#this is what i meant when i said ribs by lorde is disappointed in me 😔

[dykehayleywilliams]

just realized ribs by lorde is out of my top 100 for the first time

[waterlilyrose]

I don't know these numbers deal but I randomly choose 36 😃

36: “I wish I could hate you."

(Kanthony - Canon Divergence)

Kate was credited herself on being made of strong stuff - she didn't let much get the better of her.

Not the Sheffields with their constant remarks about 'the clerk's daughter'.

Not the ton with such 'delightful' creatures as Cressida Cowper snorting with mean laughter behind their lemonade glasses at her 'old maid' status when she introduced Edwina into society.

She didn't even let Lady Danbury's barbs and snide comments get to her - yes, the matriarch had seen a great deal but Kate doubted she knew the true hardship of being close to bankruptcy. So her opinions at how Kate's plans for her sister meant little if she succeeded in providing comfort for Edwina and Mary.

Yes, Kathani Sharma was a strong woman. But her famed strength was beginning to crumble. Beginning to chip away.

While she had beat financial hardships, disdainful relations and snooty society, it would appear that heartbreak may yet win the day in destroying her. And watching Edwina and Lord Bridgerton enjoy the roaring success of their engagement with the rest of the world was kicking her in the ribs, leaving bruises that no-one could see but she could feel.

In some ways, the indignation and fury was easy to hold onto. Lord Bridgerton and herself had gone head-to-head so many times that her look of disgust at his actions was barely commented upon. Edwina barely commented on Kate's apparent distaste any longer. Why would she really? She was engaged now and the soon-to-be Viscountess - Kate's actions couldn't prevent her marrying the man she wanted now.

Kate was inclined to agree. Nothing would stop the marriage now - and maybe it was best. It was after all what Edwina and Mary needed to survive their creditors.

The part that were harder to hide was the moments of yearning. Of dreaming. Of wishing and wanting. And the inevitable disappointment.

She'd had hopes once... for a brief morning... and it had all ended with the man who those hopes with pointed to proposing marriage to her sister right in front of her.

Let the anger take over. The fire of my rage is no more painful that the ice that wrapped around my heart from that moment.

So Kate's mind turned to her only hope of relief: escape to India. The moment Edwina said 'I do', she would leave. And with some luck by the time she would return to see her baby sister, time would have lessened the sting and she would be able to be the favourite aunt of Edwina's children. With some luck, she would be able to be loving to the children whose only crime would be possessing their father's eyes.

She made her plans and used to very last of her savings to procure a means of escape.

Lord Bridgerton was visiting Edwina with her mother, Kate and Lady Danbury in attendance when the footman delivered 'the letter Miss Sharma requested.'

Kate took it eagerly and felt a rush of relief when she opened the missive that held her treasure: a one-way ticket via ship to India. Boarding date was two days after the wedding. Enough time to get to the docks if she left the morning after the event.

"Is it from Mr. Dorset, Didi?" Edwina asked sounded mischievous. Kate looked up from her ticket and remembered that her escape meant that she would be taking leave of her sister sooner than she ever imagined. Her throat constricted - the news of Kate leaving literally the moment that her marriage was complete would devastate Edwina.

Well... she'll be preoccupied with marriage. And I've already used up my usefulness.

"No, Bon. I don't require a pen pal." Kate said.

Edwina looked a little disappointed before turning her attention back to something Lady Mary was saying but Kate could feel Lord Bridgerton's eyes on her. Lord Bridgerton's eyes were always on her it seemed. During their meeting with the Queen, during the time when the jeweller insisted on fitting the ring on Kate's finger and during her promanade with Mr. Dorset, he was always staring. Kate's response to that was to not look at him at all any longer.

You reap what you sow Lord Bridgerton.

Lady Danbury was compelled by the Queen's involvement in the wedding to hold a ball for their engagement so Kate was forced into a far-too-fancy dress and then left on the outskirts of the dancefloor as she watched the many couples of the ton dance together. She was vaguely aware that Mr. Dorset was at the event (she was sure that Edwina had invited him with the goal of getting him to dance with her) but she kept her wrist hidden behind her back so her dance card wouldn't be on show. There were no names written on it anyway.

At one point, Edwina and Lord Bridgerton took to the floor. Kate watched for about a minute before turning and walking out of the hall. She contemplated excusing herself to Lady Danbury but decided against it - for all she knew the matriarch might stop her from leaving. Instead Kate told a footman to inform her family that she had a headache and had retired.

If she stayed, she felt she might stop breathing altogether. Edwina looked so lovely and happy - and Lord Bridgerton... Anthony... looked so handsome. She wanted the rage to return.

Anger was productive; heartbreak was debilitating.

Kate returned to her bedroom and took out her ticket for the ship from her jewellery box. Soon she would be free. Soon...

In nearly no time, the door to her room opened. With her back to the door, she sighed.

"Please Lady Danbury, I was feeling rather nauseous-" Kate turned and nearly dropped her ticket.

It wasn't Lady Danbury.

"Miss Sharma." Lord Bridgerton gave a little bow - as though this was an expected house call.

"Lord Bridgerton!" Kate was relieved to hear her voice sounded outraged and not eager with desire. "You cannot - this is my bedroom! You are unchaperoned!" Kate marched to the door. "Leave! Before you are seen!"

Anthony instead closed the door behind them. "If no-one sees me, nothing will be said."

"You are the guest of honour! You will be missed!"

"It doesn't matter!" He hissed. "I needed to see if you were-"

"What?" Kate spat. The desired anger was welling up within her. "Present? Doing something that would benefit you?"

"-well." Lord Bridgerton finished, looking almost affronted and maybe slightly hurt at her poor opinion of him. "You've been looking strained and you refuse to look at me anymore."

"Really? I can't think why!" Kate marched back to her position at her dressing table. If they were discovered, at least no-one would see them standing within a foot of one another.

Lord Bridgerton looked like he was grinding his teeth and, with his customary pose of his arms behind his back, he looked like the honourable gentleman he wanted the world to perceive.

"I know your opinion of me has never been particularly high. But I had thought that with time-"

"What? I would find your pathetic behaviour at the promenade funny? I would deem you good enough for my sister? While you continue to follow me with your eyes when you should be looking at her? Oh, how silly of me to ever doubt you! Maybe if I act better, you will permit me to dance with you tonight, Brother."

Lord Bridgerton took a step back as though she'd slapped him and he looked as dazed as though his cheek actually was stinging. "Don't call me... that!"

"What? Brother? That's what you will be in the eyes of the law. You will be the head of my family as the only male member. I will be expected to call you Brother and you will call me Sister."

"You will never be my sister!" Lord Bridgerton barked though there was true panic in his eyes at the prospect.

"That's true - you will never do for me what you would do for your sisters. I will never be taken into society or permitted a husband. So it's just as well I will be out of your reach."

"What do you mean?" Lord Bridgerton demanded.

"What do you think I mean? Is your short-term memory that bad? I am returning to India. My passage is booked and soon my trunk will be packed. In a month's time, I'll be gone."

"A-a month?" Lord Bridgerton had gone from disturbed to pale as death and terrified. It reminded Kate of his face at the Hearts and Flowers ball when she had told him first of her intentions. The night she had followed him into his study... and they had nearly... "But... but the wedding-"

"-will take place and I will be gone. The Queen seems set on it happening in a month's time and I doubt that even you can gainsay the monarch."

"But... your sister-"

"-will have you. She will have a husband, be viscountess and in time a family of her own. If I stayed, I would never know peace. I would never be allowed to live freely as I have little doubt you would keep me under your eye at all times."

"You are her family!" Lord Bridgerton sounded slightly desperate. "And I would look after you all! If you stayed, you'd never have to work. You'd never know hardship. You would have a place with us!"

"As what?" Kate demanded sounding more furious than she had ever been with this infuriating man. "As the spinster sister? As the nanny who you don't have to pay? But who knows? Maybe you would think kindly on me and let me have an allowance? Or maybe, if you ever have a daughter, you can name her after me."

"STOP IT!" The volume and anguish in Lord Bridgerton's voice made Kate do just that.

It was true though - Kate had little doubt that Edwina may one day wish to honour her sister. And what arguments could be posed against it without raising suspicion?

Lord Bridgerton put his face in his hands and seemed to be desperately trying to regain his breath. A part of Kate wanted to go forward and soothe him - like she had done that morning when the bee had stung her.

But he was going to have to get used to life without her. They both would have to.

He eventually pulled his hands from his face to look at her. She should have felt triumph at the look of utter defeat and misery that stared back at her.

None came.

"So I was right." He said hoarsely. "That night in the library... I said you hated me. And you said you did. I didn't believe you. Now I see... you do in truth."

Kate could have said nothing and used the silence as her answer. But for all her anger, she wasn't cruel. And she wasn't a liar.

"I wish I could hate you." She admitted. "It would be so much easier if we held the enmity that the ton suspect. If I hated you, there would be no problem. I might even have felt compelled to stay to be by my sister's side when her marriage inevitably failed. It's because I don't hate you that I cannot stay."

"But why-"

"How can I stay and watch? Watch you be a husband to my sister? Watch you be a father to her children? Watch and want and wilt? Because I will. Even when you are made of the sternest stuff in creation, there is only so much a human can handle. If I stay, I will become bitter. I will become colder. I will be unable to hide my resentment of Edwina and I may even become aloof from your children. Favourite aunt? I will become the one they enjoy seeing least. No child deserves to think they've done something wrong because of an adult's faults. You love your family and you will love the family you will build. Your first duty will be to them and that duty involves giving them as happy a home as possible. They cannot grow up with their father and aunt snarling at each other. Or even worse looking a bit closer and seeing what my sister refuses to see."

Lord Bridgerton stared at her and their eyes were the same in that moment - brimming with tears and longing and distress and resignation.

"Go back to the ball, My Lord." Kate instructed. "Dance with Edwina. Joke with your brothers. Bow before the Queen. And let me go. For your family to come as well as your family now."

Lord Bridgerton refused to look away for a moment so neither did Kate.

"I will fight for you, Kate." Lord Bridgerton promised. "And I will never let you go."

And, before Kate could contradict him, he opened her door and strode from the room.

Send Me A Pairing And A Number And I Will Write You A Prompt

[writinglizards]

17 for the pining ask <3<3 love your writing btw

Ahhhh, thank you! I'm gonna be the first to say this is...probably not what was meant by "Pining in an arranged marriage" but this is the idea that presented itself, so I hope it works for you anyway!

Warnings: we're Big Sad tonight, yall. There is no happy ending.

"Do not disappoint us, Julian," his father growls as they stand ready to receive their guests--Jaskier's soon-to-be wife and her family. Viscount de Lettenhove might as well be asking him to remove his right hand for all the good the demand will do him.

Jaskier knows he's a sight--hair overly tousled from fingers run through it, eyes rimmed in red, cheeks splotchy. He's done a poor job concealing his crying fit, he knows.

Still, he stands at attention, hands clasped at his front as the woman and her family arrive and he is introduced to them, one by one. No one pays him any special attention beyond the initial greetings, even his bride-to-be and that's...that's fine. He doesn't want to marry the baron's daughter. He wants...

There's a warm hand on the small of his back, an improper touch his father would have a conniption about.

"Okay?" Geralt asks lowly, and Jaskier can only swallow and nod imperceptibly. He's not okay, but...what else is there, really? The hand presses a little more firmly, then retreats. He misses it immensely.

They migrate into the dining room, after introductions, and Jaskier is forced to sit at the table and socialize, much to his dismay. He had still harbored a tiny hope that he could sup in the guard's quarters with Geralt, as was his wont. Instead, he's here, being forced to listen to his father prattle on about shipments and investments while the baron boasts of their local grain harvest. Jaskier feels Geralt's presence behind him like a touch, although they are not close enough for that. He wishes, fervently, they were alone.

After dinner is more socializing, and Jaskier aches to escape. Thankfully, he is not expected to entertain his bride-to-be one-on-one as that would be indecent. She's...pretty to look at, he supposes, but she's not--she's not--

"Our Julian plays the lute," his mother cuts in excitedly in response to something the Baron or his wife must have said, and expectant eyes turn towards him. He wants to scream. Instead, he plasters on a smile plucks his lute from where it rests in the corner.

-----

He is finally dismissed sometime after midnight, and it's a good thing, too--his chest aches and he's been on the verge of tears again for at least the last hour--he'd caught Geralt's eye while playing and almost lost himself, had recovered only with much difficulty. And Geralt--

"Where would you like me tonight, my lord?" he asks, and Jaskier's heart clenches so hard he can't breathe.

In my bed, he thinks recklessly. He imagines sliding into Geralt's strong arms, imagines the way they might rise to circle him, to hold him close. I could do that. I could press into his arms, and--

But what would that accomplish, really? Even if Geralt is amiable--and there's no proof that he is--what does it change? Jaskier's still to be married in less than a week's time. How could it possibly be better to marry the girl knowing the taste of the one he wants most...and still unable to have him?

"My lord?" Geralt repeats softly, and Jaskier has to shake himself back into the present. There's a look of concern flickering in his eyes and it makes Jaskier's stomach roil makes him want.

"I would have you where you would wish to be tonight," he says after much delay. He knows Geralt hates standing guard at parties and dinners and would much rather have taken a watch on the wall, knows that he was only there tonight at Jaskier's request and insistence. It's only fair to release him for the evening.

"Wherever I wish?" he asks, voice strange, and Jaskier only nods again, unable to speak. He would give him the world, if only he would ask.

Geralt's silent for a time, gazing hard into Jaskier's face in a way that would be disconcerting if Jaskier did not know him as well as he did.

"I would be with my lord to keep him company, if he would grant it," he says finally, and something in Jaskier's chest gives way.

"Geralt." It's nearly a sob, and he can't help but throw himself forward into his arms anyway, welcome or no. Instead of pushing him away as he half expected, Geralt gathers him in tight, arms around his shoulders, and squeezes him close. Jaskier wants to crawl into his chest and live there, between the third and fourth rib, tucked up tight against his heart.

"I'm sorry, Jaskier," he murmurs softly into his hair, and Jaskier hates this, he hates it. He wishes he were of a lower rank, or Geralt of a higher one. he wishes he could tell him. He wishes he had a say. Instead, his love is a hopeless, delicate thing in his chest, already crushed. It had never had a chance, not like this.

"I'm sorry too," he chokes out, voice thick with tears, and it doesn't matter who sees them embrace in the hallway outside his room, doesn't matter who sees them enter together. It doesn't even matter when Geralt slips between the sheets with him, arms winding around his shoulders and tangling their legs together.

The words rise in his throat, but he swallows them down, sharp and painful. It's better, kinder, not to say. Nothing would come of them anyway.

[loveinterestcastiel]

sursum corda

Part one of a new canon divergent series, “A Sacrament to Be Taken Kneeling”

Summary: the opening dialogue to the eucharistic prayer, or anaphora, translated to english means “lift up your hearts”, and is the beginning of a devout worshipper’s holy communion with god

Canon divergent from 6x22, this one is rated M for religious blasphemy, power dynamics, and mature subject matter (later installments will be rated E for violence, sexual content, and graphic depictions of blood). Honestly this is just a fucked up exploration of the catholicnatural that could have been if the spn writers hadn’t been cowards and had instead really leaned into the whole Godstiel thing, and his dynamic with Dean. I’m going to hell for this and you know what? That’s just fine with me.

It can be read here or in AO3! Enjoy <3

Castiel was brighter than the sun, and he was beautiful. He was the most terrifying thing Dean had ever seen, because somewhere in there, he could still see Cas, the old Cas. He let Crowley go. Dean was going to kill that demon, but- later. Later, when they got out of here and got Sammy put back together.

Then Castiel blew Raphael up with nothing more than a snap of his fingers, and their most formidable adversary, after all these months, was suddenly just a bloody smear on the wall. The last Apocalyptic threat, gone, just like that, leaving Dean and Bobby alone with a Cas-gone-nuclear.

They were so, so fucked.

Cas looked over to Dean, his face softening incrementally but still distinctly smug.

"So you see," he said, turning away from Dean and moving as if to inspect his explosive handiwork, "I saved you."

Dean Winchester is saved.

“You sure did, Cas,” Dean said faintly, drifting further into Cas’s orbit as if somehow compelled. Castiel didn’t acknowledge him, keeping his back turned, his spine ramrod straight. Damage control. Holy fucking shit, damage control right now. “Thank you.”

“You doubted me. Fought against me.” He slowly turned to face Dean, a mockery of their first meeting in that rundown barn years ago, tilting his head the same way, his blue eyes the same limitless color and just as mesmerizing, but somehow about a million times more unsettling. “But I was right all along.”

Dean’s stomach swooped. “Okay, Cas, you were. We’re sorry,” he added quickly, his breath shallow and shaky. “Now let’s just defuse you, okay?” he suggested, the words cumbersome and heavy in his mouth.

Cas narrowed his eyes almost imperceptibly before relaxing again. “What do you mean?” he asked icily.

Dean forged on desperately. “You’re full of nuke. It’s not safe, so before the eclipse ends, let’s get them souls back to where they belong.” Oh, he felt like he was going to be sick. Please, Cas, please just listen to me…

“Oh, no, they belong with me,” Cas countered, his tone almost patronizing, like he was speaking to a child.

“No, Cas,” Dean interrupted before his brain or his fear could catch up to him. “It’s- it’s scrambling your brain.”

“No, I’m not finished yet,” he said firmly, with the ghost of a cold smile tugging on his features. “Raphael had many followers, and I must-” Cas paused, choosing his words, “punish them all severely,” he finished deliberately.

Bobby’s eyes darted over to Dean. He was visibly horrified.

Okay. One last effort. Okay.

Dean shoved down his fear and tried again. “Listen to me.” He stepped closer to Cas, swallowing hard as his voice fought to stick in his throat and looking steadily into his eyes. “Listen- I know there’s a lot of bad water under the bridge. But we were family, once,” he pleaded. “I’d have died for you. I almost did a few times.” Castiel’s face remained impassive but Dean continued. “So if that means anything to you- please,” he begged, abandoning his pride. “I’ve lost Lisa, I’ve lost Ben, and now I’ve lost Sam. Don’t make me lose you too.”

Castiel wrenched his eyes away from Dean’s and cast his gaze down to the floor between them. Was he considering it?

“You don’t need this kind of juice anymore, Cas,” he tried to reason. “Get rid of it before it kills us all.”

A beat.

“You’re just saying that because I won,” Cas mused, raising his gaze back up to look at Dean again, pinning him there like a specimen under a microscope. “Because you’re afraid . You’re not my family, Dean,” he said, closing the remaining distance between them until he stood less than an arm’s reach away, positively radiating power, the air vibrating with it. “You’re just… human.”

His eyes lingered on Dean’s face, tracing his freckles, his eyelashes. Whatever he was looking for, he didn’t seem to find it. Castiel’s face hardened into stone, his next words iron. “I have no family.”

