of it, the cruelty of its aftermath. Not because you have to deal with it, but because sometimes, you can’t.

You look to All Might. He seems to be struggling with something.

“So long as it is not fatal,” Your voice is soft, but no less firm. “I can heal it.”

His mouth tightens, but you see his decision made in that moment.

You turn your attention back to the screen just in time to see Midoriya’s Quirk. Your eyes widen. It’s so sudden, so powerful, that you almost miss it; the blast entirely different from Bakugou’s own. So he was not Quirkless after all, you think, but all thought of that vanishes when you see the aftermath.

All Might is turning for you, but you are already running.

You see the two you are unfamiliar with first. “How is she?” You ask the blue-haired boy who stands upright.

“I’m fine!” She gasps out. “Just nauseous! But Deku⏤”

You hear the nickname, and you think you look a little strangely at her for it. You don’t dwell on it very long, though, because you’re already slipping past.

Then, you see him, and though your heart stutters a little in your chest⏤ ( your bag, empty of its sunflowers )⏤ you still look him in the eye. You are professional. “Are you hurt?” You ask, because he is standing there, still gaping, a little open-mouthed.

He turns that look upon you, and his eyes widen.

The eye contact feels slightly unsettling. You look away first. “Well. If you are, you can let me know.”

You kneel at the green-haired boy’s side.

A hand stops you, just as you reach out. They’re a little bit bigger than what you’re used to, a little bit more callused. “Wait,” He says, voice raspy, and you tense a little: both at the familiar and unfamiliar touch, and because it’s been so long since you’ve heard his voice. “You don’t have to⏤” He scowls, cursing. “Recovery Girl.”

You blink up at him, a little confused.

But then you see his eyes dart towards your arm, and then the green-haired boy’s, lying prone on the ground.

“I am a healer. It’s what I do.”

“That’s not what I⏤” He curses again under his breath. “The damn nerd will be fine. Does he even know about your Quirk?”

“Why would that even matter?” You are confused, and you shove his arm away. Your friend is still hurt, and he is keeping you from your job. Why do you even care? You want to say.

You bite your tongue, and think: heal.

Midoriya blinks awake halfway through. Your arm is covered in purple contusions, and he gasps, jerking away. “You⏤ your arm!”

They fade within seconds. You only reach again for it, feeling the crimson gaze burning into the side of your face, as you’re sure the rest of the class is too, from their camera screens hundreds of meters away. You stare straight ahead, and think, heal, even as your arm ripples in agony again, painted and purple.

You steal your patient’s pain, and you feel all of it, but you don’t show a thing. Because you are a healer, and that’s what you do.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

You are a healer, and that’s what you do, but the next day, Aizawa-sensei still admonishes you for it.

“Your records are very impressive,” He tells you first, and you straighten. You figure: he is likely a man notorious for his lack of praise, so you might as well lap it up while you can. “However, just because you have a very high pain tolerance, does not mean you do not feel pain. Am I correct?”

“Yes, sensei.” You dip your head.

“The lot of you hear that, right?” He addresses the rest of the class. “She’s a healer, and she can heal almost anything, save those who are already dead. That’s very impressive, and it’s very rare. Don’t let her become your crutch. She will not always be there, and though she might say she doesn’t mind your burden, others will. Whether it’s yourself, your fellow Pro Heroes, or the civilians you are trying to save.”

There is murmured assent from the class.

He turns back to you. “Heroism is also about knowing when to step back and let others handle the situation. It is okay to share your burdens,” He tells you.

You blink a little, surprised at the comments that are not really criticism at all. “I am a healer,” You state. “It’s what I do.”

He sighs. “You’re just as stubborn as your mentor,” He says.

You smile at this, chirping. “Thank you!”

“That was not a compliment.”

You sink into your chair a little sheepishly, but it’s like a sun has been lit in your chest, because you take it as one anyways, and you are grinning.

Lunchtime is a little strange today, for more reasons than one. Mina invites you again, but she doesn’t protest your decision, a knowing glint in her eye. But she doesn’t mention a thing, and you are grateful for it.

Midoriya is sitting with the same people as yesterday, and he beams, delighted, as you slide into the seat beside him. Iida and Uraraka nod at you from across the table, and you nod back.

Surprisingly, it’s the red-and-white haired boy across from you⏤ Todoroki, who breaks the silence. “My father says he would like to meet you.”

You blink. That’s certainly not what you were expecting. “Endeavour, right?”

He nods, his face deadpan. “Please decline.”

You choke a little bit on the bite of food that has just entered your mouth. Midoriya slides you a napkin.

You cough around it. “Wow, Todoroki-san. You really dislike me that much?”

He shoots you a strange look. “Not at all. Why do you ask?”

You’re a little confused. “Oh, that was a joke.”

“Apologies. I have never been very good with jokes.”

“Nothing to apologize for, and I was planning on declining, anyways. I’m going to intern under Recovery Girl for the rest of my life!”

“I will communicate that to him, then.”

Midoriya coughs lightly from your other side. You elbow him.

Uraraka giggles, but whatever she is going to say is cut off by the sound of the alarm. There has been a level three security breach, you hear.

“Trespassing,” You hear someone clarify.

You stare at the horde of gray-uniformed students crowding the hallway. You have never been a huge fan of crowds, especially ones as tightly-packed as this. Besides, you think, a touch dryly, that if there were an intruder, walking headfirst into a mosh pit like this would probably be the best way to get yourself caught up in a mass murder.

But you don’t get to voice any of these concerns, because then Uraraka is tugging at your wrist. “If we don’t get ourselves in there now, we’re never going to get our way out! Come on!”

You fall, weightless, and are carried away upon the sea.

It’s horrible. Internally, you curse the girl, and almost don’t even feel bad about it because yes, she’s like the sweetest person you’ve ever known, but she’s also reason you’re in the midst of a thousand wayward bodies right now, wrinkling your nose at the reek, and practically fighting for your life to keep your head above the throng. You are a healer, you think, a little despairingly, as you elbow someone so harshly that your own limb twinges. You are fighting a desperate battle, but nonetheless a losing one⏤ at least you are, until hands lift you by the waist and carry you forth; your savior cutting his way through the crowd with ease.

Your back hits the wall, and gratitude is on the tip of your tongue as you look up, but then you see him: ash-blond, and glaring at you with crimson eyes. “The hell were you thinking?” He hisses. “You don’t even like crowds.”

You hate the familiarity in the way he says it, as if he still knows you, and you hate the way he cages you in against the wall, his body larger than you have known, but how it still feels the same, pressed up against yours.

( You think of your sunflowers, how your bag feels strangely empty without them. )

It is the nearest he has been to you in well over a year. You hate the way he smells, like burnt caramel, and you hate the way your cheeks warm.

You want to say: neither do you, and you want to ask him why he even bothered to try and save you. You know he doesn't like you, not even in the slightest, not this liar who has wormed their way into his world; this liar that he tolerates. You think of a thousand witty remarks, ones that used to make his eyes light, the curl of his scowl somewhat harsh, but no less familiar, of giving voice to your outrage, to your feelings, and simply storming past.

You choose none of the above.

You still your features, the picture of calm, set the steel of your shoulders, and stare straight at a point above his shoulder. “Why do you even care?”

You do not look at him, so you don’t see the way he recoils, ever-slightly. The expression he levels you, half-bewildered, half-disbelieving, the rest a complicated mix of emotions even he could not decipher himself.

You don't see the way he opens his mouth, because then Iida is there and shouting.

You see your chance, and you don’t wait for his answer. You weren’t expecting one, anyways.

He doesn’t even have the time to reach for you, before you slip past, and are gone.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

You stand before the mouth of USJ, your heart in your throat.

You barely notice the weight of the device upon your wrist; a monitor that connects you to all the ones distributed amongst the class, because there are villains down there, you think, a little dumbfoundedly. Real villains, like the type you see in movies, and you feel almost ridiculous, out of place, as if someone will smack you upside the head and tell you: wake up! and that you are not in a story. And you are not, because you pinch yourself, and yes, this is real life.

You have never seen a villain yourself before, because you are a healer, and have only ever dealt with the aftermath of what they have done. You know the damage, the pain, the torture it can inflict upon a soul; the way sometimes, no one can ever fully heal them afterwards, not even you. So though you are a little wide-eyed, your thoughts blank, when the mist wraps around you, you don’t even think.

You lunge.

Crimson eyes widen, and he catches you, just one second before you fall into darkness as one.

You try not to think about the way his body feels against yours, how he is cradling you, the way his hand automatically wraps around the back of your head. You feel the impact in your bones, though he bears the brunt of it. Automatically, you reach up, and think, heal, but you don’t have the time to do much else, because then his eyes widen, and he’s shoving you away.

“STAY THERE!” Distantly, you think he is roaring at you, and another time, you might have protested that you could defend yourself. But the shock of it all is still settling in⏤ ( these are real villains, you think dazedly, and this is real life )⏤ and you are a healer, right now, you are nothing more than a civilian.

In the aftermath, you still stand, dazed. Bakugou and another red-haired guy from your class are panting, smoke curling from your familiar ash-blond’s figure, and you register, like the world is separated from you by a film: it’s over.

“Oi.” There are palms cupping your face, and you blink a little, startled, as crimson eyes boring into yours. “You hurt anywhere?”

No, you think, a little too stunned to speak; the harshness of his tone at odds with the gentle manner of his touch. But then you see a hint of blood trickling down the side of his cheek.

As if on instinct, you reach out for him. He jerks away.