The words rang in Dean’s ears, banging about his brain and battering it into despair. It felt like a small death, his heart pulling on his ribs as he floundered for a new angle to pursue.

And then Sam was there, behind Castiel, and he just stabbed him with an angel blade, and Cas was swaying just a bit with the blade still stuck in his back as Sam gasped for air behind him, clearly distressed and stumbling backwards.

Dean froze, horrified.

What the FUCK were you thinking, Sam?

But- oh. Oh god.

Cas wasn’t dead. It didn’t work. His brain buzzed blankly with a static-y sensation of bewilderment as Cas reached around himself and pulled out the blade- shiny, clean, utterly free of blood- with an alarming squelching noise.

"I'm glad you made it, Sam," Cas said in a distressingly level voice, placing the newly-extricated angel blade on the table in front of him before turning to glance at Sam. “But the angel blade won’t work, because I’m not an angel anymore,” he said, matter-of-fact as could be, as if he hadn’t just dropped yet another massive bomb on their lives. Sam looked to Bobby, his eyes wide, and Bobby shrugged back minutely, similarly floored.

Look at me, Cas, leave Sammy alone, you’ve done enough-

As if he heard Dean’s thoughts- fuck, was he praying?- Castiel turned back to Dean and met his eyes. “I’m your new God,” he said, with an air of authority and immense self-satisfaction permeating his words. “A better one. So you will bow down and profess your love unto me, your Lord. Or I shall destroy you.”

Bobby’s eyes widened in the periphery of Dean’s vision as time seemed to swirl and slow down to a crawl- clearly, he hadn’t expected this either.

Sammy was strung out and swaying on his feet behind Cas, his eyes darting and rolling over the room as he rode out the hellish things that tormented him in his head, seemingly incapable of reacting to the gravity of the situation as what Cas had done put him out of his mind with fear.

In the span of a heartbeat, Dean made his choice. He had no choice.

He fell to his knees.

The crack of bone on hard tile was near agony. His gun clattered uselessly to the ground beside him as he shifted his gaze to land somewhere around the hem of Castiel’s coat. He couldn’t look at his face. Couldn’t meet his eyes. It was almost impossible to believe the terrifying figure before him was once his closest friend, and had saved him from Heaven and Hell alike before he had turned into whatever this was.

His throat was dry. He forced himself to swallow, drawing his tongue over his bottom lip as he tried to find the right words.

Bobby started to kneel, too. Survival instincts, probably. He’d have never gotten this old without them, anyway.

“My lord,” he began hesitantly.

The new God waved his hand dismissively at the title. “Castiel.”

“Castiel,” Dean corrected himself. Great start, you fuck up. “Cas, I swore my obedience to Heaven, once. To God, and his angels. To you,” his voice cracked as he risked a glance at the former angel. His eyes were like fire. Glowing. Unreal.

Bobby interrupted: “Dean, no-”

But Castiel snapped up a hand, palm out, and Bobby’s mouth moved, but no sound came out. “You will be silent,” Castiel ordered, his eyes never leaving Dean. He looked intrigued by Dean’s sudden compliance and admission. “I’d like to hear what you have to say, Dean. What can you possibly say to justify your lack of faith in me up until now? I could have cast you back into the pit, and Sam, too, had I not done this, all of it, for you.”

“I know you did, Cas,” Dean said. “Thank you. I- thank you. You were right, about everything, and I should have listened to you. I was wrong. I should have trusted you.” The words tasted like poison in his mouth. A part of him meant it. A part of him was just desperate enough to say anything. The rest of him wanted to see the cold monster in front of him dead. But how could he turn back now, without sentencing them all to death? If he played his cards right, he might even be able to save Castiel. Surely if he could get him to let go of those souls, he’d start to see reason, would be Cas again. But he was getting ahead of himself. Gotta think a little more short-term, right now. Band-aids and duct tape, not trauma surgery.

“I was blind,” Dean said, “and proud. I took you for granted, and I can do better. Be better. For- for you.”

He had never felt so weak. Groveling to his dad was different. He was his dad’s son, sure, but there was no love there. It was all survival, clinical, even his rage and his fists when Dean didn’t do enough to earn his mercy were detached. Duty and discipline and disappointment. This was different. It was hot with near-tears, messy and filled with grief for a man who wasn’t even dead. He wasn’t lying earlier when he told Cas he was like a brother to him. It was the closest comparison he had for what the angel was to his heart. He had never needed anyone like he needed Castiel- because he wasn’t Sammy, or Bobby, or Lisa, or Ben, or Cassie, or any other category of need. He was just Cas. And Dean wanted him in his life. Or he used to, anyway.

“I don’t know what I can do to make it right between us, Cas,” he said, his throat tightening slightly. “But I want to,” Dean offered, looking down in shame. “I want to be-” he choked out.

“What do you want, Dean?” Castiel asked, taking another step forward, the very picture of authority and control. One more step and Dean could reach out and touch him. The air was electric, heady with power as it positively radiated from his body.

He lifted his head to meet Castiel’s eyes in a pose of supplication, his knees aching, his eyes burning with tears as the situation started to overwhelm him. “I want to be forgiven,” he gasped out. “Cas, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please forgive us.”

“And Sam’s betrayal?” Castiel inquired, casting new fear into Dean’s heart. “He stabbed me in the back. And he has not knelt as you have. Why should I offer him mercy?” he mused.

“Look at him, Cas,” Dean said quietly. Sam was hunched over on the floor in the corner, holding his head in his hands, rocking slightly into the wall and pushing off of it again in a strange repetitive motion. “He can’t follow any of this. I don’t think he even knows where we are. It’s been getting worse as time passes. He was slightly more coherent an hour ago, but-” Dean shook his head. “I think he was just trying to protect me. I don’t think he even knew who you were, just- saw a threat and tried to take it out.”

Cas made a noncommittal little noise, glancing over to where Sam had retreated.

“Cas,” Dean said, drawing his attention back to himself. “He didn’t know what he was doing. Can you try to forgive him that?” he pleaded as the first tear escaped and ran down his cheek.

“And in return?”

“Anything,” Dean swore. “Just- Cas, please. I’ll do anything. I will, I swear it. Just please help Sammy.”

“It won’t be as easy as you think,” Castiel warned. “I want your trust, Dean. I want the bond we once had, and your submission to my better judgement, untainted by your... fear.” His voice turned hungry, reminiscent of when they worked that killer Cupid case last year and it turned out to be Famine. To be on the receiving end of desire of that magnitude was by turns exhilarating and horrifying. “I want your love.”

“Cas,” Dean said faintly, unable to tear his eyes away from his friend’s face even as Bobby attempted to fight his holy gag order from his place next to him. “I… I’ll try. For you,” he added, trying to add a note or resolve to his voice as his thoughts roared in fear and grappled with the idea, stuck on the precipice of this terrible new unknown he had run up against. But he truly had no choice. Sink or swim.

“I swear, Cas,” he said, raising his hand to his heart, “I’ll try.”

Castiel’s eyes softened. They stopped glowing.

Suddenly, for a moment, he looked just like himself. More than that, he looked heartbreakingly human.

He moved suddenly, sending Dean’s heart sprinting again for what felt like the hundredth time that day.

But he didn’t hurt him. He didn’t hurt Sam, or smite Bobby, or engage in any sort of holy wrath. He just kneeled, in front of Dean, and clasped his clammy hands briefly in his own warm, dry ones before shifting them both to his right hand and raising his right palm to Dean’s cheek, his eyes darting over his features with an air of disbelieving gratitude. It was so...

Castiel had lovely hands, Dean noticed. Strong, soft, and broad, with a gentle grip and long, agile fingers. So different from Dean’s own hands, already scarred from the last few years of wear and tear since his resurrection. Of course, he’d noticed before. Noticed that sort of thing about Castiel, how he used his hands to fight, to pray, to eat and to comfort, how they looked drenched in blood and how they looked at rest. How they looked striking a blow to his own face, and how they looked when he healed him. They were one of a million things Dean knew about him better than he knew himself.

“Oh, Dean,” he said softly, “That’s all I ask of you. Just try. Lift up your heart to me, and I will give you everything.”

Dean inhaled sharply, his chest tight as he leaned into the touch. "It's yours," he breathed out, "It's all yours, Cas."

Castiel smiled, and the world fell away.

Tagging in some people who I think might be interested, just dm me to be added or removed: @castieljew @dependsupon @autisticandroids @sunforgrace @heller-jensen @lateral-org @cactuscas @adhdeancas @icaruscastiel @holmesemrys @evermorecastiel @yana125 @faithcastiel @good-things-do-happen-dean @i-sing-for-me @whatevr-4evr @sonder-stars @jeanne-de-valois

[ikeromantic]

Not an End

A Mitsuhide Akechi story - this scene takes place at about the midpoint of Ch. 10. Approx. 1700 words.

First: Mitsuhide and the Maiden

Previous: Loyalty

The battle was brutal. In the uncertain light of flickering torches and flaming arrows, colors bled to grey. It was impossible to tell who struggled against whom. Men shouted, screamed, and died. Blood mixed with ash and others pushed forward to continue the struggle. Mitsuhide did his best to keep his little one from the thick of it, but there was no clear path.

He fought when they had to, his sword arm stronger than it had any right to be. His heart beat with ferocity. Not to win, but to protect. Mitsuhide did not note the faces of the men that fell to his blade, but part of him mourned the innocence his beloved lost with each death she witnessed.

Then out of the smoke, like a spirit, a shape took form. Beauty and grace out of place in the landscape of savage violence. Yoshimoto. 

Mitsuhide knew the leader of the Imagawa was here and yet . . . he’d hoped to avoid him. Yoshimoto’s quest for an honorable end was not a part of his plan, nor any concern if his. He respected the man’s desire to end his struggle even if he didn’t understand the feelings that motivated the young warlord. 

Yoshimoto didn’t even seem to notice Mitsuhide. His eyes found the chatelaine and fixed on her with an unexpected passion. “I was hoping I would meet you again in more pleasant circumstances.”

“Me too.” She stepped out from behind Mitsuhide, smiling. 

He felt a surge of irrational anger. A desire to lash out. He contained it, left it simmering behind his own smile. “The tides of battle have turned against you. I suggest you and your vassals stand down, Imagawa.”

Yoshimoto’s lips turned up in a ghost of a grin as he finally focused on Mitsuhide. “I am truly impressed by this plan of yours, Silver Kitsunde. You have truly earned the sobriquet.” The flower of the Imagawa drew his sword anew, steel ringing clear of its sheath. “I thank you for the advice, but sadly . . . I cannot withdraw. That choice has never been mine.” His lips firmed into a thin line, his jaw hard. “Everything has led to this moment. The moment it all ends.”

Mitsuhide wan’t sure he could win against Yoshimoto. Not in his current state. And yet, fate had set his path here. Loss was not an option for him, any more than retreat for his opponent. He readied his blade.

Yoshimoto struck. 

This was nothing like the fight with Masamune. The one-eyed tiger was ferocious, single-minded, and bloodthirsty. With Yoshimoto, the battle was art. Each move, choreographed. Perfect. This was the strength of the Imagawa. Deadly beauty.

It took all of Mitsuhide’s skill to keep up. Predicting his opponent by understanding the steps of this dance. The rapid strikes shook his bones and sent tremors through his tired muscles. Yet he could sense in Yoshimoto the beginnings of an end. His eyes begged Mitsuhide to finish this fight. To give him a good death. 

Mitsuhide readied himself. There was no need to ask why. The Imagawa clan would never yield so long as Yoshimoto lived. The young warlord was a symbol. An excuse to fight on no matter the odds. If he fell . . . they would give up, finally. Mitsuhide knew Yoshimoto’s next move. It would be simple to change his defense to an offense. To slide his blade between Imagawa’s ribs. Straight through his heart. 

“No! You can’t” The chatelaine threw herself between the combatants. “Yoshimoto! Run! Live!” She turned to face Yoshimoto. “Go and live for yourself. Think of your family!”

She didn’t understand. Mitsuhide felt a pang of sadness for his little one. She was so vulnerable. So naive. His blade stopped misdwin and he lowered it to his side. 

“My . . . family?” Yoshimoto sounded as puzzled as Mitsuhide felt. 

She held a hand out to him, as if to touch his cheek. “Sasuke and Yukimura are still looking for you. Everyone in Echigo is waiting for you to come home.”

Mitsuhide felt a surge of jealousy. His precious little one, speaking so passionately to another man - even if only to convince him to live - stirred a poison in the kitsune warlord’s veins. 

“Yoshimoto . . . your life is precious. Too precious to throw away for bloodlines and clan responsibilities. It’s your one and only life.” The chatelaine put her hand atop Yoshimoto’s, her pale fingers brushing his ash and bloodstained grip.

“I -” 

Mitsuhide grabbed his little mouse by the arm, pulling her back, out of harms’ way. And out of Yoshimoto’s reach. “Are you shielding an enemy, little one?”

“He’s not an enemy,” she protested.

Both a true and untrue statement, Mitsuhide thought. He wanted to explain to her why the Imagawa warlord must die. But the look in her eyes . . . full of belief in him. Trust that Mitsuhide would never harm someone she called a friend. Though he knew - absolutely knew - that killing Yoshimoto was the wisest path, he found that he could not do so. 

Mitsuhide met Yoshimoto’s gaze over the top of the chatelaine’s head. An understanding passed between them. Neither wanted to be the man that made her cry. “You will go, Yoshimoto Imagawa. Take your vassals and leave.”

Yoshimoto nodded. “I will withdraw.” He gave an elegant bow which the chatelaine caught as she turned her head to face him.

As Yoshimoto sheathed his blade, the Imagawa vassals shouted in a mix of anger and disappointment. “If you will not fight,” they cried, “then we will die for the honor of the Imagawa tonight.” 

It seemed, Mitsuhide thought, that his mercy was misplaced. Regardless of what he would prefer, he did not think he could avoid slaughtering the fractious warriors of the fallen Imagawa. There would be tears from his little one later, he thought. But he could live with that as long as she was alive to cry them.

But before anyone could begin to fight again, Yoshimoto’s voice rang out. It lacked his usual soft cadence. Now it cracked with fierce anger. A heat that Mitsuhide had not thought the Imagawa warlord possessed. “There is no honor in death! Choosing to die here is a betrayal of all the ideals you claim to stand for.” In a quieter voice he added. “As I have only just realized.”

He leaned forward, far too close for Mitsuhide’s comfort, and spoke to the chatelaine. “I want to thank you. And . . . I hope we get the chance to meet again.”  Yoshimoto lifted a lock of the chatelaine’s hair and pressed it to his lips in farewell.

“And I do not.” Mitsuhide pulled his little one behind him, away from the passionate eyes of this Imagawa upstart. He was beginning to regret not killing Yoshimoto. 

Yoshimoto smiled. “Be well.” Then he led his vassals out of the fight, rallying them around him with an aura of command that he had not shown before. They were soon lost in the chaos and darkness.

Mitsuhide scanned what he could of the battlefield. Most of the shogun’s forces were routed. Crushed between Masamune’s warriors and Hideyoshi’s defenses. He found a good position and waited for the fight to end. 

It was Hideyoshi that came to them. His face was splattered with blood and filth. His eyes were bright with victory. “It’s over. We won.”

Masamune’s troops were tying up survivors and putting out fire. The monks of Honno-ji were attending to the wounded and gathering the dead. It was, Mitsuhide thought, a better win than most. Even if his quarry survived. That only meant the hunt was not done. He had yet more to do.

Mitsuhide took a step toward Hideyoshi, intent on wrapping up this goodbye before Hideyoshi turned his mother-hen instincts full on. But his legs didn’t seem willing to move forward and his arms felt heavy as lead. He stood there feeling dumb and slow as Masamune approached alongside Nobunaga.

“Mitsu . . .” His little mouse clung to his arm, almost as if she knew the thoughts that raced through his mind.

“You’ve done well. All of you.” Nobunaga smiled as he approached. 

“Thank you my lord,” the three of them said in unison. 

Mitsuhide watched Masamune warily. It was entirely possible the one-eyed tiger still meant to fight him. “You took longer than I expected to catch up to me.”

“That’s all you’ve got to say?” Masamune rested a hand on his hilt. A threat, though not an immediate one. “Pfft. I was late because Ieyasu and Mitsunari couldn’t stop squabbling over who would accompany me. I told ‘em they could keep each other company in Azuchi.” His one eye narrowed with anger. “You’re lucky I didn’t hand your ass to my troops after our little . . . chat . . . in the rain.”

“I am grateful,” Mitsuhide began. He had a witty comment to make. He was sure of it. But whatever it had been was gone. “I - I am grateful to you. To Nobunaga. And, and to Hideyoshi.” He put an arm around his little one’s shoulders. “And to you.” He couldn’t help the way he leaned toward her, supporting himself.

Hideyoshi poked a finger in his chest. “You can keep your ‘thank you’ until you and I are done, Mitsuhide!”

There were words Mitsuhide wanted to say. They tumbled, disorganized through his tired mind. He tried to marshal them to order. He was the kitsune warlord - and this was not the time to fall. Not. Yet.

Hideyoshi took his silence as offense and grabbed the front of his clothes, jerking him violently forward. 

Mitsuhide felt his beloved’s warmth retreat from him and heard her make a worried sound.

“I hope you’re ready. I’ve got hundreds of questions and you are going to answer ever single one!” Hideyoshi shook him. 

“Can’t it wait . . . until . . . tomorrow?” Mitsuhide heard his voice as if it came from a long way off. He was in a tunnel. In a hole in the ground. Hideyoshi’s face floated in the light above him. 

“What? And give you the chance to escape?” He shook Mitsuhide again. “You’re not getting out of this.”

Mtisuhide felt his lips turn up in a smile. “It’s not that. I - I’m just . . . rather . . . tired.” And then Hideyoshi’s face was gone. There was only the darkness, silent and heavy. He didn’t have the strength to fight it anymore.

Next: Peace

[writingformymentalhealth]

Chapter 5

The Black Brothers

Josephine Fawley or as her brother liked to call her the tomboy Princess had a striking romance with Hogwarts very own Pureblood rebel Sirius Black.

Sadly her parents deemed his Brother the so called Slytherin Prince as a better fit and arranged a marriage with the younger Black.

Tw: Arranged marriage, possible smut, swear words, lots of fluff, angst, mentions of abuse and depression,

Part 1

Wattpad link

Masterlist

The Newts went by in the blink of an eye and before any of them knew they were back at the platform 9 3/4.

“I will miss you so bad,” Isa said and Joey’s insides felt warm. Isa wasn’t one for sentimentalities usually and having her openly talk about missing her made her happier than she would ever admit.

“I’ll miss you too, Isa.” She said, pulling the girl in a quick hug.

“Hey Isa, don’t steal away my girl,” Sirius’ voice said from behind, earning him a playful shove from Joey.

Isa waved a last time before going to look for her parents, leaving the couple to bid their goodbyes.

“Farewell Princess.”

“We’ll see each other at the next boring pureblood ball.”