Wow, you think, the lump rising to your throat instantly. You had not known he hated you this much, to the point that he is unwilling of even your touch.

“I am a healer,” You say, your throat somewhat tight. ( You think of sunflowers, your bag that is empty, your closet and its piled-up yellow. ) “You are hurt, and I am simply repaying a favor.”

You sense that he is watching you carefully, but your eyes do not rise to meet his gaze. You simply steal his pain, and you barely feel a thing⏤ even if his injuries were not so light, you think you are too numb to, anyways.

You move past, and he does not reach for you. The red-haired classmate⏤ Kirishima, you recognize, grins at you, saying that he is unharmed. He offers to escort you back to the front, but then, your wristband is beeping, a location upon it.

You straighten. You are still afraid, you recognize, but there is someone out there that needs help, and this is simply another obstacle you must overcome. You will not always be in your hospital, tending to those that manage to get themselves wheeled in⏤ and though there is fear in you, there is also an equal determination.

“There are people who need healing,” You say, and that is all you need to.

You are a healer, but that does not mean you are any less brave.

You are a healer, and this is what you do.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

You ask Aizawa, two days later, if he would be willing to teach you self defense.

( You remember a boy, back from what feels like eons ago. You, on his back, the sun in your chest as he offers to walk you both to and from school. You don’t even know where I’m going, you tease, and he only scoffs at you. Then I’ll teach you how to fight.

You think of your sunflowers, and your bag, empty of them.

Your throat tightens, and you make your decision. )

He looks a little surprised, and asks you if you are sure. He warns you that he will not be a lenient teacher, but you have seen how this man dove headfirst into danger to save his students; seen his kindnesses that are masked in the form of tough love.

You also know he likes you, at least a little bit. If he hadn’t, he would not have complimented you like that on the third day, would not have had the hint of fondness in his tone as he drawled, that wasn’t a compliment.

And even if he doesn’t, you know he will be at least a little lenient.

You had been the one to heal him, after all.

You are wrong.

You hate running. Always have. You started training, years ago, but that had been entirely out of spite, and in the wake of it⏤ ( your bag, empty of sunflowers )⏤ you had stopped. You hate running, always have, and you have no time, you’d told yourself, nor the energy⏤ but really, you hate it because it reminds you of him.

Now, you hate it for a different reason. You hate it because Aizawa pushes you, hard, until your lungs are gasping for air, your knees and legs trembling⏤ you think, somewhat sourly, that none of your healings had ever prepared you for this. You have healed all manner of wounds, cured a variety of diseases, but that does not change the fact even back when you were running, you had not put everything you had into it, and that now, you are trembling, bones soft, muscles even more so, somewhat like a deer.

You heal fast, though, you always have. You would not have been able to heal without it⏤ Aizawa knows this, which is why he pushes you hard. “If you hadn’t been so dedicated to medicine,” He tells you, “I would’ve told you to go the Hero route instead.”

You shrug. The thought has never occurred to you. Your mother is a doctor, and as soon as your Quirk had developed, you had never thought about anything else. But you don’t get a chance to voice it, or even to thank him, because then he’s hauling you up by the arm.

“Break’s over,” He informs you, a signature shit-eating grin on his face. You think you’re beginning to hate the sight of it. “Back to running.”

You sigh, before dutifully acquiescing.

Schoolwork is easier, at least, though between your sparse shifts at the hospital and Aizawa’s daily after-school training, you are pretty much spent. You don’t even register Mina chatting excitedly beside you about the upcoming UA sports festival that Aizawa has just announced⏤ you only think, a little despairingly; more work.

You glance up at your pink-haired friend’s surprised exclamation, and you see: a crowd of people, so many that from your vantage point, it seems like it’s the intruder incident all over again. A scoff, vaguely familiar⏤ “They’re obviously scoping out the competition, small fries. We’re the group that made it out of the villain attack.” Someone protests, telling him to play nice⏤ no, you think. This is him being nice. “Out of my way, extras!”

“I came to see what the famous Class 1-A is like, but you all seem pretty arrogant. Are all the students in the Hero courses like this?”

You see: a head of purple hair, mussed, and you think⏤ wow, he could be Aizawa if your sensei’s hair was shorter, purple, and he were using his Quirk.

“Seeing something like this makes me disillusioned. There are quite a few people who enrolled in general studies or other courses because they didn’t make it into the Hero course. Did you know that?”

You didn’t, but he only continues.

“The school has left those of us a chance. And based on the results of the sports festival, they’ll consider our transfer into the Hero course, and vice versa. Scoping out the competition?” He scoffs. “I, at least, came to say that even if you’re in the Hero course, if you get too carried away, I’ll sweep your feet out from under you.” His eyes flash, chin raised high. “Consider it a declaration of war.”