“I’ll still miss you like crazy.” His hand cupped her cheek, making a blush creep up on her. How could he make her feel this way, even after all these years?

And then kissed her. He kissed her like it was the last kiss they ever shared.

After pulling back, both teens were slightly panting.

“I’ll miss you too, Black”

“Write to me, love.”

“Every day.”

And with a last playful wink the boy disappeared between the people, going to find his parents - or hiding from them.

Just seconds later, Quentin appeared next to the girl.

“Let’s go, mum and dad will be waiting.” He said, nudging her.

It only took the twins minutes to find their parents chatting with the Malfoys, and even though Quentin’s expression remained rather neutral, Joey could practically feel her brother’s blood boil at the sight of Lucius.

Their Mother was the first one to see the twins hugging them both and mumbling something about having missed them. Their father just nodded at the scene, bidding his goodbyes to the Malfoys.

“We have something to tell you when we come home.” Cordelia whispered to her children before grabbing Joey’s hand.

Joey and Quentin exchanged a look.

With a plop the family landed back at the Fawley residence and Joey inhaled the familiar scent of Lavender and Moth balls that always seemed to linger in the old house and didn’t pay much attention to her mother asking for a teatime with the family to discuss ‘important matters’. At least until Quentin took her hand, and she felt just how clammy and sweaty his hand was.

“It will be alright Quen.”

He shook his head. And Joey prayed they weren’t going to tell her that his depression got worse.

With a weird feeling in her stomach, she made her way to the sitting corner in which the Fawley family always drunk their tea, carefully pulling Quentin behind, who seemed almost frozen into place.

Their parents sat opposite to them, both seeming suspiciously smiley.

“What’s up?” Joey asked, not able to take the tension anymore.

Her mother inhaled sharply before letting her catlike green eyes meet her daughters. “We arranged a marriage for you, Josephine.”

“You what?” The siblings asked simultaneously.

“We arranged for you to marry a respectable pure blood gentleman.” Her father explained, not looking his children in the eyes.

“Absolutely not.”

Her mother pursed her lips. “I fear you don’t have a choice, Darling.”

“You were always against that bullshit,” her brother spat, his voice being louder than ever.

“Things change, circumstances change.” Their father said, just earning a scoff from his son.

“It is the best for all of us.”

“Not for me.”

Her mother looked at her sadly, “You don’t have a choice.”

“Oh hell, yes I do.” Joey screamed, standing up, running into her room, still faintly hearing her brother argue with her parents.

In her room she pulled out her trunk, chaotically throwing clothes, pictures and other prized possessions in it. She didn’t know where she was going to go, but she knew she needed to go. Hot tears streamed down her face, she always thought her parents were different, sure most pure blood families had some weird beliefs about keeping their blood pure therefore arranged marriage looked like the best thing to do, but her parents always seemed to accept that their children would go their own way.

A faint knock on the door alerted the girl of her mother’s presence.

“Can I come in?”

“In your words, I don’t have a choice, do I?”

“We made a deal with the family years ago,” her mother sighed suddenly looking decades older, “we promised them you would marry their son in exchange for safety from the dark Lord.”

“What has Voldemort to do with all this?” her Mother flinched by the mention of his name.

“The family is very close to him. They inform him about blood traitors, eventual followers and all that.”

“So I don’t have a choice?”

“Not if you want your loved ones to live.” Her Mother said simply giving her daughter a reassuring squeeze before going out of the room leaving Joey at a complete loss.

After the initial shock, there was only one thing on her mind: Sirius.

She fidgeted with the silver ring on her left hand, knowing that she always wanted to marry him, spend her life with the boy she loved above everything else, and now she would have to face a relationship like Narcissa had with Lucius.

The lump in her throat grew bigger and bigger, and she barely noticed the tears streaming down her face mercilessly.

Perhaps the worst heartbreak isn’t getting broken up with, perhaps the worst heartbreak is knowing you have to break up with someone who you still love with every fiber of your body.

-

Two days had gone by, but Joey didn’t even seem to notice. Everything went on in a blur and no words from Isabella, who she wrote to immediately nor her brother, could pull her out of her misery.

“You know you need to break up with him, don’t you?” Her brother just asked, while soothingly drawing circles on her back.

“Isabella said I should break his heart really bad to make it easier for him,” Joey scoffed, tears still rolling down her cheeks.

“That’s a terrible idea, even for Isabella.”

“You just say that because you hate her. She said, I should just tell him I am in love with someone else.”

“Josephine, don’t do it, please. People will know about the arranged marriage just like they know about Lucius and Narcissa.”

“I could still love him though.”

“Sirius isn’t stupid - not that stupid at least.”

“If I tell him the truth he would try to fight the bloke in some deathly duel or something,” she laughed humorlessly, “he’d do anything for me.”

“You don’t need to tell him a reason to break up with him.”

“Don’t you think I owe him one?”

Her brother stayed silent, engulfing her in a hug, while her tears left a wet patch on his shirt. Quentin knew better than to argue with his sister. She already made up her mind.

-

Joey had asked Sirius to meet her at the park bench he once gave her the promise ring at. Her face was stoic, almost unreadable. She knew she couldn’t show weakness in front of him. She couldn’t make him question her decision. She needed to be confident and cold.

She already saw him from afar, his long hair hanging in his eyes while he comfortably sat in the grass even though a perfectly intact bench was right next to him.

As soon as the boy saw her his eyes lit up and he stood up to hug her, but she took a step back making his eyebrows snap together in confusion.

“We need to talk.” She said instead of a greeting slowly making her way to the bench.

“What’s wrong, love?”

She forced herself to look into his concerned eyes that were so full of love for her and she knew Isabella was right. She would have to break him so he could let her go.

“I am breaking up with you.���

Sirius’ eyes widened in disbelief, his hands fidgeting with each other like they always did when he got overwhelmed, and Joey had to resist the urge to hold them.

“Why? Joey we can fix this I-“

“I made my decision.”

He swallowed hard, and she saw tears starting to pool in his eyes.

“Why?” He asked again, his voice cracking.

“I found somebody else.” She said simply, not daring to look into the stormy grey eyes she was still very much in love with, “and I am in love with him.”

“I love you.” Sirius said, his voice barely above a whisper and it took everything in Joey not to say it back.

“I should go.” She said, not waiting for an answer before standing up and taking fast steps towards the point she knew she could Apparate away in safety. A small part of her hoped he would run after her, tell her he saw through her act, tell her he knew how to get out of it but he didn’t so she let the tears that she was holding in since the moment she saw him sitting next to the bench fall but to her surprise she didn’t feel the hurt anymore. Instead, her heart felt cold, as if it was made of ice or as if someone had just burst through her rib cage and taken it out, leaving only an empty space.

Sirius Black felt like he was having a heart attack, and for a short second he thought about admitting himself into St mangos hospital but he came to the conclusion that maybe having a heart attack right now wouldn’t be too bad because the one person he trusted and treasured over anyone else made his worst fears come true. He knew he was always jealous, but that was just because he knew deep inside that a guy like him could never keep a girl like her. That a girl like Josephine didn’t settle for family disappointments with lots of baggage, but he still tried and for a brief moment he thought he could be happy. Now he knew that some people just aren’t meant to be happy.

For the first time since the couple started dating, Sirius lit up a cigarette, inhaling the deathly smoke deeply, hoping that it would kill the sadness in him.

Sirius Black’s world became dull that day.

Unbeknownst to both they had the same essential question running through their head, ‘who is this other guy’ but while Sirius would have to wait some time till his question got answered, Joey had the option to confront her parents.

Of course she could have done this earlier, but she had to admit she was scared of the answer. She knew most pureblood families and couldn’t say she particularly liked them. Additionally a family that was close to the Dark Lord was bound to be involved in the dark arts and at least to some extent evil.

She shuddered at that thought; she heard all the stories about arranged marriages - the regular rape, the abuse and the fear and she wasn’t keen on joining that club. So when she saw her Mother that day ready to confront her - she couldn’t.

She couldn’t bring herself to ask.

Actually, she couldn’t bring herself to do anything besides lay in bed and sleep, she didn’t even have it in her to cry anymore. Even after her Mother informed her she was going to meet her future husband for dinner, she didn’t have it in herself to react.

In the end it was her brother who brought back the girl’s spirits on the day of the dinner.

“Oh no, you are not meeting your future husband looking like that.”

“Why? He has to marry me, anyway.” Joey said, rolling over.

“Go shower. Now. You smell, and if you don’t shower, I will conjure a bucket of ice water and shower you myself.” He said while rummaging through her closet.

Joey frowned, not being used to her brother being so authoritarian, but she did as he said, too tired to argue with him.

Even though she would never admit it, the shower did make her feel better, and the dress her brother chose made her feel like a real life princess.

“You have to do your clown paint on your own, I have no idea what that stuff is.” He said gesturing to her makeup and for the first time in eleven days Joey chuckled.

She was just doing her eye makeup as her mother came in, a sad smile decorating her face. “You never asked who.”

“Does it matter?” Joey asked, applying mascara.

“It’s Regulus Black.”

Joey almost poked her eye out as she heard that. Her heart hammered desperately against her chest.

“Why not Sirius?” Quentin asked the question Joey wanted to ask so desperately. “Isn’t he the oldest?”

Her mother made a sound with her mouth, “We discussed this matter but Sirius and his family have a complicated relationship, they want regulus to make the proud.”

And Joey felt like her heart broke all over again. She was so close to getting what she wanted, yet destiny had ripped it away from her again. If this was a story, the Author had to be downright cruel to put her through this.

-

At the Black Mansion Sirius - for the first time in his life felt completely and utterly broken. Hot tears ran down his face, and he couldn’t contain the sobs coming out of his mouth.

He almost didn’t notice his Mother coming in hitting him with the stupid Black family ring she was so proud of turning it outward so it would leave deep cuts on his cheeks.

“Crying is something for muggles and weaklings. Not for Blacks.” She screeched, but he didn’t care, he never cared for anything his parents wanted or said, he only cared for her and his friends and maybe Regulus even though his loyalty to their parents could be infuriating sometimes.

“We have guests this evening. If you aren’t on your best behavior, I will crucio you right in front of them.” His mother sneered, and Sirius knew from experience that she meant what she said.

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?” His Mother grabbed her wand and Sirius bit his lip till it started bleeding.

“Yes, ma’am.” he grumbled quietly, just hoping that she would disappear soon so he could be sad in peace.

Walburga strutted out of the room, locking the door behind her, making Sirius sigh.

He looked around his room trying to ground himself, the red gryffindor flags, the muggle band posters from bands he didn’t know just to spite his mother, the pictures of the Marauders and of course the pictures of Joey that he didn’t yet have the heart to take down, her smile illuminating the whole room even through a picture. Tears filled his eyes again, yet he didn’t dare to cry. Instead, he got out his wand, muttering some spells to heal the wounds.

A few hours later Sirius was well aware of how horrible he looked, skin pale, deep rings under the eyes and his usually shiny hair hanging matted over his eyes, this look being further enhanced while standing next to his brother who looked more and more like Sirius every day, sharing his aristocratic features. But other than Sirius;, Regulus looked amazing, his tie in place, his hair combed and his shoes cleaned.

Sirius saw the disgusted face his mother gave him before gushing about Regulus and he couldn’t help but feel accomplished at his disheveled appearance that hopefully would disgust any weird poor blood family her mother invited for today.

“Adrian, Cordelia! How nice to see you.” Walburga greeted, making Sirius’ blood run cold at the mention of Joey’s parents’ names; and really just behind the two middle-aged wizards and next to Quentin, the girl of his dreams, stood. Her usually wavy hair was curled and neatly pinned up, leaving just a few strands to frame her beautiful face.

Sirius stood there frozen as the other people greeted each other. Joey stiffly shook his hand. Her eyes looking cold and disinterested, just like the first time Sirius saw her at the pureblood ball.

Joey, on the other hand, felt immensely grateful for her brother standing beside her, as she didn’t know where she should look. She was scared to look in Regulus eyes seeing the familiar cold and steely gaze of her future husband and even though she wanted to, she knew looking in Sirius’ eyes would just open up a Pandora’s box of feelings.

The dinner went over like a blur, Walburga asking lots of questions that were being answered politely, mostly by Cordelia.

As dessert came - crème brûlée, finally the point of the entire dinner was made clear.

“Josephine, Regulus, as you both know we arranged a marriage between you two, binding two of the most pureblood families together by law.” Orion said, his voice cold and calculated just like Regulus’ voice was. Sirius started coughing uncontrollably, choking on the water he just tried to drink, earning himself dirty looks from the pureblood parents, Orion especially looking at Sirius like Walburga looked at discounter clothes. “Don’t mind my son, he doesn’t take news like a gentleman, another reason why we chose regulus over him.”

Joey looked up from her plate - the first time this evening and her mask broke for a short second and Sirius saw how deeply horrified she looked before she went back to smiling politely with the same cold disinterested eyes every pureblood kid learned to have at a young age.

“We expect you to be a pleasant couple till you marry, no drama or other nonsense.” Orion continued.

“Josephine, darling, I suspect your parents already informed you about the risks of acting out?” Walburga asked, and Joey’s stomach turned at her sickly sweet voice. Her eyes automatically found Sirius’ for comfort, but his eyes were clouded with shock and something Joey could only interpret as realization.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Very well, how about you two go up to Regulus’ room to get to know each other better, while we discuss the details of the engagement party?”

Regulus nodded wordlessly, taking his future fiancée’s hand leading her up the stairs so familiar of the noble house of black, into his room.

It was the first time that Joey saw a room except the ball room and Sirius’ room and she was impressed at how unimpressive the room looked. The walls were empty except a Slytherin flag over his bed; the room was almost hauntingly neat, and she didn’t see even one personal item.

“I apologize for all of this.” Regulus said, looking at the stoic girl in front of him.

“No need to apologize.” She whispered, her voice sounding hoarse as she took in the room, looking anywhere but into the boys’ eyes.

“I’m sure no girl wants to have that kind of proposal.”

She chuckled at the absurdity of his words, sitting down on his bed, surprised at the softness of the mattress, yet shuddering at the thought of her having to have sex with him on that mattress - or anywhere, for that matter.

“We are practically engaged and you don’t even know my favorite color.” She said, looking into his eyes for the first time this evening.

There was a deep breath, and then Regulus sat beside her.

“Josephine-“

“Why are you marrying me?”

He looked shocked at the question and Joey wished she could take the words back, knowing that she crossed a line and being basically the property of Regulus now, she should maybe at least try to keep the comments to herself.

“Josephine, it’s what our parents want from us.”

“Nobody calls me Josephine, except my parents.” Joey whispered, her voice restrained from the fear pulsing through her body.

“I know, but I didn’t know if you wanted me to call you that.”

Joey looked into his steely eyes, and they looked surprisingly soft and understanding. And a small glimmer of hope tugged at her heartstrings.

“Why do you care what I want? Am I now not your property?” The words came out harder than she intended, and Regulus flinched slightly.

“I’m not a monster.”

Joey stayed silent.

She was glad, as Walburga called them downstairs, looking at them as if she just won the lottery.

“Splendid news, we will hold the engagement party in one week.”, Joey forced a smile but by the falling face of Walburga she could already tell that it came out more like a grimace, “and the even better news is that you will spend all summer with us so you and Regulus can bond and have some appearances as a couple before you marry.”

Joey’s stomach turned. Spending all summer with the guy they forced her to marry, her ex boyfriend who still gave her butterflies and their psychopathic parents sounded like a nightmare.

“We will have a guest room ready.” Orion added coldly, and from the corner of her eye she saw Sirius exhaling in something that looked like relief.

“Oh no, we aren’t in the eighties anymore. She can sleep in Regulus room, they can practice for their wedding night.” Walburga grinned wolfishly, and Joey felt so sick she was sure she would throw up all over the carpet.

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Part 6

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[lostinfantasies38]

A collection of my Drarry WIPs. Just getting a feel to see if anyone is interested enough in them for me to keep writing them and maybe post them on AO3 at some point. Let me know what you think!

Tagging @kittimau @fandomn00blr @jellysharkbat @jennserr @river-of-asgard @sharkapologists and whoever else!

Alpha Harry - untitled

Shaking himself from his stupor, Harry trailed after them and sharpened his hearing to catch what the Malfoy patriarch was saying.

“You disappoint me, Draco,” Lucius grumbled as the pair fought against the flow of the weekend traffic.

“I’m sorry, Father,” he answered meekly. It wouldn’t do to rile up the man, especially in public. Best to grit his teeth and bear the tirade stoically in hopes it would temper his ire. But as they neared the junction where Diagon became Knockturn and Lucius shoved him roughly into an inconspicuous back alley, Draco knew his wish had been in vain.

The gilt-capped end of his cane dug mercilessly into his ribs as his father glared at him. He quickly reined in the fear coursing through him and focused on maintaining a neutral façade to minimize the sour notes of anxiety that would alert his father to his inner turmoil.

“You were supposed to be an Alpha and join the ranks to bring honour to our name in the eyes of our Lord. Instead, you are weak and useless. Good for absolutely nothing except bearing bastard whelps like a common whore,” he sneered.

Draco ducked his head and blinked back his tears. He knew his very traditional Alpha father believed Omegas were nothing more than broodmares, but to hear Lucius slander him for something outside of his control gutted him.

“I’m sorry, Father. I didn’t mean...I didn’t ask to be like this,” he said, grateful his voice remained steady since a show of weakness would only bring pain.

“That is not your only deficit. I very much doubt you’d have made a satisfactory Alpha, anyway,” Lucius spat. “You have no spine. I should have replaced you with a new heir when your frequent failings became apparent before you peaked. Now, I have to suffer the shame of everyone knowing what you are. After nine hundred years, the Malfoy name will end simply because you couldn't do what was expected of you.”

Choking down a sob, Draco bowed lower. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, awaiting the blow that would surely follow his father’s vitriol.

The snake-head whistled through the air and he tensed instinctively, but the blow never came as the comforting scent of woodsmoke, musk, and cinnamon washed over him. Lucius snarled in anger and Draco lifted his wide eyes to find Harry Potter shielding him behind a massive wandless protego, glaring defiantly at his father.

“You will not lay a finger on what is mine, Malfoy,” he growled dangerously.

Soulmate AU - It's Just My Skin

No, Harry Potter wasn’t his enemy, but the undeniable truth of who was was worse. Gasping through an anxiety attack, Draco sluggishly registered the rapidly plummeting temperature and the sputtering lamps as despair leached into his soul.

“Oh, fuck,” he croaked.

Ripping open the bathroom door, he dashed back to Potter’s compartment. Unceremoniously flinging open the cabin, he met the startled faces of the three Gryffindors and rolled his eyes.

“Well, don’t just sit there! We have to move! Dementors are boarding the train and I have a damn good idea who they’re after.”

“Shiiit,” Weasley said, scrambling away from the window as a hooded figure glided past, leaving ice crystals blooming in its wake.