You sigh a little internally at the theatrics. “Excuse me, coming through.” You call. You ignore the way the ash-blond tenses a little as you walk up beside him, and you smile politely at the crowd; your uniform your armor, and your makeup your helm. You can do damage control just fine. “I’m class 1-A’s healer, so I don’t have a bone to pick with you really, but,” You cock your head. “All we did was fight off and survive a villain attack. I’m not sure how that’s arrogance. Have any of us gone out of our way to bother you?”

You are sure your classmates haven’t, because though you have not known them long, you are observant enough to tell that they are good and entirely dedicated to the path of Heroism. And you are right: he is wordless in the face of your diplomatic tone, the maturity of it all.

But then⏤ a laugh, somewhat mocking. You think you recognize the voice, and you do: it’s class 1-B’s understudy, standing in the middle of the crowd. You have not talked to her much, thinking her quiet, but it seems that really, she just dislikes you.

“That’s so rich of you to say,” She says, with a scoff. “Sucking up to Recovery Girl all the time, parading around like you own the place, all because you went viral and people started calling you The Best Healer of our Generation.”

You blink⏤ you remember Sueko mentioning it once, you think, after one of your co-workers, one of the older interns had started making videos of you, with your consent. You had not put much thought behind it, and you hadn’t the time to, between your many hours and the boneless weariness that had been so constant in your life after.

“Get off your high horse,” She snarls, a vehement finality to it, as she scans you, up, and then down.

You don’t know what to say, because honestly, you had never thought of yourself that way; had not thought of any others thinking of you that way. There are cries of outrage from behind you, you hear, distantly, as if you are underwater, but you are still stuck on the way she scans you. As if you are less than what you are, reduced to the painted trim of your nails, the makeup on your face, less than what you are and undeserving. As if it does not matter that you go to the hospital more often than not, your features clear, your hair pulled up, and lose yourself in your work; the agony of your patients, healing them and then some more until your bones ache with the ghost of their pain and you drop dead to your pillow, your phone turned off.

You are silent not because you are hurt, exactly⏤ you do not know this girl, and she does not know you⏤ but because you are so stunned. You don’t know what to say, because you have never thought yourself reduced to just this, less than what you are and undeserving. Distantly, you hear the cries of outrage, you feel yourself, adrift amidst an ocean, your hands clenching. You don’t know how to start, or what to even say.

But he does.

“She doesn’t use social media,” He starts, and yes, you don’t, but how does he know? “It obviously wasn’t even her recording the videos, you fuckwit, and it says in the account biography that it’s owned and run by a friend.”

You are staring at him, your heart held like hope in your throat. ( You think of your sunflowers. ) You don’t understand why he is saying this, why he is stepping in for you. ( You remember making fun of the things he likes, and he of yours. You remember finding that you do not regret lying the first day and calling him your best friend, because even if you are not even friends⏤ he is tolerant of you, he punches your pseudo-stalker for you, he walks with you before school, and he walks with you after. He never calls himself your friend, but he believes in you and your dream, and promises to walk you to and from school anyways, even if you do not attend the same one. )

He does not look at you, nor does he pause, and though there is anger in his voice, you think he is holding himself back. “High horse?” He laughs sardonically. “Get off yours. She’s already ten times the healer, hell, the Hero, you’ll ever be.”

( He doesn’t call himself your friend, but he still stands up for you. )

You don’t know what sort of expression you’re making, but it has to be ugly, something complicated, not exactly bewilderment nor gratitude or simply hope but some combination of them all; like something in between.

“And what would you know? What are you, her guard dog?” She snarks back.

And finally, you find your voice.

“He does what he likes.”

You are still watching him, and you see the way his hands clench, and then unclench.

( You think very briefly of your sunflowers, and you think that you will always miss them. You can heal any wound on this earth, save the fatal ones, but you cannot heal the hole he has carved into your heart; not the one from this boy who knows you, every facet, both the good and the bad. You have never needed to hide the unsavory parts of yourself from him; after all, your very relationship was built upon a lie. You think a part of you has always loved him for it, will always love him for it⏤ this boy who is not your friend, has never been your friend, but still knows you, stands up for you, and believes in you, in all of you. And, you think, even if he does not care for you, there will always be a part of you that always cares for him. )

You turn to level her with a cool stare.

“He’s right,” You say. “I don’t use social media, and before you call me a liar, just listen.” You add, as her mouth opens.

( Your mother is a doctor, and when your Quirk develops, you know you want to go the same route. You have never even considered anything else; never even thought of being a Hero, until your sensei tells you that he might’ve pushed you for it, had you not already been so dedicated to the path.

And you will not pretend like you have been good every step of the way⏤ you are not that much of a good person. Your mother tells you to play nice, because you are a willful child, vindictive in both your action and your speech, and petty enough to hold onto your grudges. You are not that much of a good person, you have never particularly cared to cater to the feelings of those around you unless you feel like it; do not care to stand up for a boy who has done nothing to you, just because he has done nothing for you.

You are grown now, better now, you know, but some elements of you still remain. You still wear your outfits like your armor, though it is not your hair but your makeup that is now your helm, you take time with your appearance and you take care of it every morning. Your volunteering at the hospital was not born entirely out of unselfish intention⏤ firstly because your mother said it was what you should do, and second because you thought the experience would look good, especially since you were applying to UA. But⏤ )

“I don’t know why you applied to UA, but I know why I did.” You say, simply. “It was because I wanted to become a healer, and this is one of the best places in the world to do it.” You straighten, jerking a finger at the ash-blond beside you. “We all went through the same application process. Take him, for example. He’s arrogant, he’s loud, and he always gets on your nerves. But that doesn’t make him any less passionate, or any less of a Hero. It doesn’t matter, because if you’re determined enough, strong enough, you’ll eventually rise to the top.”

You are the center of attention, but you have never been so aware of a singular set of eyes, burning straight into you.

You continue. “I don’t know who you are, or what you want to be, but that goes for the rest of you, too.” You jerk your thumb back to your classroom. “There’s a green-haired boy in there that everyone thought was Quirkless, including himself. But he had a dream that he dared to try for, and look where he is now.”

You look at your fellow intern, the class 1-B one.

“I don’t use social media for a variety of reasons, haven’t for a long while, and I won’t pretend like all of them were good. But ever since I started volunteering at the hospital, whenever I think about it, I think: every second I spend scrolling the internet could be another life lost. Someone I didn’t save, something I didn’t learn that could’ve helped someone in the future.” Your shoulders are set, and you lift your chin high. “You can think I’m a liar all you want, but I would hope, as a healer, you would be at least able to understand this.”

She is mute, and you look at the rest of the crowd, wearing your outfit like armor, your makeup, your helm.

You raise one eyebrow. “Anything else?”

Silence is your only answer, and you shrug.

“See you around, I guess.”

The crowd parts mutely before you, but then your wrist is clasped in a hand⏤ you think, very briefly, of sunflowers, but then you turn, and it is Mina grinning up at you, several others from your class in tow. “You’re so fucking cool,” She tells you, bright and genuine.

You are not that much of a good person, never have been, and, you think, you are not entirely sure if you ever will be. You will never be entirely unselfish, free of your precociousness, your pettiness, your occasional lying habits, and all the other thousand-and-one flaws you could find in yourself, if you really tried.

But you are growing. You are the same you that you were before, and you are also different.

You grin at her. “I know I am,” You say.

You are not that much of a good person, but you are growing, just as much the person you were before, as you are someone new.

You are a healer, you are yourself; this is who you are, and this is what you do.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

His mother calls him out on his sulking, barely a week in.

“Did something happen between the two of you?” She frowns, and his heart clenches painfully in his chest.

“S’fine,” He snarls. “Keep your damn nose out of my business, old hag.”

For once, his mother does not take him up on the challenge⏤ he almost wishes she would. He’s been itching for a fight, to get it out of his system somehow, but she’s always been able to read him⏤ just like you.

Mitsuki waves the phone in her hand. “Her father said she won’t be joining us for weekly dinners anymore⏤ she’s started volunteering at the hospital, and just won’t have time.” She states, plainly, and without judgment. “I don’t know what happened between the two of you, or if you’re still friends, but you were probably a little shit like usual, so get off your ass and go apologize.”

Apologize. That damned word. He hates it. And he’s considered it, but then he remembers: you, your face, the way it had crumpled, and then the way you’d sneered, don’t talk to me again.

He has always been able to tell your lies from your truths, and it stunned him in the moment, because it had not seemed like so much of a lie.

And it’s not. He sees the truth of it, a week later, when you skip out on your weekly dinners, accept your volunteer position, and cut the whole of him from your life, just like that. He sees the truth of it, on the first day of school, as he waits by your intersection and is almost late because you aren’t there, as he scans his class for your face and finds you absent, when you pass him in the halls and don’t even bother to look up. He sees the truth of it two months later, when that damned nerd stands at your table, a tray in his hands, and you allow him to sit. His heart is in his throat, clenching around something painful, there is smoke rising from his hands⏤ Deku looks up instinctively, flinching, and you do not even bother to turn.

( You and your sunflowers, the way you smile like the sun when you find out he is allergic, and go out of your way to plaster sunflower-themed things all over yourself, and he’s not quite sure if they are your favorite flower, or you do it just because you hate him. But then he gets to know you, slowly and over the years, a thousand-and-one forced interactions until he finds, one day, that he is not reacting so sharply to your barbs, uncaring that you flop onto his bed and muss up the sheets, unminding of your chatter, your studious, stupidly competitive nature, the way your eyebrows knit a little when you focus on a more difficult concept, or how you’re grinning as you annoy him, rambling about anything and everything; your fictional crushes.