“My sentiments exactly,” Draco snapped. “Come on. I’m not in the mood to be Kissed.” Harry grunted in confusion when Draco grabbed his wrist and dragged him out the door. “I swear, Fate has an ironic sense of humour pairing me up with you and your damned Muggle education. I’ll explain later, but for now, just follow my lead.”

Dementors couldn’t pass through corporeal objects, which meant they’d be protected if they reached the loo and locked themselves in. Wards alone wouldn’t be enough to bar the creatures from the lock-free train compartments, but with an enlargement spell on the bathroom, the four of them could safely hole inside until they reached Hogwarts or someone on the outside dealt with the dementors.

They didn’t get far, however, before a cloaked figure filled the opposite end of the corridor. A bone-deep weariness washed over them, sucking the life from their core and darkening their vision as it descended with a shriek. Draco reflexively squeezed Harry’s wrist, a welcome jolt of heat emanating from his name under his fingertips.

Two wands appeared on either side of him as Harry and Hermione cast a simultaneous shield, but Draco was familiar enough with his soulmate’s magic to recognize it wasn’t fully powered. This was how they died, then; their souls leeched by a dementor moments after confirming who complimented them. Glancing to his right, grey eyes met green in resignation. A million unspoken words passed between them until Harry’s eyes rolled in the back of his head and all the colour drained from his face.

Seraphim AU - untitled

The ominous ring of the ancient grandfather clock reverberated through the too-quiet hall outside his bed-chamber. Dread coiled in his gut as a cold sweat broke across his skin.

He was out of time and out of options.

No sooner had the twelfth peal sounded than Draco felt the tether linking him to his Chosen snap in place. His wings ripped through his shirt and a golden light cut through the unnatural shadows as he fell into a vision.

A boy sat huddled on the floor, crying softly and pleading for a swift end to his misery. Draco’s heart clenched when his magic registered the cuts and bruises along his body and his extreme level of dehydration and malnutrition. As though sensing his presence, the boy opened his eyes and stared directly at him. All of the breath in his lungs whooshed out of him the second Draco recognized the intense green gaze.

“Help me,” Harry begged.