You say you want to be a healer, and the first thing he thinks is: that’s stupid, why not a Hero?⏤ but your eyes are determined as you say it, there is a fire in them, and he sees that bleed into the way you do things; the way you act. You never call him your friend⏤ you have, once, very clearly a lie⏤ but he punches your pseudo-stalker for you, promises to walk you to and from school, even if he does not know which one you might go to, promises to teach you how to fight. It’s stupid, he knows it is, the way he tenses when you joke that you want him to kiss you so bad because he’s imagining it. And then the guilt after, when you press your cheek softly into the curve of his nape, feeling the dried-out tracks of your tears, the way you shudder as you steal his pain⏤ barely-there, but he feels it, anyway. )

He looks at you, properly, fork crumpling in his hand. “Yo. You’re staring.” One of his friends nudges him, gently, and he forces himself to look away.

( You, the sunflowers you bedazzle yourself in, your bag absent of them, and the way you never wear anything yellow ever again. )

He’s angry at you, at first. It’s unfair, he thinks, the way you seem to carve him completely out of your life, with all the practiced precision of a surgeon, that he spends almost all his time thinking about you, and that you do not do the same for him. You don’t want to talk to him, you’ve made that abundantly clear, and that’s fine⏤ he has his pride, and he is not going to beg you to stay. Not when you chose the nerd over him.

But then you stand in the doorway. You look like you did the first day, clear-eyed, but older. Your eyes widen when they catch sight of him, ever-slight, but he’s never missed a single expression on your face, and he does not miss it now. All of a sudden, he wants to talk to you so badly that it hurts⏤ he sees the bags under your eyes and wants to tell you to sleep, the bone-weariness with which you carry yourself, your step absent of skip.

But then, your gaze drops. He sees your bag, absent of its sunflowers.

He feels as if his gut were a stone, heavy and damning.

He remembers: you have never once thought of him as a friend, and he will not beg you to. He will respect your space, your wishes.

And yet. You stand by the entrance, the day of that first class, fierce and silhouetted by the sun. Are you hurt? You ask him, and it feels as if he were floating, stuck in a dream.

He takes too long to respond, and you give him a once-over, clearly discerning he is fine. You kneel by the damn nerd’s side, and he feels the absence of your attention like a physical thing, but even that is secondary to the horror he feels when you reach the other boy; his arm painfully bruised and almost a terror to look at.

He wants to say: you don’t have to do this, you don’t have to hurt yourself. There are other healers in the building, and don’t you have a mentor? You raved about Recovery Girl all the time, there’s no reason you should be taking his pain for yourself. And the nerd will be fine⏤ anger clenches at him, then, because if the nerd knows about your Quirk and still allows you to hurt yourself for him⏤ “Why does that even matter?” You ask him, and he hears the ghost of what you don’t say: why do you even care?

He does. Of course he does. He always has, even when you giggle to yourself about something so blatantly stupid, even when you are an entire pain in his ass.

But then he thinks of you, your bag empty of sunflowers, the way you have not worn yellow since.

His arm drops back to his side, and he says nothing more to you, just as you’d like.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

You have always disliked crowds, but so has he.

He is watching you when it happens, sees you lingering hesitantly by the exit. You’ll be smart about it, he’s sure⏤ he’s hotheaded, yes, but that doesn’t mean he’s stupid or blind. But then⏤ brown-haired cheeks tugs you by the wrist, forcing you into the throng, and he thinks: what the fuck?

He knows it’s stupid, and that you won’t thank him for it, but he dives after you, anyway.

He forces his way towards you, watching as you elbow someone particularly hard with a surge of pride, before he’s holding you and marching away, towards the wall, towards free space, trying not to think about how you feel in his arms, how you feel with the whole of you pressed against him. He needs to say something, anything to distract himself, so what he says is: “What the hell were you thinking? You don’t even like crowds.”

Your cheeks are a little flushed, and you are staring at him. He feels his own warm in turn, and he feels like a kid again, heart like a sun in his chest.

Your features still. Your mouth flattens, and you are cold as you say what you did not only a day before. “Why do you even care?” You ask.

He does. Of course he does.

But you do not ask this question in hopes of an answer. Your gaze slides past, and then you go with it, refusing to give him even the time to reach for you.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

When the mist envelops him, the first thing he turns towards is you.

His eyes widen⏤ you are already in the air, lunging at him, and he barely has the mind, the presence of thought to catch you. You fall as one, and his gut lurches⏤ he wraps himself around you, shielding your vitals, your head from harm, and gladly takes the brunt of the impact. He has all of a second to check up on you, to feel you pressed against him, know that you are safe, before he catches sight of more villains behind. “STAY THERE.” He shoves you into a corner, setting his back to you⏤ and when they are done, you have not moved an inch.

He sees the daze of your eyes, the shock, and cups your cheeks anyways, trying to ground you. “Oi,” He says, harsh, but also soft. “You hurt anywhere?”