Pressing a hand to his heart Draco disappeared without a sound, leaving the shadows to devour his room.

~~~

A figure materialized in the center of his room, winged and wreathed in a halo of gold. Though the back-light cast it’s face in shadow, further blurred by his lack of glasses and copious tears, the presence felt safe, bringing with it the smell of summer sun and fragrant incense—heady, yet comforting.

He smiled weakly when his sluggish mind recognized the creature’s purpose as his vision grayed along the edges. It would escort him to the other side and guarantee he found his family.

“Angel,” Harry croaked.

Draco caught him as he fainted and tucked him firmly against his chest as tears rolled down his cheeks and wet Harry’s unruly hair. Take us somewhere safe, he prayed as they disappeared without a trace.

A split second later, they reappeared in a hodge-podge living room, but it was warm and inviting, not a hint of dark magic tainting the space or the surrounding wards. Though their arrival was silent, the disturbance of the familial wards woke the occupants and within moments Draco found himself surrounded by a crowd of Weasleys. They ogled him with equal parts shock and awe at the sight of his wings filling the room and the waves of restless power radiating off his aura.

“Harry requires medical attention. He’s been beaten and starved and he’s severely dehydrated. He won’t last the night without aid.” Though he spoke barely above a whisper, his voice thrummed with a strange resonance.

[flowercrown-bard]

A new us will begin (3/ 11)

AO3

part 1  / part 2   / part 4  / part 5 / part 6

word count: 2.6k

Content warnings: Implied self-harm, guilt, child-death, character death, alcohol

Four decades.

Four decades since Geralt had buried his best friend and the man he loved more than anything.

It was too long without him. Geralt had never spent more than a couple of months without Jaskier. He had always known he would get to see him again some day. His smile, his eyes, his ridiculously bright doublets that he had worn even in old age. Now he knew he wouldn’t see any of that ever again. Not tomorrow, not in spring, not even another four decades from now.

Four decades were too long.

At the same time, four decades were far too little time. They said time healed all wounds. When would enough time have passed to heal the wound that Jaskier had ripped into his chest when he had left him? That hole that kept bleeding and aching even after all this time?

The answer was a cold certainty inside Geralt’s chest. Never. There would never come a time when Geralt wouldn’t announce that he was about to make camp, as if Jaskier were there to hear. There would never come a day when Geralt wouldn’t point at a pretty bird or flower, as if Jaskier were still there to delight in the thing he saw.

Those brief moments in which Geralt forgot however briefly that he was alone were exhilarating, only to have him crash down when reality set back in and forced images of Jaskier’s lifeless body into his mind.

Geralt had promised himself that never again would he watch anyone die if he could prevent it.

He couldn’t prevent it. Far too often was he too slow, too weak, too late. He had watched far too many people to count die and yet they all stayed in his memory, seared into his mind like a brand marking him as the one who had failed them all. Peasants, merchants, hunters. A mother and her son that had probably been too young to even understand what was going on. Perhaps that had been a mercy.

No. There was no such thing as mercy. It had been on Geralt to save them and he had failed.

For a brief moment, Geralt had been foolish enough to hope. Relief had roared through him like a blazing fire when he had heard found the beast, had heard the boy’s heartbeat and thought for just a moment that he hadn’t been too late, that he’d still be able to save the child. It would have been ugly to get him to understand that his mother was dead and that he had to come with Geralt, that he would bring him back to his father where he was safe. Because Geralt wouldn’t have been able to promise him safety with him. Maybe the boy would have started crying then. Maybe he would have wanted to stay with his mother, not understanding why she wouldn’t get up again. Geralt would have told him not to look at her, not to do that to himself. Maybe he would have told the boy to look at him instead, but that would have only made it worse for the child, wouldn’t it? He had been so brave. No screaming, no crying, no stench of fear. Or perhaps there had been fear. Perhaps the boy had been terrified, of the beast, of Geralt but the coppery smell of his blood had drowned that out.

It didn’t matter now whether the boy would have been afraid if he had seen Geralt’s eyes. Geralt would never get to find out how that brave little child would have reacted. He had failed. He had let him die.

He could have just gone back to the town and told the man that had begged him to bring his child back safely where their bodies lay and be done with it. Instead, he had carried them back to the small hut at the edge of town. He had watched the man’s face twist into a grimace of pain as he had laid eyes on his dead family.

Geralt hadn’t been able to look away as the stranger, who in that moment felt like a mirror image of Geralt, cried and clutched his son’s small body to his chest.

When the man had looked back up at Geralt, he hadn’t shouted, hadn’t screamed and spat at him. He had been too broken for that. But Geralt had seen it in his eyes. The man had blamed Geralt, hated him, wished he would have been the one to die instead.

If Jaskier knew that Geralt agreed, he would have hated Geralt as well.

But Jaskier wasn’t here and Geralt was left to carry the weight of what he hadn’t been able to do on his own.

For so long Geralt had carried it, but it didn’t get any lighter, if anything the weight of his guilt got heavier and heavier the longer he lived, the more people he let die. The memory of the child – the light in its eyes dying before Geralt was even close enough to discern the colour of them – stayed with him, accusing him of things he wished he could deny.

There was only one way for Geralt to repent, for him to make this better. He threw himself into contract after contract. Recklessness and desperation, that Vesemir would have been angry to see him succumb to, were guiding his sword.

The weight of the guilt that was threatening to crush him didn’t subside.

The only thing that changed, was the tapestry of scars littering his body, each angry red line like a tally torn into his skin keeping count of his failings. All the times he could and should have died instead of letting that fate befall someone else. No matter how many monsters he slew and how many people he saved, those marks would still be there. Never fading. Never letting him forget.

Nothing could make him forget. He knew that. He knew it was impossible to get drunk enough on human ale to free himself of the guilt. That didn’t stop him from trying.

It made things worse. All it did was make him pathetically wish there was someone there trying to steal a sip of his drink or sing to him while Geralt used the ale to hide his smile.

There was no smile on Geralt’s face now. Neither was there anyone who would have given him one.

Instead of music, frustrated voices filled the tavern. Geralt didn’t know why he listened in. Perhaps it was years of experience telling him that raised voices meant trouble for him. Or maybe it was the insistent voice in the back of his mind telling him that Jaskier would be disappointed if Geralt didn’t bring him the latest gossip.

The more he listened, the more his heart ached. Oh, Jaskier would have loved this. Tales of an earl or viscount or something like that, who was utterly unfit to rule for being a dreamer. Rumours about how he kept humming to himself instead of listening to his advisors when they brought forth the grievances of the people. One woman even said that she heard the lord had the habit of doodling horses of all things onto important documents.

Maybe Jaskier would have laughed at this and nudged Geralt in the ribs claiming that Geralt had met his match when it came to his love for horses. Maybe Jaskier would have thought these rumours romantic and spun a bittersweet ballad out of it about a trapped lord yearning for life outside of his castle walls. Or perhaps he would have composed a sharp-tongued ditty insulting the lord for how little he seemed to care about his subjects. Either way, Geralt was sure he would have been able to make everyone in this tavern sigh and smile and forget their worries for a while.

As it were, there was no one here to make anyone forget their worries. The air grew thick as frustration turned into anger. Geralt had witnessed this change often enough to know that it was better to leave now before the contempt for an untouchable lord turned towards someone – a witcher - a mob would be able to insult and hurt without anyone batting an eye.

So Geralt downed the last of his ale and left the tavern. He had just lead Roach out of the stables she had been in, when his retreat was stopped. Not by a mob, not even by a single drunken man who itched for a fight and got reckless in his drunkenness. No, he was halted by a man with slicked back hair, fanciful clothes and an air of importance about him.

Geralt scowled at him. It didn’t seem to deter the man, though he did let his eyes wander disdainfully over Geralt’s appearance.

“Sir Witcher?”

Geralt snorted. He didn’t know what was more ridiculous: The honourable or the fact that the man thought it necessary to ask whether the slit-pupiled freak in front of him really was a witcher.

Geralt didn’t give an answer, but evidently one wasn’t needed anyway.

“I have come to summon you to Viscount Alfred Pa-“

“No,” Geralt cut him off harshly.

This time, the man stumbled a bit over his words, evidently not used to being interrupted. His brows drew together and his eyes narrowed.

“Sir, I must ask you to come to –“

“You can ask but the answer is no. Unless there is a contract for me, but I haven’t heard anyone speak of monsters, so I doubt it.”

The tension in the face of what must be some sort of page or messenger - or whatever fancy title those people had – eased at that and bled into relief.

“As it happens, the Viscount does have a contract.” He left a pause, giving Geralt a chance to bid him to continue. Geralt let the opportunity pass but the messenger continued even so. “There has been conflict brewing with the neighbouring earldom. They demand – “

“I don’t care.” Geralt turned to Roach.

“But sir! Viscount Alfred the fifth requests that you speak with him personally. I assure you you would receive adequate pay. Perhaps you could –“

“Don’t care,” Geralt repeated, more harshly this time. He swung himself up onto Roach’s saddle. By the outraged noise the messenger made, he must have had to jump back to not get hit by Geralt’s leg. Geralt took the reins in hand and looked down on the messenger who was glaring daggers at him. “You can tell this Viscount of yours that witchers won’t solve his problems. We are neutral. Don’t care about petty human affairs or politics.”

Something almost desperate flashed through the messenger’s eyes. “How can you not care? There must be something that makes you have a little compassion. If not money, then you must have a conscience.”

It took every ounce of self-control not to make Geralt flinch. He had cared once, had been made to care. There had been someone who he hadn’t minded getting involved in petty affairs for.

See where that had gotten him.

“I don’t. Maybe you haven’t heard, but Witchers don’t feel.”

With that, Geralt pressed his heels into Roach’s flanks and fled Lettenhove, leaving behind houses and roads and making his way to the forest bordering the viscounty. As soon as he was surrounded by the trees and the sounds of forest creatures flitting about, he felt some tension ease away, yet a strange chill crept up his spine, the unsettling feeling that he should know this place. Geralt couldn’t put his finger on it, but something about this place felt achingly familiar.

It was only when he decided to make camp beneath an old oak tree with branches reaching higher into the sky than any other tree, that he realised why he seemed to know this place.

Jaskier had never spoken much of the place he had grown up in and if he did, it had always been with a tenseness around his eyes and lips. It had only left when Jaskier mentioned the woods he sometimes ran away to, when everything became too much. In great detail and with shining eyes Jaskier had told him about the small river he had waded through during summer, the clearings where he had laid down and dreamed of far off places and the great oak tree he used to climb as if he was a bird trying to reach the sky. He had told Geralt how he-

Without meaning to, Geralt’s feet carried him to the tree, searching and fearing, though he didn’t know whether he feared more what he might find or what he wouldn’t find.

He didn’t need to wonder for long. Right there was the mark Jaskier had told him about so long ago. A clumsy J carved into the bark. Geralt traced the letter as tenderly as if it was Jaskier’s skin. There was no mistaking that over a century had passed since the letter had been carved, but it was still there, never forgotten.

Geralt’s hands moved on their own. Before he knew it, he held his hunting knife in hand and put it to the bark right next to the J.

He hesitated, drew back at the last minute. He had no right to carve his own mark into the bark as if he was still beside Jaskier, as if his presence next to Jaskier’s had ever done the bard any good.

He dropped the knife. His eyes were burning and he had to squeeze them shut.

“I miss you,” he whispered, a rough, choked sound. “I miss you so much. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Jask.”

He pressed his forehead against the tree, wondering if at a different time, Jaskier had done the same before leaving this place to find a better life.

Geralt’s breath came in shudders and his shoulders wrecked with dry sobs.

Witchers didn’t feel. They didn’t cry. They didn’t shatter.

There was no one around to witness Geralt do just that.

--

It wasn’t until months later that he heard rumours again of the viscounty he had left without a second thought.

Rumours about how the Viscount had tried and failed to come to an agreement with his foes. Of how in the end a battle had ensued that the dreamer hadn’t been prepared for. He had lost his estate, his title, his land and at with that every last shred of sympathy his people had had left for him. The only thing he had gained had been seething hatred from those he had been supposed to protect.

Geralt had been at the wrong end of a mob too many times not to know how the story would go. He didn’t need to listen to the rumours to know that the Viscount hadn’t survived.

Geralt…Geralt didn’t care. He didn’t care that he had sealed the Viscounts – the dreamer’s – fate when he had left without even hearing him out. Maybe the Viscount had still been waiting for help when his estate had gone up in flames, when the earl he had fought had taken everything from him and the people had paid the Viscounts incompetency back with pitchforks and torches.

Perhaps it would have all gone differently if Geralt had followed the messenger and spoken face to face with the lord. Perhaps it would have even been better, if he had looked the Viscount in the eyes and explained why he wouldn’t help. Or maybe seeing the Viscounts desperation in his eyes would have changed Geralt’s mind and he would have been able to prevent the bloodshed after all.

But he didn’t care. He couldn’t allow himself to.

He told himself that the violent fate of the Viscount wasn’t the reason why he sought out a contract that he knew he wouldn’t be able to finish without gaining at least one new scar. One new mark on his too long lists of lives taken by his choices.

[not-close-to-straight]

100% Professional (Four)

MASTERLIST

*************

From Peter: I thought you were gonna call me and not be weird about the blanket thing

From Wade: You called me a fuck boy and told me not to call. 

From Peter: We both know I was lying. 

From Wade: Well it’s literally been fifteen minutes since you left, Pete. I figured I should give you some time to get settled in a cab or something.

From Peter: I’m just saying. 

From Wade: I’M just saying, maybe take ten to twenty percent off the top there, eager beaver.

************

It was different after the blanket incident. 

Not different in a bad way-- Wade quit having to take a few shots before stripping down for his massage, so that was nice. Peter wasn’t so tentative about touching him anymore and didn’t feel like he needed to check half a dozen times before moving on to a different part of Wade’s body. Their conversation before and after the appointments was flirty and easy but now it came with an underlying intimacy that would have made Wade run panicking a few months ago. 

In fact, he usually ran whenever any of his therapists or doctors tried to talk to him as if they were friends. He ran from the pity in their eyes and the disappointment whenever he had a setback and the way their smiles were always so false when they told him things would get better. 

There wasn’t a damn thing false about Peter. Not the strength in his fingers as he manipulated Wade’s body into healing, not his laugh when Wade made terrible jokes and certainly not the light in his eyes whenever Wade sat up at the end of an appointment and stretched. 

“You make me feel like a creep for checking you out.” Peter said one day as Wade rolled over, smoothing his palms down Wade’s chest and sighing at the flex of muscle. “But I feel like it’s not gonna stop me from looking anyway.” 

“Yeah well, the feeling’s mutual.” Wade blew out a pained breath and closed his eyes. “I shoulda requested an old ugly therapist, not someone whose ass is begging to be bent over the counter and thoroughly wrecked.”

“Charming.” Peter pinched at Wade’s side. “How on earth do you keep your admirers away with lines like that?” 

“I’ve got to beat them away with a bat.” Wade did another one of those hard breaths, and Peter paused to skate his fingers just feather light across Wade’s cheek. “Sorry, Pete. I popped a rib outta place the other night and waited too long to get it fixed. Screwed up my chest and upper back on that side when everything swelled.” 

“Why are you apologizing for popping a rib out of place?” Peter hummed and gentled the pressure, feeling around carefully for anything else still messed up. “Unless you were leaping across building tops like a dumb ass super hero, there’s nothing to be sorry for. Sometimes popped ribs just happen and yeah, if you don’t get them taken care of right away they sorta screw everything else up.” 

“Just don’t wanna make your job any more difficult.” Wade grunted and Peter shook his head, “Nah babe, not making anything more difficult. What else did you do this week besides ruin your ribs?” 

"...did you just call me babe?" Wade asked incredulously and Peter was quick to deny, "Absolutely not. Why the hell would I call you babe? That would be super weird and super unprofessional." 

Wade huffed a laugh and Peter prompted, "What else did you do this week?" 

“This might be surprising, but I don’t have a super active social life. One of my doctors says I probably have a mild case of agoraphobia, I call it a mild case of not wanting to be stared at whenever I go anywhere.” Wade went still when Peter reached for the weighted blanket and lay it over his legs. “Thank you.” 

“Just cos you’re a fuckin’ hermit doesn’t mean you didn’t do anything.” Peter ignored the sigh of relief over the blanket and kept working. “Plus this is New York. No one wants to look at any one, haven't you ever rode the subway? New Yorkers have made avoiding eye contact and conversation an Olympic Sport. One time I saw somebody carry a damn snake onto the subway and literally no one looked at all. No one is staring at you." 

"That's not what it feels like." Wade said quietly and Peter nodded, his touch gentling again. "By the way, it's a point of personal pride that I've never ridden the subway."

"And this is why we want to eat rich people." Peter snorted. "A point of personal pride-- shut up with that." 

Wade smiled and Peter went back to work. "Anyway. There's a whole new world out there on the internet. I know you're old--" 

"I'm thirty two, Pete." 

"--I know you're old, but try getting online sometime." Peter continued. "Dating sites, science forums, you can get rich selling stuff through about a billion websites, you can get YouTube famous for literally nothing... for all, I know you could have a very active social life." 

“You know damn well I’m not doing any of that.” Wade said dryly. “But thanks for the vote of confidence.” 

“Well-ll-ll-” Peter dragged out the word. “We could do something sometime. Dinner and a movie? Lunch and a matinee? Netflix and Chill? What sounds fun to you?" 

“Are you asking me out on a date while I’m naked and vulnerable, Pete?” 

“You’re not all the way naked.” Peter tugged at the weighted blanket. “And I feel like I made it pretty clear the first time around that I’m way more than okay with taking you out sometime.” he moved the cover further up Wade’s chest as he worked back towards his shoulders. “And if you wanna get out of the house and do something fun… at least you know I’m not weird, right? All the awkwardness of a first date won’t be there since we’ve already crossed a bunch of boundaries.” 

“Well I dunno about--”

"I already know where you live." Peter interrupted. "I know what your favorite music is, what your job used to be, how you got hurt and how it affects your daily life. I know you're allergic to both cats and dogs but you're willing to suffer for dogs. You don't eat avocado's but you like the lotion, you think psychiatrists are quacks but physical therapists are doing the Lord's work. You'd never admit that you blame the military for what happened, but you do wish you hadn't been so swayed by talk of adventure and patriotism and maybe you could have avoided all this."  

"Wait, does this mean you listen when I ramble all the time?" Wade sounded positively horrified. "How dare you!" 

"Ah yes, how dare I listen when my friend talks about things he cares about." Peter flicked Wade in the ear. "The audacity. Plus you know, while we're on the topic of how well I know you, I get you naked and oiled up twice a week Wade. I feel like that's enough to break the ice, don't you?" 

Wade's smile slid into a grin and Peter encouraged, "I'm just saying. Maybe think about letting me take you on a date." 

“I uh--” Wade shifted on the table and cleared his throat, hiding his face beneath his free arm as he admitted, “Pete, that’s about all I think about.” 

“Yeah?” Peter’s fingers slowed at Wade’s neck. “You think about dating me?” 

“Oh no, I meant the oiled up and naked thing.” Wade deadpanned. “Yes Pete, I think about dating you all the time.” 

“So why are we still seeing each other only in a professional capacity?” Peter uncapped the lavender oil and smoothed some into Wade’s temples. “If I wanna date you and you wanna date me why am I clinging to my self control and not playing hide the pickle--” 

Wade burst into such loud laughter that the massage table shook beneath him, the weighted blankets slipping down his waist again. “What the fuck, you are the most inappropriate massage therapist ever!” 

“Categorically untrue.” Peter was laughing too and when Wade finally opened his eyes, Peter scrunched his nose and winked. “The blanket is still covering your unmentionables so I can’t be the most inappropriate yet, right?” 

“Right.” Wade let a few more chuckles loose, then reached for Peter’s hand and lay it over his heart, sobering up enough to ask, “Tell me for real though, Pete. You aren’t just asking me out or teasing me about this shit cos you feel bad for me right? I mean, I can handle knowing you’re like this with everyone and that’s why you get such great reviews, but I don’t think I can handle knowing you’re being this ridiculous out of pity or something.” 

“Wade.” Peter’s eyes softened and he let most of his weight settle onto Wade’s chest as he leaned over and brushed their lips together in as light a kiss as possible. “First of all, I take high offense to you thinking I do this with everyone. I am definitely not that kind of massage therapist." 

And then more seriously, "What’s it going to take to convince you that I really like you? That I’m not joking? I know you look in the mirror and see a mess but I feel like we established I don’t care about that. And yeah, things got sort of intense sort of quick, but I’m okay with it, if you are.” 

“...yeah?” 

“Well I mean--” Peter chewed at his bottom lip for a minute, a light blush highlighting his cheeks. “How often do you meet someone that takes your breath away, makes you laugh and makes you comfortable pretty much right away? Because that never happens for me. And it happened right away with you.” 

“What?” Wade jerked upright and when the table rocked alarmingly, he swung his feet over the side for balance and frowned at Peter. “Are you serious?” 

“You didn’t feel it?” Peter raised his eyebrows, the blush getting darker. “I know I made an idiot out of myself that first meeting, staring like that. But seriously, Wade. How often do you meet someone you feel like you just have to know? That never happens with me, but it happened with you...so....” 

“So what, if I wasn’t paying you to come and work on me--” Wade spread his hands in confusion. “--you’d be hanging outside my apartment stalking me?” 

“When you say it like that it sounds creepy.” Peter retorted, and moved up closer to Wade when he got a smile in return. “No, I wouldn’t have been weird about it. But I would have been bummed to miss out, that’s for sure.” 

“I would have been bummed to miss out on you too.” Wade placed careful hands at Peter’s waist and when the gorgeous brunette murmured something encouraging and leaned closer, he wrapped both arms around the trim body and put his head in Peter’s shoulder. This close to Peter’s relative flawlessness, his ravaged skin looked even worse and it took all of Wade’s rapidly flagging courage to mutter, “So can I see you tomorrow? Dinner?” 

“Does this mean you’re done seeing me tonight?” Peter said faux sadly. “Because I feel like I could find an excuse to stay longer really quickly.” 

“I uh-- I need some time to prepare?” Wade said a little helplessly. “It’s been a while for me and I wasn’t ever any good at the dating part, I was always better at what came after."

“Mmm, you sure know how to sweet talk a guy.” Peter teased. “How did you ever get to the after if you were so awful at dating?” 

“I used to be gorgeous and funny and have a cool job.” Wade pointed out. “Anybody will sleep with you when you got that going on. Now I’m just funny and the dating market has narrowed considerably.”

“I feel like any comedian in the world will tell you that being funny can be more than enough.” Peter coaxed Wade’s head up and then brought their mouths together in a slow kiss that made Wade’s head spin. “I guess you being gorgeous is just a bonus.” 

Wade audibly gulped. “So um. Tomorrow? Dinner and-- maybe you pick out the movie?” 

“It’s a date.” Peter eased back from between Wade’s legs. “I’ll give you a minute to get dressed and then say goodbye okay?” 

“Okay.” Wade waited until Peter had disappeared down the hall to the bathroom before dropping his face into his hands. “Okay. A date. I can do this.” 

“...can I do this?”

**************

SAY SOMETHING ABOUT THE CHAPTER!

**************

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[bugsandchatons]

when you weren’t mine to lose (6)

Summary: Change is a scary thing, especially when it feels like nothing has stayed the same.

It’s been a year since Marinette became the Guardian of the Miracle Box - a year of struggling beneath a burden she never asked for, a weight that has her leaning on her partner more and more as the hours fly by, of letting him come to her, too, when he needs a soft place to land. A year of falling for the boy who takes on the world by her side with a smile made of sunlight, and fighting the growing urge to tell him what he means to her.

After all, they’ll have time enough for that when Paris is safe.

But when the unthinkable happens, Marinette learns the tragedy of loving someone quietly, and the lines she’ll cross to save him.

[[AO3]] {from the beginning}

*****

[six: dear lord, when I get to heaven]

Another sunrise breaks the clouds.

This time, Ouroboros keeps an eye on the comings and goings of Paris from the secrecy of the shadows. She watches Chat Noir emerge from Marinette’s skylight and tracks his movements as he bounds over rooftops, carefree with his ignorance of what’s to come.

What had come. Past tense. As long as she breathes, it won’t happen again. 

She stays hidden as he sails through the sky. If his shoulders tense with every step closer to the Agreste Mansion, she notices, but discards it. She can do nothing about it now, but she’ll remember.

Instead, she lets him go, swearing it’ll be the last time she ever has to.

Revealing herself to him earlier had been a mistake. Tikki had warned her that even outside of Hawkmoth’s direct influence, the Akuma would still make her more easily moved by her emotions, especially negative ones. If she wanted to stay off this Hawkmoth’s radar, she’d have to keep it under control. 

And she would. Nothing would stand in her way when the time came. But she has hours to go, and until then, she does all she can do; she watches.

She keeps watch from the eaves of the clocktower as Adrien leaves his house for the bakery. She takes up a post in the tree across the street to see him leave with a pastry box in hand and his eyes on the back of Marinette’s head with an expression so soft she’s not sure how she never felt it.

From the rafters of the Gare du Nord, she watches Félix disembark his train into Nathalie and Adrien’s care. She notices how, as fans approach Adrien by the minute, Félix grows more and more caustic, and Adrien’s shoulders become more and more strained.

As Ouroboros follows them throughout the morning and into the afternoon while they drift between tourist attractions, she thinks of and learns many things: She wonders what Gabriel Agreste could be up to today that would convince him to allow Adrien out of the house for so long. She wonders how it took her until now to realize that Félix must be the one to become Mirror Image. She wonders, too, what makes up a person; how Adrien could be so different from his cousin, a boy who looks so much like him on the outside but couldn’t be more his opposite, or how Chat Noir could be so fundamentally unlike his father that it leads them to opposing sides of the same war.

She wonders how a boy raised in loneliness and derision could grow up only to be unfailingly kind, and learns that a heart can take so many breaks in so few hours and still keep beating.

As the day slips by, it occurs to her that this is what Chat Noir dies for: Hawkmoth’s insatiable greed and Félix’s poisonous envy. The brightest of them all ends with his light doused, reduced to ashes for nothing worthy of his life.

This is not how his story should end.

It sets her teeth grinding and gives birth to a rage so overpowering it’s nearly enough to have her throwing caution to the wind and storming the Agreste Mansion on her own - nearly. Instead, she takes a breath. She watches, and she remembers.

She watches Adrien trail behind his pitiful excuse for a family and sees the way he casts longing looks in the direction of  Françoise Dupont whenever their journey carries them past the school. What adds a final crack to the fault lines mapping her heart is the realization that, at the end of it all, the day that became his last was a disappointing one.

Let him go, she wants to scream. Let him go back to where he’s loved. 

She’s about thirty seconds from breaking, from swinging down from the Eiffel Tower and stealing Adrien away when the sound of a vortex opening makes her jump. Ouroboros spins around in time to see the blinding white-blue flash and a familiar figure stepping through it. 

“Oh, Minibug. What have we gotten ourselves into now?”

Ouroboros gapes at her. “Where have you been?” 

Bunnyx waves a hand. “Here and there.” Her eyes scan the area before settling on Ouroboros. She arches an eyebrow. “New suit? Edgy.”

Fury, as potent as it is misplaced, swells inside her until she’s seething. “Seriously? That’s all you have to say?” 

“No, not all. Come on, we’ve got to split.” Bunnyx takes a step back toward her burrow portal, but Ouroboros holds her ground. 

“What? No way,” she hisses. “I’m not leaving.”

Something like frustration flickers across Bunnyx’s expression. “Look at you, LB. We’re on thin ice already - all of this can snowball out of control at any second, and you’ve made a choice that’s going to have some consequences, so the best thing to do is-” 

“Where were you?” Ouroboros interrupts, her voice small. “I screamed your name for an hour. I begged you to come and help me, to help him, but now you show up? To try to stop me? Alix,” she drops her voice low, “why?” 

It’s enough to break through the mask of Bunnyx’s composure. She hesitates, then shoves a jerky hand over her rabbit ears. “Listen, it’s not...it’s not easy to be in there, okay?” She throws an arm out toward her burrow. “Most of the time, I can’t change anything, I just see it. The future isn’t set in stone and every choice we make can change a hundred different little things. By the time this path played out, you had already set out to change it. But now things are about to get complicated, so we’ve got to go.” 

“No.” Ouroboros doesn’t move. “I’m here to save Chat.” 

Bunnyx sighs. “And have you thought about how you plan to do that, little Miss Angry Bug-Snake? It’s already in motion. Unless you’re going to swoop in, be seen by half of Paris looking like that, and somehow snatch Félix Graham de Vanily’s Akuma out of thin air, it’s already over. And by the way, I don’t recommend that. It’ll do some serious damage to the timeline.”

“No,” Ouroboros repeats, crossing her arms. If time and fate were an unstoppable force, she would be an immovable object. “I’m going to stop the battle.”

The exasperation in Bunnyx’s expression gentles. “That’s not going to work, Ladybug. I’ve seen this go down, I’ve tried to find a loophole, but it really only ends one of two ways.”

“And those two options are?” 

Bunnyx looks away. “Either Chat dies, or Mirror Image does. If it goes that way, we end up with a guilt-ridden, akumatized kitty situation.” She puts her hands together and mimes an explosion, which Ouroboros supposes is meant to be a crude representation of the moon.

The bottom promptly drops out of Ouroboros’s stomach, and out of her world. “I...I don’t accept that.”

“I know,” Bunnyx says, not unkindly. “But the horrible truth is that if Félix gets akumatized into Mirror Image, he becomes Chat’s bane - someone isn’t going to make it out of that fight alive, and it’s too late to stop it now.” 

“What about me?” Ouroboros demands. “Why can’t I do anything?”

“You’ve lived it, you saw it first hand. His powers mess you guys up, and there’s just no way you can move fast enough between realizing what’s going to happen and Chat using Cataclysm to physically stop him. And this,” Bunnyx gestures to her, “is already a mess.” 

They’re silent for a moment. Ouroboros’s chest heaves while Bunnyx waits. Then, Ouroboros speaks again. “You said I made a choice that’s going to have consequences. If that’s why you’re here, why didn’t you stop me when I made the choice to be akumatized?”

“Because that choice, while wild as hell, is not ultimately the choice I’m talking about. You made it just now before I showed up. Or, well. You’re about to make it, soon enough.” Bunnyx waves a hand. “Minutes, seconds. It’s all semantics, really.” 

Ouroboros didn’t think so. The most memorable things happened in a matter of moments - a shared smile, a turn of luck, a broken heart. The whole world could change in seconds when a life ended and a choice was made.

“You said it wasn’t set in stone,” Ouroboros says, lifting her determined gaze to meet Bunnyx’s. “I’m going to find a way to save him. You have to let me try.” 

Bunnyx stares back. There’s a beat, then another, before she sighs. “I guess if anyone can, it would be you.”

Ouroboros blinks. The clocktower chimes the hour, and her heart pounds hard against the cage of her ribs. Somewhere in Paris, Ladybug is waiting. Somewhere below, in the crowd, Chat Noir is trying to get away. She knows, she knows, but seeing it is a different thing entirely, and she has to get back to Adrien, to know for sure - “You’re not going to try to stop me?” 

Bunnyx already has one foot inside her burrow. She offers a jaunty two-fingered salute. “Let’s see if you can rewrite fate, Minibug. Good luck.”

With that, the vortex swallows her whole, and Ouroboros feels it even more keenly - the slipping of time as it begins to run out.

 *****

She starts running.

At twenty-two minutes past, Chat Noir will make it to where Ladybug is waiting. They will race to Trocadéro, where she will almost tell him her name before the Akuma attack interrupts. By the clamor of the next bell, he’ll be gone.

She has less than an hour to change history.

Ouroboros glances up at the dusk-glooming sky, finds the outline of the waxing moon, and figures she’s managed harder feats than this.

A round, smooth object, hefty for its size, materializes in the palm of her hand. When she glances down, she frowns at it - a pocket watch, vintage and peculiar - but when she focuses on the time, it tells her she doesn’t have much left to spare for pondering at the form it took.

Adrien and his group have not made it far from where Ouroboros let them out of her sight. Every few minutes, he casts his eyes around, looking increasingly desperate. She can sympathize. The busy square alone would be a nightmare for transforming, to say nothing of having to escape Nathalie and his bodyguard’s watchful stare. With every passing moment, Adrien grows twitchier. That could be enough of a confirmation.

Still, she knows a part of her will never believe it until she sees.

An opportunity rises when Nathalie’s phone rings, right as their bodyguard steps away to grunt an order to a café worker. Adrien takes the chance to slip away, into the crowd. 

Félix follows him.

Ouroboros tries to draw close enough to hear without sacrificing her vantage point. This is it, she thinks.

In moments, they’ll go their separate ways - Chat to find her, and Félix to the waiting wings of an Akuma. Whatever it is they say to each other, it’s the final catalyst. 

She wants to know if it was worth it.

It’s a morbid wish, and ultimately one the universe does not grant her. All she’s left with is the frown on Adrien’s face and the sneer on Félix’s. Adrien turns away from him, the line of his shoulders tight. He misses the way bitter resentment twists Félix’s face.

She can’t imagine anything Adrien could say that would warrant such anger from his cousin, but she supposes that’s not the point. In the end, it doesn’t matter; it couldn’t be anything worth the cost.

With a final scowl, Félix goes in the opposite direction, while Adrien retreats further into the spaces between buildings. Ouroboros shadows his steps until he finds an alley away from prying eyes.

Her heart starts pounding a vicious rhythm.

She watches, numb, as Plagg zips out of his shirt, a little black blur, and disappears into the ring on Adrien’s right hand. When the green flash of magic fades and Chat Noir stands in his place, there’s no triumph of a theory proven or a curiosity satisfied. There’s only another splintering crack to a heart made of glass.

They wasted so much time chasing each other in circles.

It makes sense now, why for years she could never confess her feelings to Adrien, just as she struggled to share the truth with Chat Noir. Deep down, she’d known in her heart what her head hadn't - she couldn’t do him the injustice of loving in half-measures. 

She can see the whole picture, now: a lonely boy, intoxicated by the sips of freedom that his Miraculous grants him, stuck under the thumb of a father who cares very little and values his life even less. A broken boy who chose to be a hero, who makes that choice again with every passing day. One who loves loudly and fearlessly, and values her so highly that he’d throw his own life away in the blink of an eye. 

Tomorrow, Ouroboros thinks, swiping away an angry, errant tear. Tomorrow, when this was over and resolved, her partner would begin to learn his worth.

He’ll know, without a doubt, that he’s loved.

 *****

As horrible as the circumstances are, it feels like a gift to see herself this way. She and Chat make a pretty picture as they fly through the darkening blue sky and leave laughter in their wake, just as they do back to back, taking a moment alone to breathe.

A glance at the watch tells her there’s no more time for regrets. She could ache over the time they wasted until her heart gave out, or she could focus on beating the clock and saving him.

It begins any minute now.

When civilians start screaming and Chat Noir and Ladybug spring apart, Ouroboros takes a deep breath and moves. The heroes drop down into the street, and she scales the building closest to the one that provides the setting for their fatal face-off.

Her mind races in time with her frantic heartbeats. She holds out a hand, a silent plea for help - for anything that will help her change the course of this fight.

A dark red recurve bow comes to life in her grasp, bringing with it two slender, black arrows.

She offers a grim smile. One shot, and one second chance.

She’s never shot a bow before, but Tikki must know what she’s doing. Luck, she thinks, wouldn’t dare fail them again.

Ouroboros lifts a hand to her face. She presses a kiss first to Chat’s ruined ring, then to the darkened charm strung above it, and waits. 

When Chat chases Mirror Image up onto the rooftop, Ladybug on his heels, she studies the Akuma the way she hadn’t had a chance to before. He’s barely visible, but the setting sun glints off of something metallic where a pocket might be.

A pocket watch.

She wings a silent thanks to Tikki and a prayer along with it. They’re down to seconds, now.

When Ladybug reaches for her yoyo, Ouroboros lines up her shot and draws the bowstring back until her fingers brush her own cheek. She breathes in and lets her first arrow fly free on the exhale. 

The arrow snags Mirror Image’s pocket, tears the watch free, and pins it out of reach. It dangles from its chain; snared, but not broken.

Ouroboros curses under her breath.

All movement below stops for just a second like someone’s pressed pause, before they resume once more. Her distraction was enough, though - Ladybug calls for her Lucky Charm, and without Mirror Image right in front of her to stop it, the hand mirror she receives is red and black spotted, as it should be.

Mirror Image moves next, his focus on Ladybug. Ouroboros watches Chat’s face change into something fierce and determined and thinks of action where once, she’d been frozen instead.

Someone, she remembers, isn’t making it out of this fight alive.

So she touches a hand to the Miraculous around her wrist and does what she couldn’t, before: she slows the passing seconds down and moves, throwing herself into the open sky. 

As Ouroboros falls, she lines up her next shot and thinks again of what makes up a person - of skin and bone and sinew, of expanding lungs and pounding blood, the impossible, miraculous measure of being alive. She thinks of hard choices and sunbeam smiles, of a stubborn heart, strung together by wild hope and unwavering faith in her partner.

He calls for his Cataclysm right before he sees her. In slow motion, she can see the way his eyes fly wide, how his brow furrows beneath his mask. She looses her last arrow and lets the bow fall, then holds out her hand.

I’m sorry, Chat. He’ll not make it out of this battle unscarred, she realizes. None of them will. 

But he’ll live, and she’ll be there to hold him up through the storm that will follow. 

Her arrow hits its target, this time. The pocket watch shatters, and Ouroboros drops in between the hero and Akuma. She catches Chat’s smoking hand in hers before it can make contact with the fading mirror, or Félix on his knees behind it. 

Cataclysm is a cold sort of burn, Ouroboros learns. She gasps at the ice in her fingers and toes as something in her chest catches fire. She shuts her eyes against the pain and thinks again of where the light goes when the night inevitably comes to claim it. Then, she forces her eyes open and finds it, in glowing green eyes. 

[mostthingskenobi]

i’d love to hear a little more about or read a snippet from parallel jedi!! thank you for sharing :)

Hello dear anon!! You’re very kind to show interest :) I’m not sure what I’ve written is any good. I don’t think I’ll ever finish it so I figured I’d share it with you as it is. I had intended to created these 2 plot lines that intersected, even though they took place during different Star Wars eras. It was a challenge I looked forward to... but I lost steam on the project. Perhaps someday I’ll write them as individual one-offs. Let me know what you think. Please don’t judge me to harshly LOL! I haven’t edited this at all, so pardon any typos.

PARALLEL JEDI

Original prompt: Could you do a story that parallels Luke in his prime post RotJ and Obi-Wan in his prime? Something where an enemy or group realizes these subdued, soft spoken yet confident men are actually quite dangerous?

——————–

Pravus – The Outer Rim (9 months after the Battle of Endor)

Luke Skywalker sat slumped against the stone bastion, one leg bent at the knee, the other extended strait in front. His wounds were extensive, requiring considerable concentration to suppress his pain and simultaneously control his labored breathing. His ribs ached and his lungs felt stripped. He was lightheaded from loss of blood, his nerves vibrating with exhaustion. There was little hope of making an escape in his present condition.

He had come alone to this isolated moon following a hunch, seeking out the last of Palpatine’s secret lairs. The Emperor had been dead nearly nine months but the war wasn’t over; Luke discovered evidence that the Dark Lord was caching weapons in remote corners of the outer rim. Skywalker methodically worked his way through the data, interpreting coordinates while cross referencing Sith and Jedi lore, letting the Force guide him from one location to the next. In four different systems he had discovered three bunkers and two private residences that the Emperor had kept for himself, each filled with treasures and horrors alike, each location more dangerous than the next. Palpatine was fond of sinister booby-traps and this current fortress built into the side of a mountain was no different.

Skywalker had breeched the abandoned castle’s walls only to face one ambush after another. The Emperor was clever and cruel, and though Luke ultimately succeeded, he paid dearly for his efforts as he fought through snares, climbed crumbling architecture, and battled assassin droids by the dozen. Hours passed as he made his way higher and higher into the mountainous fortress; each new level he ascended brought more difficult confrontations than the last. When he finally reached the top floor of this seemingly endless tower, he collapsed, his legs turning to jelly under him.

He sat for a long time, unable to move his burning muscles while blood pooled on the floor beneath him, oozing from innumerable cuts and other more severe injuries. He leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. Luke knew his challenges were not finished but his body was screaming for rest. There were times when a Jedi had to power through physical roadblocks, but more importantly a Jedi needed to know his limitations. In this moment of great need Skywalker reached for the Force, let it wrap around him, let it permeate every cell in his body, staunching his blood loss, relieving his pain, soothing his exhaustion. For a few blessed moments everything became passive and silent.

Luke had not encountered a single living soul in the rest of the building but as he shut his tactile senses down and receded inward, he could feel another presence in the Force only a few meters away. Dragging his eyes open he peered into the shadows on the other side of the room.

“I know you’re there,” he said, slurring his words with exhaustion. “Show yourself.”

After a long pause boots scraped across the flagstones as a figure stepped into the light and took form against the darkness. A large man, too thin for his seven-foot frame, with bedraggled long hair and neglected, tattered clothes that had once been fine, stood in front of Skywalker.

“No one has ever made it this far.” The man’s quaking voice revealed his age.

Luke was not fooled by his apparent fragility; dark energy radiated off the old man. “Who are you?”

The old man shuffled closer but did not reply.

“Are you a prisoner?” Luke asked, knowing the answer.

The old man scowled. “Of course not, you impudent wretch. I am The Keeper, chosen directly by the Emperor to guard one of his most sacred artifacts.”

Luke tried to appear stronger than he felt. “You haven’t done such a great job if I’ve made it this far.”

The old man stepped closer to Skywalker, the light seeping in through upper windows casting a ghastly shadow over the wrinkled visage. “I assure you, boy, you will make it no further.” Luke saw the contraption too late as The Keeper raised a hand, leveling the weapon at Skywalker’s body, and fired.

A sharp pain ripped through Luke’s neck, his body instantly becoming paralyzed. The toxic dart worked with unfathomable speed. Skywalker fell back, his body contorting with pain before he slid down the wall and collapsed unconscious on the floor.

——————–

Inesco – Unallied Space (during the Clone Wars)

Cody was missing.

Waxer and Boil were the last troopers to see him. Two days ago the commander had gone off to inspect a rogue transmission that interfered with the squad’s com links. Cody climbed a hillock near the forward operating base; he disappeared over a ridgeline and didn’t come back.

Obi-Wan Kenobi could not deny that he was worried. Though Jedi were not supposed to form attachments, the idea of his trustworthy, loyal, and stalwart clone commander falling into enemy hands set Kenobi’s teeth on edge. Cody was made of tough stuff but the insurgent population had proven to be ruthless and cunning.

The Republic had sent Obi-Wan with a small clone contingent to Inesco, a desperate system nestled directly between Republic and Separatist lines. The depleted planet was constantly caught in the galactic conflict while both sides fought to possess it as a staging ground. Kenobi had no interest in tormenting the local populace any further and hoped to finish his mission quickly.

Fate was against him.

He and his platoon had instantly been caught up in a local fight between the Calvorian mercenaries that lived in the mountains and the Inescan tribes that lived in the plains. Kenobi was supposed to infiltrate and confiscate a Separatist weapons cache, but the local civil war meant that the Calvorians, the Inescans, and the Republic were all vying for the same treasure.

What was meant to be an easily executed smash-and-grab mission had turned into a week and a half of bloody conflict. In the beginning the Republic forces had easily confiscated the weapons but the Calvorian mercenaries had destroyed Kenobi’s transports. Meanwhile, the Republic attack cruiser waiting in orbit became embroiled in a standoff with Separatist’s ships and couldn’t spare any shuttles to rendezvous with their ground forces. That meant Obi-Wan, his men, and the weapons cache were stuck on Inesco until another Republic cruiser arrived. According to the latest brief, Anakin’s ship would enter the system sometime within the month—not very comforting estimates.

The situation on the ground had become dire. They were running short on food and water, but even more concerning were the frequent surprise attacks made by both the Calvorians and the Inescans, each trying to take their share of the Separatist weapons so that they could carry on killing each other. Obi-Wan’s men were starving, exhausted, and damn sick of being caught in the middle. When Cody disappeared, even Kenobi’s temper flared. He sent scouts in every direction to spy on the insurgents, desperate to discover his commander’s whereabouts, but no information came back. No one knew which tribe, if any, had captured Cody. The plain truth was no one was even sure if Cody was alive.

As the sun set on the third day of the Clone Commander’s disappearance, Obi-Wan felt utterly defeated though he refused to let it show in front of the other soldiers. He sat in a dark bunker with four other troopers; they were all supposed to be getting sleep while second squad kept watch, but all of the men were wound too tightly to rest. Kenobi was pouring over terrain maps trying to discover a likely place where insurgents might take prisoners. He hadn’t slept in days and his vision was blurring around the edges, but he didn’t care; he wouldn’t rest until Cody was safe.

The bunker door suddenly slammed open and Boil came in, shoving a tall, sturdy man ahead of him. Kenobi could see that the man was a Calvorian, the tribe’s distinctive tattoos visible on his hands and neck.

All of the clones in the room quickly stood and warily raised their weapons.

“Easy, everyone,” Obi-Wan said calmly as he also stood. “Weapons down. I’d like to hear what our guest has to say.”

The clone troopers lowered their weapons but they did not relax their guard.

“This one says he has a message for you, General,” Boil said, giving the insurgent another shove until he was right in front of the Jedi.

Kenobi crossed his arms over his chest. “What can I do for you?”

The Calvorian was strong, his shoulders broad and rolled back with good posture, but he looked as worn out as the Republic troops felt. “My general would like to put an end to this standoff between our tribes.”

“That is wise,” Kenobi said dryly. “You and the Inescans have more in common than you know. You would do better to work together rather than try to kill each other…”

“I speak of the conflict between our tribe and your tribe.”

“Oh.” Obi-Wan shook his head, disappointed. “Very well. What are your terms?”

“My general has something to offer you. He asks that you return with me and discuss a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

Kenobi felt the hair stand up on the back of his neck. He didn’t believe this was a trap, but he suspected he wouldn’t like what the Calvorian mercenaries had to offer.

“And what of my men?”

“You may bring no more than two.”

Obi-Wan didn’t feel the need to bring anyone with him. If he got into trouble, it might be easier if he were on his own. But he quickly changed his mind and turned to Boil. “You and Waxer are coming with me.”

The clone immediately straitened his shoulders. “Yes, Sir!”

Perhaps the troopers would be able to snoop around for Cody while Obi-Wan met with this general.

He lightly ran his fingers over his lightsaber hilt as a quick touchstone, a way to keep the Force foremost in his mind while he was suffering from terrible exhaustion. The kyber crystal at its heart was alive, thrumming with his life Force; and his energy greatly depended right now on his fellow troopers. Whatever he was walking into, it wasn’t going to be easy.