You blink up at him, and then at the red he barely feels sliding down the side of his cheek.

He jerks away. He doesn’t want you to touch him, not to heal him⏤ he’s strong, he’s fine, he can deal with it, he doesn’t need you to steal his pain. Not when it’ll hurt you.

“I am a healer,” You say, and his heart clenches again at the sound of your voice, and again when you tell him: “You are hurt, and I am simply repaying a favor.”

He hears the steel in your voice, lets you touch him.

He would give anything to curl into your touch, even if for the rest of your life, your relationship is just like this: he, the dog, and your favors, the bone. He wants it, so long as you will keep on touching him like this, and yet he also doesn’t want it, because he cannot bear to be the one causing you such pain.

He is angry beyond words when the extra starts laying into you like she does, and you simply stand there, bearing the brunt of it all.

He’s watched the videos, seen every single one. Seen how hard you work inside of them⏤ the comments talk about how beautiful you are, but all he can think of is the tired pallor of your face⏤ but what’s more is that he knows how hard you work outside, too, and who is this girl to even talk about you like that, when she doesn’t know what it’s like to take the pain of another, and make it into your own? His tone of delivery is quiet, no less than lethal, and he speaks with every ounce of pride he has in you and the person that you are.

You are watching him, he thinks, and he thinks, somewhat dizzily, that this is it. You’ll chew him out in front of the crowd, call him out on his bullshit, tell him to stop speaking about you, speaking for you, that you hate him, that he’s stupid, anything and everything of the above.

But you do not.

You only rise, and he thinks that you are not at all the girl he has known before. Some parts of you are the same, entirely unchanged, but you have grown⏤ so much that it takes his breath away. You have always been coolly elegant in your deliveries when you mean it, but this⏤

He thinks: it is okay if you never want to talk to him, if you don’t care one bit. It is okay if you choose never to wear yellow again, your bag remaining empty of its sunflowers, it is okay if you carve him entirely from your life.

He will respect your wishes, and watch from the sidelines, basking in the radiance of you: the healer, the girl, and simply everything that you are.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

You should not be here.

You feel terribly out of place in this darkened room, with a crowd of familiar villains before you, disoriented and groggy.

If it were not for the ash-blond by your side, you think you might’ve started hyperventilating. You are quiet as you wake. You notice: his hands are bound, but yours are not⏤ they know you are a healer, you think, and they do not fear you.

You feel, rather than see, crimson eyes slide to yours. You blink up at him.

And then, his eyes flicker up.

You see the resolve set firmly onto his face. You know him, likely more than he does himself, which is why you know what he will say.

He says: “I’ll listen. I’ll consider working with you, so long as you make sure to leave her out of it.”

No. The word clangs into you with a force, a viciousness. You jolt upwards, so fast your head spins⏤ no. You know he won’t. He is a Hero to the core, and you know this, because you have decided early on that you will remain a step behind him always, even if he does not care at all for you, there and ready to steal away your pain. You have decided: you will see him live out all of his days, full of glory and entirely unscathed, victorious, and you will not watch him burn his life away like this, tucked away in a corner of this world, quietly and without a sound.

He lies to protect you, and you decide there and then that it isn’t worth it. You know him, have spent a thousand and one days getting to know him, just as you know that his bluff will be called before long, because though Bakugou Katsuki is many things, you have always known him to be a terrible liar.

You aren’t, though.

You straighten, and rasp. “No, he won’t.”

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

He watches you straighten, watches you drawl, and he feels a terror like ice creeping up to his throat.

Your lips are pulled into your liar’s smile, soft and lovely under the candlelight, but then⏤ “Katsuki’s going to be a Hero,” You tell them, and his heart stutters because when was the last time you actually called him by his name?

“Shut the fuck up,” He tells you.

You ignore him.

“Trust me when I say, this guy’s like, the biggest All Might fan you’ll ever see. Well, actually, maybe not the biggest⏤ Midoriya’s collection is insanely impressive, but you get the point. Did you really see his actions at the Sports Festival and think that was your opening?”

You stand, a smirk on your face, and he wants to tell you to shut the hell up again, to just stop talking, but⏤ you turn, you flash him a grin, and it’s like he’s six again and seeing you for the first time. You see him, in a way no one else ever has, in a way that assuages all the criticism he’s seen since, narrowing his world down to these things: you, and your unwavering confidence in him. Your lips are pulled into your liar’s smile, you are scared and terrified and pretty much everything in between, but he hears your words, hears your truth.

“Newsflash, losers. He’s wanted to be a Hero ever since he was a kid, and nothing’s ever going to change that.”

His heart swells so tight he thinks it’s going to burst. You, in this moment, like you still care, that he’s not alone in this, and that he cares for you more than anything else in the world, loves you more than you will ever know.