He gestured politely toward the door. “By all means, please lead the way, my friend.”

[scribbleseas]

The Indignant Pawn, Chapter II: The Woman In Beige

Description: You are Y/n Y/l/n- formerly known as Princess Helena, the runaway princess.

You're an assassin for hire who only agrees to find the worst of London's criminals at the business end of your knife; until a mysterious woman hires you to end the likes of Ciel Phantomhive, the King of the Underworld. You find yourself trading your weapons for your abandoned family crest in order to infiltrate his home as none other than Princess Marie-Louise, your twin sister. What's to happen when you find that the young Earl is more than a callous businessman?

OVERALL STORY WARNINGS: sexual assault, objectification, death, detailed description of blood/gore, detailed description of murder, lying, impersonation, theft, weapons, detailed panic attacks, symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder.

Author’s Note: If you have any questions or concerns about these warnings, please don’t hesitate to contact me! Otherwise, I hope you enjoy this chapter!

-Dan

⇠ PREVIOUS CHAPTER  | NEXT CHAPTER ⇢

. . .

DECEMBER 17TH, 1891

LONDON, ENGLAND

The outside of the Globe theater was alight with bustling crowds as Oscar Wilde's London premiere of Salome had just concluded for the evening.

You were never partial towards theater. In fact, it made you wonder how a show could captivate such a diverse audience, as you watched formally clothed aristocrats and their servants cringed amongst the middle-class plebeians as they exited the theater through the matching front doors. Little did they know, the real show would take place inside of the closed carriage you waited in, peering through the red blind that covered it. Your thumb ran over the smooth pommel of your dagger. You focused on its smooth entirety as you sat back in the carriage to wait, distracting yourself from the consuming darkness.

Thankfully, Felix Keating, the wealthiest factory owner from Birmingham, valued his privacy. He opted for a carriage that had a single window on the door. This made his carriage an ideal place for you to intervene and elude any potential witnesses, considering the man had little to no time alone. In your case, it was less than optimal, but strategically, it was going to do the trick.

You stared at the wall of the carriage across from you before squeezing your eyes shut. You tried to focus on something concrete- perhaps the weight of your weapon, the tickle that your wool scarf gave your lip as it concealed the bottom half of your face. You inhaled deeply, reaching out for the drape of the window to let a fraction of light, but you froze and for a moment, you were...gone. When you opened your eyes again, you found yourself in the hallway of your home, a lantern burning dimly in your hand as you heard two men talking- one voice familiar, the other strange.

'Lass? I haven't the slightest-'

'Just hand over the money and we won't have to blow no one's brains outta their skulls.'

Gunshots. Blood.

'Has she already been broken in? Lord knows what she was doing here with that old bum.'

'Doesn't matter, she's ours now, isn't that right?'

'Whore?'

Cold.

Piercing pain in your neck reminded you that you were in a carriage with years of difference from that morning. You had a job to do as you heard approaching steps and the posh voice of the factory owner himself. Before sinking to the corner furthest from the door, you took a generous inhale of the drafty air and focused on how it filled your lungs, rather than the poorly timed panic that the darkness insisted on showing you towards. You wiggled your toes in your black boots and wrinkled your nose, which served as tics that you had cautiously picked out years ago to help ground yourself when necessary. You held the dagger in your hand, the blade ready to pierce a sinner's flesh.

"That playwright will bring tears to the steeliest of lads. Quite brilliant. I must write to Wilde," Felix Keating's dulcet voice sounded as his coachman greeted him. "Reckon I could stick my nose into the theater enterprise, Her Majesty is quite interested in renovating these rubbish theaters," Keating mused, his muffled voice growing closer by the step.

"A clever investment, Mr. Keating," the coachman validated as you hugged your legs, making yourself smaller in the corner of the carriage, your head down and hood up. The door opened and you held your breath, as your heart pounded against your ribcage in protest. "May I offer you extra linens for warmth? The wind's just startin' up."

This wasn't the first time you've had to hide in order to carry out an assignment, yet the adrenaline between waiting and pouncing was always riveting.

"Ah, no Horace, I'll be 'right," Keating took his seat, more focusing on lighting his cigar. The scent caused you to tense, reminding you of the conman, someone smoked as if his life depended on it. He was a smart man that would scold you for the way you grew past his death. He'd be disappointed in you, a relentless advocate for diplomacy. Ask questions, shoot later.

"Right. If you change your mind, you gimme a holler," Horace, the coachman, shut the door as Keating settled himself with an exasperated sigh. He pushed the short drapes that were concealing the window, allowing the city lights to illuminate the small quarters and simply watched the street go by as Horace told the horse to "get walkin".

Without wasting another moment, you got to your feet, your dagger precariously reflecting light that shone through the window.

"Who is it? Who's there-" Keating started to shout, immediately sitting to attention as you used the whole of your arm's strength to shove him back against the wall that he was previously reclining against. Your nondominant hand barely fit around the circumference of his clammy neck, but nevertheless you were able to force his head back completely, his torso following in suit. You squeezed firmly, your fingers digging into the warm flesh and you could feel his hurried pulse with ease as you kept your back straight and legs strong. The angle was awkward, seeing as you were bent over in a moving carriage, but your balance was more than you gave it credit for. "Why- please!" he gasped for air, his glasses low on his nose, threatening to fall to the floor. "Stop! I have...money! Take anything you want. H-Horace!"

"Shut up!" Unintentionally, your grip tightened as you shoved his head back into the wall again, causing Keating's extinguished cigar to fall on the cushioned seat next to him. His hands flailed in panic as his chest tensed with effort as he tried to yell out to Horace again. "Maggie Calvert," you snarled as your petticoats moved with your short steps closer. Your nose could have touched his while you held his sightline. You adjusted your hold on the wooden handle of your dagger in your dominant hand before impelling the blade between his fourth and fifth ribs and close to his midline. "This is for her."

His body froze, his mouth agape. You couldn't tell if he recognized the name, but you wanted him to. A greedy businessman of his caliber deserved to think about someone other than himself during his last few moments alive. You pushed your dagger until both quillions were making contact with his white shirt. You have the dagger a small jerk for maximum damage before pulling it out, allowing blood to immediately gush out of his wound. Finally, your heart rate was beginning to slow with the rush of merely completing the task and you let go of his neck, your fingers aching from being tense. Keating was choking as he tried to yell or scream, or perhaps curse you, but the blood that was rushing into his collapsing lung was going to keep him from doing so.

"Maggie Calvert," you repeated solemnly, using Keating's long coat to clean off your dagger and tuck it into your pocket bag, one of the two large pouches that were nestled between your skirts. The body was limp and the strangled hacking had finally come to a stop. After all, the blood had stained your stomacher as it had come up through his mouth during his final moments of struggle. However, the compensation you were about to receive for this task would more than cover it. Unfortunately, it left Horace with more than a mess to clean up. Blood was a stubborn substance.

. . .

DECEMBER 20TH 1891

BIRMINGHAM, ENGLAND

Before you could knock, the door of the brick building flew open, causing you to jump in surprise.

"Miss Y/l/n," Eric Calvert's muddy green eyes were glassy with unshed tears as you pushed the hood of your cloak off of your neck out of respect for the modest home. The housing in Birmingham, an industrial town, was much different than London's. It was more compact, the air was more polluted with factory smoke. The Calverts seemed to be better off than most common families, but that meant nothing in this case. Factory conditions were poor, even after the reform laws from the 1830s. You were blessed to be introduced to more lucrative work upon your arrival- drawing money straight out of pockets with the most genuine man to have strolled down the cemented walkways of the city. "Please, come right in," he gestured with his gloved hand, moving out of your way as he removed his hat and bowed.

"Mr. Calvert," you offered a tight-lipped smile at the bowing man. In the hand that pressed against his chest, Eric pressed his grey hat into it, like a proper gentleman. The gesture had only fed into your discontentment, while Eric seemed no better off. You weren't blind to the pallid shade of his face, the withheld energy in his stance. "You mustn't bow to me," you assert, waiting for the man to right himself as he frowned.

"Oh, please... Mr. Calvert's my father." Eric said with a miffed shake of his head, raking his fingers through his sloppy waves of hair. The two of you walked down the short hall that led into a big foyer. A fireplace was on the far side with several articles of outerwear hanging on the mantle to help warm them from snow, you presume. The scent of the burning wood brings you a foreign nostalgia that ideally, you would've failed to notice. The past deserved to stay where it belonged- in the past. The only hearth you were to be a part of was your own.

"Evelyn, dear! Draw some tea, she's come back!" Eric called his wife, who seemed busy in the kitchen that was located in an attached room. "Hurry!" You presumed that he felt apprehensive about being left alone with you, which was fair.

"Just a minute!" Evelyn called from the attaching room, the door left ajar. You were right to assume that it was a kitchen of some form, seeing as the general layout of this building resembled that of your own home, the fuss of her brown petticoats catching your eye. You wished she'd move with more urgency. You had yet to eat properly, seeing as you were more occupied with moving efficiently over the past day or two. At least the vicinity was warm, allowing you to pull off your thick gloves and tuck them into either pocket bag as Eric led you to a small area near the fireplace. There were two big loveseats across from each other and with a rug in between. The cushions were patched together with random sheets of fabric.

There was a single photograph in a hanging frame over the fireplace's mantle, the glass dirty. It was Eric and Evelyn, jubilant in light, fancy clothing as they cradled their baby girl between them. You understood how the couple found themselves in such desperation to acquaint themselves with someone like you when they had once smiled without any semblance of malignity. She was stolen from them, and it had seemed that the world was prepared to let the men at fault see their own children grow up. You were the one to right that wrong- by driving your knife between the ribs of Felix Keating and watching him choke as blood filled his lungs. His eyes tearing as he begged for mercy when Maggie Calvert, who was no more than nine, died in his workhouse because of his cheaply built machinery. She wasn't given a chance, so who was Keating to think he deserved one?

"She'll be uh...right out," Eric smiled at you again, repeating the words of his wife, those of which you had no problem hearing. You could see the tension in his shoulders, the uncomfortable way he held himself, as opposed to the haughty attitude he sported during your first meeting. He was dubious that a mere lady like yourself (months shy of twenty) could hurt a fly, much less hold a body count to her name. Yet the morning prior, the bustling headlines of The Daily Telegraph reached Birmingham, selling quickly as they covered the murder of Felix Keating, owner of many iron manufacturing factories who narrowly escaped an immense prison sentence for a major accident in his Birmingham factory a week before.

"Oh my, Eric," Evelyn entered the main room, precariously balancing a steaming teapot and a modest spread of small bites on a tarnished, silver tray. "Where have your manners gone?" she tutted, setting it down on the oakwood table before turning her attention to you. Her blonde hair was tied in a disheveled bun, droopy and with tendrils falling out of it like spider legs that swayed as she moved.

"My manners?" Eric began to protest, only to be interrupted by his wife again. You found their dynamic as a couple quite refreshing. After all, you would not have been there, had Evelyn worked to contact you without her husband's knowledge.

"Miss Y/l/n, allow me to take your cloak," Evelyn gestured to the many hooks that were nailed into the fireplace mantle where there were drying articles of clothing hanging, narrowly dodging the short flames.

It was difficult to compel yourself to smile, but the corners of your lips turned upwards anyhow. There was a line where social niceties ended and another where gullible kindness started. This was the latter as they knowingly welcomed you, a murderer into their home because you made an ally out of yourself. "Don't trouble yourself any more than you have, Mrs. Calvert. My time here is brief," you found satisfaction when she shook her head and began to pour you a cup of the steaming tea, despite your words. Thankfully, she made no attempt to sit with you.

"Brief?" Evelyn repeated, gently passing the delicate teacup to you. The warmth spread over your palms on contact as you brought the rim to your lips. Your hold was improper, though necessary, seeing as the finest details are what make the best disguises. Only the wealthy held their teacups with so much consideration. Besides, the warmth was much more satisfying when it went beyond the tips of your fingers. "I reckon a woman such as yourself is a tad busy," she concurred, causing you to tense in surprise. You were rarely referred to as a woman.

"Quite," you mused after her, taking a contemplative sip of your tea. "I ought to be at the station in less than an hour," you lied, gently tapping the tips of your short nails on the warm cup. All that was necessary was payment and crucial parting words. The assorted bites on the tray were beginning to seem unappealing, the longer you stood there. "But we must discuss a few things-" you start, only to be interrupted by Evelyn, which was common.

"Your fee. We have the first installment," she gestured to Eric with her chin, her smile long gone as he offered a small pouch made of different, threadbare, fabrics. While you had already discounted your normal charge for the couple's situation, they could hardly afford a fraction of the sum.

"We've tried to save as much as possible. Take it. It's the least we can do at the time," Eric spoke, linking his arm with his wife's. Reluctantly, you hold your cup in one hand and deftly slide the pouch into the pocket bag between your petticoats. They would have felt worse if you refused to take their money. After all, you avenged the silenced death of their girl.

"It's plenty, thank you," after finishing the rest of your tea, you proceed with your original thought before they could try to pass their relief for protest. You had to recite the practiced discourse that you gave to every one of your patrons before making your leave. "Now, the two of you will be suspects to the Yard, be cautious," you put emphasis on your words by meeting each of their gazes. "You must avoid London and keep your heads down. Do you understand?"

"And... what happens to you?" Eric asked, sipping out of his own teacup. His shoulders were still unnaturally squared and attentive as he actively avoided your sightline. "Where are you off to?" his focus quickly turned to Evelyn, who was untangling her arm from his and bringing the tray back into the kitchen.

"The distance from Birmingham to London is great, she'll starve before she returns!" Evelyn stopped to yell from over her shoulder before leaving the door open behind her. In the kitchen, she promptly began to wrap the biscuits in napkins.

"Nevermind me," you coaxed Eric back to the conversation by answering his question. You smiled once again as you put your cup on the table and begin to put your gloves back on their respective hands. "You need to make certain that you both have an alibi for the night of December 17th, I cannot stress this enough, Mr. Calvert," you looked up from your gloves, pulling them so they covered your forearms again.

"I assure you, Miss Y/l/n. We were both working in that refinery- until dawn," you had no doubt about the truth to that statement, though any Peeler would press further. That part was to the Calverts to handle, seeing as you had played out your role. Pursing your lips, you took a generous inhale to soothe the ominous pit of anxiety that had settled in your stomach.

"Sure," you pulled your hood back over your head as Evelyn returned with a minute basket. It was covered and you wished you still had your appetite from when you had entered their home.

"Here you are," Evelyn allowed you to take the handle in your non-dominant hand. In a city, it was always smartest to have your dominant hand free, which was yet another insignificant habit that you had inherited from the old conman. What was the date? December 20th, which meant there were still a few weeks before it was the anniversary of his death. Otherwise, the most difficult twenty-four hours to bear out of a calendar year.

Evelyn was smiling, but it didn't reach her eyes. After all, for most women, motherhood was a privilege and it had been torn away from her. She was attempting to care for you as she would have for Maggie...had she lived to nineteen. Tears were welling in her eyes as she watched your hand extend to briefly touch her shoulder. "Take care," you said, finally meeting Eric's green hues that were tearing up as well. "I can show myself out," you shook your head dismissively when he moved to go to the front door with you. Evelyn needed to be coddled more than you did.

. . .

JANUARY 5TH, 1892

LONDON, ENGLAND

Evenings at home always unsettled you, being the start of an all-too boring night, which made you feel restless- itchy for action. Rather, your quiet home always put you on the height of your guard, even as you were sitting behind the short shed, submerging your assorted gowns and petticoats into the warm, soapy water that bubbled in your wooden tub. It was a tedious, once a week process that perhaps irked you more than cooking. With a huff, you directed your stress into the iron grip that you kept your washboard upright with, rubbing fabric over its ridges.

The water made your fingers prune and the stool under you caused your bottom to grow sore, the longer you had to sit there, toiling away until each article was hanging on your makeshift clothesline- fastened with pins. When you were a girl, you had about twice the amount to wash and yet, you enjoyed the task because there were two more hands to make light, fun work of it. The conman liked to sing to pass the time- the lyrics had taken you ages to comprehend, seeing as your English had challenged for years. He was anything but a schoolteacher.

You cringed as your hand slid down the washboard too quickly, causing the hot water to splash back up at your face. The weather was foul, the winter in London was always tempestuous and the warm water on your face had only reminded you of how little warmth your wool scarf provided. It was wrought with holes by now, but you couldn't bring yourself to give it away, you've had it from the day you arrived...nine years ago. Dismissing the thought, you allowed the cooling water to run down your forehead, passing the slope of your nose, until it finally fell and assimilated with the top of your stomacher.

You squeezed the wet petticoat, turning it in order to ring the water out. Although you could have been more thorough, the boredom that came with domestic chores was causing you to rush and find something more occupying to start. The tranquility of the night was eerie, an uneasy contrast to the violent life you led.

The sound of approaching voices caused you to pause, your hands pulling the washboard out of the water to hold, ready to swing. The petticoat that you had been wringing out fell back into the wooden tub with a quiet splash. The soap suds ran down your forearms, dampening the brown sleeves of your gown.

"No entiendo por qué la señora quiere una chica. Podríamos bombardear el sitio de Phantomhive más rápido que esta pérdida de tiempo," the voice of a woman spoke quickly, in a language that you couldn't identify. A denomination of Latin? Knitting your eyebrows, you conceded, deciding to focus on what you could understand. Bombard, Phantomhive. Bomb?

Vaguely, you recognized the name 'Phantomhive' from the newspaper. The Earl Phantomhive ran the Funtom Company, children's' toys and confectionery.

"Quiere su nombre lo más lejos posible de esto. La chica es una asesina exitosa, así que sería más discreta que los explosivos," a masculine voice responded, a stiff twig cracking beneath one of their shoes. You scowled as you shifted your weight from your left side to your right. The washboard was a viable weapon, but it was simply a matter of timing. Their silhouettes were getting closer, each short and clad in neutral earth tones.

"A menos que te interese en enredarte con ese mocoso," the man chuckled. He wasn't secretive or trying to be discreet. By the way he trudged, he was probably leaving deep tracks in the slushy excuse for snow.

"No tengo un deseo de muerte, a diferencia de ti. Callado!!" The woman said, her voice suddenly at a harsh whisper.

"Ah. There," the man spoke in English, finally a language that you could comprehend. "Y/n Y/l/n?" He asked, pulling down his scarf to expose the rest of his face. In comparison to yours, his accent was much thicker. Your grip on the washboard didn't waver.

"Who are you?" You demanded, stepping forward to stand your ground as they approached you. The pair wasn't visibly armed, their figures weren't particularly threatening to you. The man merely smiled at you while the woman to his side scowled.

"Diego- and uh, Carmen. Peace! We come in...uh, peace," Diego stammered, stopping at a respectful distance from you while showing you his empty hands as they beckoned with his rapid words. He seemed amused with your choice in weapon and assertive stance. "Carmen," he elbowed the sour-faced woman, causing her to grunt and hold her gloved hands up as he was.

"What brings you here?" They must have knocked at your door and came around when there was no response and a dim light behind the shack. Their winter gear suggested that they had some tier of wealth or deft hands in thievery. If it was business, this wouldn't be the first time you were asked to aid in stealing. However, as tempting as the offers were, you turned each one down. 

"Business." Carmen answered this time, her hand slowly reaching into her jacket pocket. "No fret. Is just a letter," her English was just as mediocre as yours had been, years ago. Your eyes followed her hand as she pulled out an envelope with a dark red seal. "Business for our...líder?" She explained and looked at the man, leaving a long pause before her last word. It was essentially 'leader', but the stress was on an 'i' sound instead.

"Yes. Leader," Diego cleared his throat in a weak attempt to mask a laugh as you dropped your washboard back into the washbasin with a short splash. You ignored him as you took the letter from the woman, your wet hand causing the ink on the front to smear. It read your name, Y/n Y/l/n, in a pompous script, the illegible type that royalty and aristocrats penned. "All you needa know is there."

The Undertaker was supposed to be the partition between yourself and clients. Who did he think he was to give these servants your address? You'd have to give him a stern reminder for the next time you cross paths. With a frown, you pushed the envelope into your pocket bag, allowing it to jut out due to its dimensions.

"Is this all?" You asked as you waited for them to either leave or proceed with more broken commentary. Your lips were pressed together in a tight purse, a fresh lump of apprehension growing in your stomach. However, you couldn't let it show as the man sheepishly removed his hat with a shallow bow. It was more unctuous than anything as it only caused your scowl to deepen.

"Yes, Miss. We can... be going now," Diego righted himself and put his hat back over his dark curly hair. You didn't offer either of than a proper dismissal for the favor of going back to your washing and ruminating over the letter. It merely had a location, date, and time with no further information. No explanation of identification. You could appreciate the impudent nature of it, as this 'leader' assumed you had no plans for January 10th or presumed that you would handle any conflicts yourself when they were approaching you for your services. It was crude of them to assume that you still took orders.

. . .

JANUARY 10TH, 1892

READING, ENGLAND

Perhaps it was curiosity or a lapse of judgment that led you to board a train and throw caution to the wind. Whatever it was, your default prudence seemed to abandon you at each instance you dared open the letter that you were given- if you could call it that. The paper inside merely had your name, a distinct address, time, and date all in a presumptuous formality that made you want to tear it to shreds. But you refrained and instead, rolled your shoulders back and down as you knocked on the painted door of the lofty residential home that coincided with the address in the letter. The walls were constructed with sturdy brick and there was smoke wafting out of the chimney. As you predicted, the entirety of the property before you suggested wealth, just as the note and the delivery had.

You knocked on the door, the letter in your hand as you waited several long, cold moments before a woman greeted you. Most of her features matched Carmen's, deep olive skin and brown hair that was tied back. "You are late," she spoke, disdain clear in her voice as she ushered you through the open door and into a foyer. You were only late by a few minutes, according to the clock on a passing wall. "My mistress is impatient," the woman added as an afterthought as if that fact was supposed to faze you into an apology. Her accent was quite notable, pronounced, and sharp like the other servants.

As she led you to a winding staircase as your gaze trained on each room that you passed. They were each decorated in a modest fashion and the colors were left to a simple tan palette. It was more simple than you would have expected from the manor's proud exterior. The woman cleared her throat, "Doña, she has arrived," she knocked twice on the closed door before opening it, revealing another woman. She stood behind a mahogany desk, watching you with relaxed shoulders. The bay window behind her illuminated the silk of her beige dress, contrasting her tan skin as it hugged her slender figure. Beige was uncommon at the time, given the dullness of it, although this woman wore it like a badge, using the simple color to allow other parts of her appearance to stand out.