You do not need to say anything else, because there is a knock on the door⏤ pizza delivery, someone calls, and then the door opens; All Might in the flesh. The heroes⏤ and then you are scrambling for him, your fingers fumbling with the knots, but he simply jerks his hands apart, tearing the fabric, and reaches for yours.

You still a little, surprised, flinching back a bit, but his heart is singing⏤ you care, he thinks, somewhat dumbly, like a mantra bouncing around inside his head. He barely registers the rest of it⏤ he emerges by the ruins of a building, your hand still in his, piloting the both of you around the villains who try to keep you. Shitty Hair, calling down at him from the fucking sky⏤ what the fuck? but then he’s calling for you, and then there is you: looping your arms around his neck, knowing, instinctively, what he means.

His chest warms like the sun, ethereal and glorious.

You blast together into the night. His hand lands upon another one, similarly callused, and then he’s curling his other around you, latching you to him. Your head is settled in the crook of his neck, and you don’t protest it in the slightest, only untangling yourself once you land.

You don’t reach for his hand once you do, but that’s okay. His heart is singing.

He snarls at the others in his usual manner, and you assert yourself with your own. He follows you as you walk, a step behind. The others leave you at the police station, their own parents plenty concerned, and he doesn’t mind it in the slightest⏤ he gets to walk you home, after all.

You are silent as he does. He walks a step behind, and does not prod you.

You stop. He does, too. Your hands ball up into fists. He watches, waiting.

Finally, you whisper. “Why the hell’d you do it?”

That is not at all what he’s expecting you to say.

“Hah?” He’s never been good with his words, always more combative than means. Particularly with you. Especially with you. “Cause I wanted to, dumbass. The hell do you want me to say?”

You whip around and slug him instantly, punching him square in the gut.

He barely bends from the force of it. You clutch your fist, teary and glaring.

“Fuck you,” You hiss. “Fuck you, Katsuki. You don’t just get to pretend like you care when you want to, whenever it suits you! You don’t get to⏤”

He’s stunned into silence. He’s the one that’s pretending like he cares about you?

Your mouth opens and closes, so angry that you cannot quite find the words. “You don’t get to just fucking try and sacrifice yourself for me! What the fuck!”

He steps closer, disbelief lighting a second sun in his chest.

You lash out. “Stay away from me!”

He catches it in his hand, and you try to fucking headbutt him. He dodges that, too, and then he’s pulling you into him, as tight as his heart feels.

You stiffen. Frankly, he doesn’t give a shit, not when he’s figured out how you really feel.

“I’m sorry,” He rasps into your ear. “I care for you. I’ve liked you since we were fucking six, and you shoved your stupid fucking sunflowers in my face. I was angry. I’m sorry. I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you, if you’ll have me.”

You do not move. Do not breathe, and for all of a second, he thinks: this is it.

And then, you crumple.

He can count the number of times he’s seen you cry on one hand, but you weep into his shoulder now, a year’s worth of repressed emotions wrung out of you in an instant. You melt into him so perfectly he feels as if he was made for you, the weight of you so perfect and familiar in his arms. “You’re so fucking stupid,” He thinks you are saying though it’s somewhat unintelligible, between your sobs and the way your voice is muffled from being pressed into his chest.

He chuffs in your ear. “Feel free to add blind and ugly to the list, if you’d like.”

You laugh, broken and teary, but then your arms rise, and you are wrapping them around him.

He thinks: it’s okay if the world ends right then and there, so long as he gets to hold you; just like this; just then and there; just for a moment longer.

( He thinks of you and your sunflowers, your liar’s smile. How your face had lit up in absolute delight at the sound of his first sneeze, and how you’d stepped forward to thrust it further into his face, a wicked grin on yours all the while. How you lie your way into weekly dinners, and he’s furious, swearing he won’t talk to his parents for the whole of a month⏤ but then you’re there, in his room and making fun of his figurines.

You say, somewhat disinterestedly, that you think you remember a new All Might one on the market. He caves, and his vow lasts only a week.

He thinks of you and your sunflowers, your liar’s smile. How he had always hated the sight of them before you; a young god faced with his one mortal weakness, but as time went on, he learned how he did not quite mind the look of them on you. He thinks of you and your sunflowers, your liar’s smile; soft and lovely under the candlelight, scared and shaking and terrified but still believing wholly in him, just as he does you.

He thinks he has loved you since forever. )

Absent-mindedly, he presses his mouth to your hair.

And in the light of the dawn, pink-streaked and painting you awash in sunflower yellow, you look up at him, and smile.

bc i need to rant about this fic: afterword

#bakugo #bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #bnha #bnha x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou x you #katsuki bakugou #mha bakugou #bnha bakugou #bakugo katsuki #katsuki bakugo mha #bnha bakugo katsuki #mha x reader #my hero academia x reader #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #[✧] — writing!

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