"Leave us, Andrea," the woman's gaze had yet to leave yours, causing you to look away in mild discomfort. Once the door was closed again, she extended her hand to you, speaking again as you cautiously shook it. Her grip was confident and warm against your bare palm. "It is my pleasure, Princess Helena. I feared you would disregard dear Carmen and Diego." You retracted your hand, the name causing you to meet her eyes again.

"Y/n," You corrected, your mouth running dry as you calculated each of your words, down to the syllable. This foreign woman was able to unravel each of your lies within the latest nine years and frankly, it took every bit of your skill to remain composed. The conman would assess the person standing in front of him and decide if they were entitled to the truth that they were trying to extract. He would run through each advantage and disadvantage and return to the same conclusion- murder was always an option. After all, it was the only sure way of containing sensitive information. "Y/n Y/l/n," you repeated, causing the woman to laugh, her rounded cheeks eclipsing her eyes.

"We may both employ our pseudonyms, then. Address me as Doña," she sat in the red, cushioned chair behind her. Doña raised her eyebrows at you expectantly as she motioned towards the decidedly less opulent wooden chair across from her. You complied, frowning at her as she leaned towards you. Her smile only seemed to expand. "I have a task for you, Y/n. Only you can complete it for me."

"I know there are other services in London you might have requested," you contradicted, sitting back in the uncomfortable chair as you showed no qualms in testing her.

"No," Doña said with a simple shrug of her slender shoulders, "I need you to eliminate the Earl Phantomhive- the Queen's Guard Dog who puts an end to anyone she names. The graveyard to his name exceeds even yours. Although... it seems to be watered with the blood of the innocent, instead," her smile finally melted, causing her red lips to lay in a natural frown. In the streets of London, her lip color was enough to impose any of the filthiest assumptions about her.

"How does this concern me, specifically?" You asked. As your interest piqued, your eyebrows furrowed and you found yourself leaning towards the edge of the desk, rather than sitting slack against the wooden chair. The notion of the proprietor of a children's company having blood on his noble hands was more endearing than anything, especially to someone such as yourself, living substantial evidence that no one was who they appeared to be.

Your eyes followed Doña's hand as she opened a drawer in the desk, pulling out a pristine, folded newspaper. The masthead read 'DIE SUEDLlCHE POST' (THE SOUTHERN POST), a German newspaper with the headline of 'PRINZESSIN MARIE-LOUISE GIBT IHRE VERLOBUNG MIT PRINZ ARIBERT VON ANHALT BEKANNT' (PRINCESS MARIE-LOUISE ANNOUNCES ENGAGEMENT TO PRINCE ARIBERT OF ANHALT). There was a picture within the columns of words of your twin sister as she sported a gaudy dress and faux-smile as she beckoned the public into her personal life. Seeing Marie's matured face resemble yours so flawlessly was disarming and you only remembered to release a breath you had been holding when Doña spoke again. "The Queen trusts the Earl implicitly- enough to put the safety of her granddaughter in his...capable hands. At any mere threat, the Princess will come overseas to stay under his protection," she paused, smiling again as she unfurled the groundwork of a meticulous plan. "The monarchy is quite predictable, no?"

You had to give her credit for her unwavering confidence. The idea that she implied was beyond mad and yet, she sold it well. "We intercept her transportation before she reaches the port," Doña raised her chin as she explained, her expression smug to challenge you. Someone had trained her to manipulate others, just as the conman had done for you. She was reflecting your body language, while keeping her own polished mannerisms as a subtle attempt to establish trust, but express her own certitude.

"And you intend for me to take her place," you finished mapping out her plan for her, almost speaking in disbelief. Reclaiming your past? Your sister represented the whole of what you had resented in Germany; the wealth, the social faux pas, down to each ruffle of every gown. "Kill the Earl within his own estate," you bit the inside of your bottom lip, keeping yourself in the present.

The door opened behind you, the startling sound of a crying baby caused you to jump and turn your head to the source. A frazzled Andrea, the servant who greeted you, held a crying infant in her arms as it squirmed. "Doña, su hija te necesita ahora," she said, offending you as again as the two individuals conversed in a foreign tongue, ignoring your confusion.

At the sight of the distressed child, Doña's expression curled such as milk did. Her nose wrinkled, her eyes staring at it in disdain. Her glowered response came quickly as she gestured with her hands, "debes llevártela. Andrea, deberías saber mejor que interponerme cuando estoy ocupado con los negocios."

Immediately, and to your relief, Andrea left the office with a mumbled curse that you couldn't decipher. The baby was still crying. "You never learned Spanish?" Doña mused, her hands slowly returning to the wooden surface that separated herself and you. At least you had been correct in assuming it was from a Latin dialect. "That was my daughter," she explained with a careless shrug, causing you to frown. Your mother always spoke of you with the same amount of indifference, if not more than what this woman expressed, calling her daughter a 'that'. Bearing witness to that treatment left you vulnerable to frustration, an emotion that distracted you from the clear thinking you were trained to maintain.

"Earl Phantomhive," you said, bringing her back on topic before she could fiddle with your strained heartstrings any more. "It's a personal vendetta, is it not?"

"Ah. Correct," her face grew serious again as she brought her heavy stare back to yours. For a moment, you looked down at the newspaper- at your beaming sister and her Prince. "The Earl killed my husband after my whole family," Doña said as she shifted in her seat. Her eyes pried into your soul as if she was weighing each of your sins and virtue against each other in that moment. "I cannot rest until he feels the same anguish. What do you say?" She asked, raising her thin eyebrows, leaning forward in her seat.

For the first time that afternoon, you understood the woman sitting before you. You understood the lingering pain behind every smile, the loneliness behind her confident handshake. For that, you didn't need her to prove that the Earl was deserving of just intervention when normally, you required a means that ensured you that you weren't being sent to murder an innocent. The Calverts allowed you to read the court records of Keating's failed prosecution. But in this case, you recognized the raw emotion in her face. You saw it weekly in your employers and it used to stare back at you in the mirror...before you grew.

"Fine," your shoulders relaxed as you shifted in on the wooden chair, tempted to retreat, the more she invaded your space.

"We will begin our preparations immediately, then. We may discuss the finer details over tea."

. . .

JANUARY 17TH, 1892

READING, ENGLAND

"Diego and Carmen have returned," Doña entered your room without the formality of knocking, even though Andrea was in the middle of preparing you for your arrival to the Phantomhive Manor while you were attempting to keep yourself present. You gave your toes a discrete wiggle while they were crushed in tall heels. At least the slight pain was grounding. "Your personal effects will be included with ours," she added as a suggestion for you to respond. Over the week you had spent in her presence, you learned that talking to her was an exhaustive endeavor when most of the time, all you needed to do was listen. Meanwhile, Andrea was finishing your complicated hairstyle behind you. She tied strands of your hair into braids that led into a single low ponytail behind your head. Frankly, the steps she took had you standing there for ages, but you didn't protest, as opposed to the riot you always threw in Germany.

"At last," you stared at your reflection in the mirror before you, willfully ignoring the addition of her behind you. It was almost difficult to recognize yourself, considering you were staring at the visage of your sister, Marie as you dawned a sky blue gown that was embroidered with white designs around the bodice and top petticoat. The neckline had simple ruffles that covered the top of your stomacher, alternating with lace. Your skin was smooth to touch, almost delicate with the amount of cold cream that Andrea had insisted on smothering over every inch of you each morning and night. Even the apples of your cheeks were lightened with a gentle hand of pink rouge. "Putting that off to the last day was careless."

"At least our princess needs not to remember her privilege," Doña smarted, her red lips pursing in a sardonic grin. "Only her grace."

"And what of the princess?" You asked, turning away from yourself to give the packed trunks in your room a quick once over. They were each packed with fine clothing and luxury products that Doña had procured over the week, whilst important belongings of your own had just arrived, according to the woman herself. The conman's watch stayed with you for each task, whether you wore it, forced it into your pocket bag, or wrapped around a garter.

"Her steamship was supposed to dock about an hour ago. It should be in the process of sinking in the North Sea." The words had no effect on you, other than perhaps, relief. While Marie was your sister, you grew up in her looming shadow, her constant jibes, and haughty smiles. Her death secured your role in perhaps, one of the most complicated schemes you have ever dared take part in and did well to rid the world of another self-absorbed leech. Doña's hand gave your shoulder a patronizing pat as she smiled, "peace, Y/n. Your face is too young for frown lines. Remember, princesses haven't a care."

"You would know?" you asked, pressing your lips together and gathering your breath in a shallow inhale. The statement affected you more than it should have, but you blamed the superior tone that Doña attempted to pull over you. Although there were many years separating the two of you, it gave her no right to treat you as a child. You believed that Evelyn Calvert said it best- you were a woman, a lady that deserved every brutal sentiment that the world had to offer. "I believe the monarchy in Spain ended years ago."

"Someone did their reading."

"Enough," you glared, "I believe it would be best to allow Andrea to finish here. Before I stain this gown with your-" Andrea gave your hair a slight tug to tighten the hold before she gave you a quick once over. She seemed proud of her work- turning a runaway back into a princess. Quickly she patted a bit of power over the exposed junction between your neck and shoulders, adding some to your throat. Rather than making you appear paler, it was mostly translucent and served as a more natural aromatic while hiding blemishes. Andrea then left and quickly returned with a white coat that ran down to your mid-thigh. Deftly, she buttoned down the middle of it, closing both sides with little effort, seeing as it was made to be snug over all of your tight layers.

"-No, I believe that is quite enough, Y/n. Don't forget- we are allies, love." Doña reminded you with a smile. "In fact, I retrieved something else of yours to prove it," her hand disappeared into the deliberate fold of her pocket bag, revealing a small box. It was a black velvet that was soft in your hand. "Go on, she prompted, nodding at the box with her chin, "open." Slowly, you opened the box as it revealed a breathtaking emerald ring. The band's soft rose gold shone in the sunlight that came through the windows as small diamonds lined its circumference and outlined the expensive gem itself.

It couldn't be-

Your breath hitched as you took the ring out, putting the box on the vanity to your side as you looked at the interior of the band, your eyes wide as the engraving read 'Prinzessin Helena Victoria, 5/3' (Princess). It was your family ring, the exact one that you had given to a young boy because he was too poor to buy himself a proper jacket. All he wanted were a few coins for you to buy his newspaper, but you had no currency at the time. Instead, you gave him the ring and changed his life, rather than allowing the damned thing to burden you any more than it already had.

"That ring has seen...nearly all of Europe before returning to you," Doña said as she watched you slide the ring back over your satin glove. It fit your ring finger perfectly. Marie was made a completely identical ring, emerald, rose gold, and diamonds. You shared the same birthdate with her, being twins. "It would have been wiser to procure hers, but we must make do. You may never take it off." She was right. Though the ring was in fact, a smart decision to make your appearance more legitimate, the engraving could just as easily be the end of you.

"I understand." You confirmed, with a generous inhale. You felt your chest expand against the confining corset you wore.

"Andrea, ¿está lista ahora?" (Andrea, is she ready now?) Doña asked the servant, who was cradling her daughter, a chubby infant in her skinny arms, seeing as she finished tending to you. Andrea was not given enough credit, seeing as she took care of you, the baby, and everyone else within the household. She seemed to be around the age of Doña herself, perhaps younger, though missing a ring on her own finger. You owed her more respect than Doña, seeing as she took the time to teach you bits of conversational Spanish. Sitting in that house for a week while most individuals spoke in their native tongue was frustrating to you, and she cared enough to alleviate some of that pressure.

"Yes. You all should be going. Marie would have been near to our destination." Andrea said, before leaving your room to presumably, get Diego and Carmen to load the carriage with the aforementioned trunks. She left you and Doña alone, in temporary silence.

"Diego and Carmen are escorting you," she spoke, ushering you to leave the room behind her and start to the carriage that waited in front of the brick manor. "They are dock workers to you since the Queen called for finesse; minimum security." Marie's steamship was private- it made sense that she'd only have a few individuals as personnel. Although, they were likely dead at the bottom of the sea with the intended princess. "I will be in contact," her eyes, once again, stared into you, but you refused to falter. At a time like this, it was important to appear confident, even when there was residual panic racing through you.

"I won't be long," you replied, quite sardonically. The Earl Phantomhive was just a boy, about two years younger than you. He had a butler and four servants and an opulent estate that gave you plenty of opportunities, space, and minimal witnesses. You have surmised much harder conditions in the past, considering you've posed as a maid and drowned a woman in her own bathtub since she kidnapped and sold little girls to the highest bidder. That case had reached a particular soft spot within you, although it made you sensitive to the scent of rose water.

For a moment, you were back in that bathroom. The steam of the heated water hit your face in droplets as the curvaceous woman thrashed, her knees peeking out of the water, kicking. She was screaming, but it was garbled by the water as she choked on it. You had to use both of your soapy hands to press her forehead against the porcelain tub and apply moderate pressure around her trachea before she went limp...

"I'm sure," Doña rolled her eyes as she opened the carriage door for you. Diego and Carmen came out the front door with the small trunks in their arms. Carmen's tan features were still warped in her perpetual scowl, but Diego beamed at you, his eyelashes fluttering. You squeezed your eyes closed before opening them again, repeating the process multiple times while wrinkling your nose. It was, naturally, still cold and unlike the staff, you were only given a coat and gloves to stay warm. How Doña stood her ground without sleeves in this weather was lost to you.

"Andrea, fixed you up real good, Your Highness," Diego said, leaving Carmen to finish packing the carriage as he approached you. He bowed at his waist, over-exaggerating the movement. You had come to the conclusion that he was an excitable puppy dog, personified in a man. It was hard to imagine a man like that had the nerve to use the handgun in his holster. You frowned, the sight of firearms never failing to unsettle you, despite your line of work.

Trap the gun.

You urged yourself to focus on the people in front of you and the task that was rapidly coming into fruition. "You ought to ask her for a hand," you shrugged dismissively, the jab subtle as you shrugged and showed yourself through the carriage door. You sat down on the cushioned seat, closing the door and staring out the window of the carriage. Though you could have afforded a simple goodbye to the staff, your growing demand to be alone was overwhelming. Even the carriage, though it was white and an unassuming beige upholstery lined the seats, you had to force yourself to stay present.

Felix Keating.

"Y/n, we're pulling out now!" Carmen's grumpy voice announced as she knocked twice on the closed door to get your attention. She and Diego were to be driving the carriage- as Doña said, they were acting as port attendants to substitute Marie's dead servants. Your fingers wrapped around the pommel of your dagger, giving it a long squeeze.

"Fine!" You responded, watching the street from your window as it slowly passed by, paired with the trotting hooves of the horse that dragged you to your possible demise.

. . .

JANUARY 17TH, 1892

LONDON, ENGLAND

The Phantomhive manor was on the outskirts of London, shielded within the countryside by a thin forest line. As it rolled into your sightline through the small window of the carriage, you shamelessly allowed yourself to gape at the sheer size of it- the height of the walls, the militant stone masonry, and expansive stone garden that surrounded the cobblestone path. The cobblestone caused the carriage to bump clumsily and you could hear the sound of the packed trunks shifting around, even though they sat in the front with Carmen and Diego. To you, having so much space for one person was simply a waste- you made do in a shoebox that was going to be comparable to a linen closet on this property.

There was no describing the intimidating grace of the noble manor that stood proudly before you- although it was the furthest from your first complicated infiltration and as much as you tried to repress it, grew up in a castle. However, even Glücksburg was feeble in comparison to the fortress that your carriage slowed to a stop in front of. Diego wasted no time in opening the door, allowing more of the afternoon light in. You shuddered as the cold, once again, attacked your face and outer extremities, despite the petticoats that Andrea had precariously piled under your gown.

"We have made it, Your Highness," the joke was obvious in Diego's face, the apples of his cheeks too perky with his enthusiastic smile. He needed some of Carmen's restraint while the latter required at least a semblance of his warmth.

Your Highness. The form address was foreign to you. It was nothing but a burden that weighed just as much as the genuine metal around your ring finger and the tight corset that restricted your torso. But this was your role- at least for the next week or so. Your smile was small enough to not seem horribly forced, though anything but enthused. Restraint was something Governess Lydia always stressed, making it one of the single things she had in common with the conman, who never let you forget about the strength of words. This task required you to heed lessons from the both of them, which was unfortunate, considering the conman represented the best two years of your life, while Governess Lydia was the embodiment of your poisonous girlhood.

"Your prudence is more than appreciated," you accepted his hand as he helped you down the two, rather short stairs of the carriage. This was it- now you were Princess Marie of Schleswig-Holstein. Her identity belonged to you- rather than a withering corpse in the sea- however Doña had managed to get her there. For your own sake, you found it easier not to ask. You didn't need the blood of your sister on your conscience while you embodied her likeliness. Or at least...what you could recall from your spoiled bias and hourly etiquette classes in the castle. "Thank you, Diego," you let go of his hand once you stood on your own feet. You didn't need to look at him to know that he was shaking his head, discouraged that you were being kind to him simply because you had to. Prior to the carriage ride, you'd told him to see Andrea and give her a chance to improve his scraggly appearance.

"Of course," he responded with a hasty bow. Diego shut the door with a slam, clumsier than he needed to be. You pretended that all of your doubts were conveniently left sitting on a cushioned seat- as dispensable as a glove. Confidence in your own vast skill sets was going to get you through this and the blade of your dagger between the Earl's ribs. "To the door, Your Highness. You'll catch cold." Diego led you to the door, leaving Carmen to unload your baggage. The door opened immediately after he knocked, revealing a simpering man.

"Wir heißen sie herzlich willkommen, Eure Hoheit. Ich hoffe, dass Ihre reise bis zu diesem punkt angenehm war.," (Our deepest welcome, Your Highness. I do hope your journey was pleasant to this point,) he spoke, his German succinct as if he was a native speaker himself. Following his practiced welcome, he bowed, the silver accessory that was pinned on his lapel moved as he did. A gloved hand pressed politely over his heart as he righted himself at your nod. In this case, you would have preferred him to speak to you in English, seeing as the whole of the experience was already quite out of body for you. "Bitte, treten sie ein." (Please, come in).

You complied, reluctantly crossing the tall threshold. Diego was behind you and silent as you took a moment to look over the barren foyer around you. "Sie haben ein schönes anwesen. Danke, dass sie mein Refugium beherbergen - Ihre Majestät kann mehr als exzessiv sein," (You keep a lovely manor. Thank you for housing my retreat- Her Majesty can be more than excessive,) you replied, noting the butler's endearing features. His face was pale as if the moon decided to bless him with natural illumination and in contrast, his hair fell in black tresses that framed his face. His smile was too perky for his darker disposition.

"Es ist unser privileg, mit ihrer sicherheit betraut zu werden." (It is our privilege to be entrusted with your safety.) The unctuous pleasantries were in excess. A little went a long way, especially for you, who tended to be brief towards every accessory- every pawn. As a girl, that efficiency labeled you as ill-mannered, as Lydia, the uptight Governess, cautioned you.

"Gibt es einen namen für sie?" (Is there a name to call you by?) It was more appropriate for his master- the rudely absent Earl, to introduce him properly, but you were growing weary of having no name to associate with the man. You tilted your head, thinly smiling at the butler who immediately stood to attention to respond. He had more effortless poise than you did, but at its essence, it couldn't be hard. Between your intense life in the monarchy was nearly a decade of living amongst the middle class and working for anyone with the fortune to pay you.

He bowed again, the palm of his right hand returning to his heart. "Natürlich. Mein Name ist Sebastian, mein meister-" (Of course. My name is Sebastian, my master-) he was interrupted by the door opening again, proceeding with three individuals and Carmen entering the foyer, bringing the trunks that were in the carriage. There were only six boxes, but the shorter boy out of the group was holding three heavy boxes instead of one.

"Sebastian! Where should we be putting these?" A woman asked rather loudly, as opposed to the smooth dulcet of Sebastian's German. Her voice had a clear, animated quirk of an English accent and it took you a moment to return your brain to the language, seeing as focusing on one at a time rather than two at once was simpler. Then you entered her sightline, causing her to shriek in surprise as she gasped. "Princess Marie- Your Highness!" she dropped the box, sinking into a clumsy excuse for a curtsy. At your side, you could hear Diego attempting to stifle his laughter. As for yourself, you weren't one for sudden noises and had to feign understanding. By the end of the day, your cheeks were going to ache from constantly having to smile.

"Your Highness, these are the other servants of the house," Sebastian finally spoke in English as he gestured with an arm to the two men and the woman. As the three other servants put the trunks down. The woman's face was red under her disproportionate glasses as she looked from the older man to the younger one at her sides, searching for validation for her abrupt enthusiasm. "Our gardener, Finnian-"

"-Finny!" He interrupted with a bright smile, before meeting Sebastian's eyes and shrinking. Finny cleared his throat, his gloved hand rubbing under the hat that covered the nape of his neck. "Please, um...call me Finny, Your Highness." In front of him were the three trunks that he had been carrying- stacked vertically. One alone was heavy for even yourself, but he seemed unaffected.

"Right...Mey-Rin, the maid," Sebastian continued. Mey-Rin's face was still red as she looked at Sebastian and then you, uncomfortable with the attention of the room on her. "Our cook, Baldroy."

Baldory seemed to be the most composed of the three. Notably, there were strands of grey in his blond hair as he regarded you with an easy simper, his shoulders relaxed. "Good to meet ya," he said with a simple nod of his head. His voice reminded you of the conman's- perpetually at ease.

"And ...Tanaka- the executive director of the Funtom Company," Sebastian said, guiding your attention to a small man that watched you from behind Baldroy's legs. He wore a monocle and seemed to hold a cup of tea as he bowed. The executive director of the Funtom Company was a frail man?

"Oh but, that's how he is- he rarely goes into his full size," Finny chimed in, once again, cutting himself off at Sebastian's pointed gaze. He only gave you more questions than he had answered. How was such a large estate taken care of by such a small cast of individuals?

"Might I ask about the Earl himself?" You didn't feel the need to properly introduce Carmen and Diego, seeing as they were only supposed to be distant dockworkers to you. Marie wouldn't have thought twice about them, seeing as she was her own sun, moon, and savior. Instead, she would be miffed that a mere Earl had the self-importance to show tardiness in meeting her.

"Our master should be with us in a moment. Please allow me to show you to his study," Sebastian said, easily making a transition from the exhaustive introductions to sitting in. "In the meantime; you three, take Her Highness's belongings to her quarters." This time, Baldroy picked up Carmen's neglected box as she stood at Diego's side. The three of them responded enthusiastically as if they were excited to be given a laborious task from their superior.

"Sure," you agreed, more than aware that this was going to be a temporary goodbye to Diego and Carmen, the final allies you'd speak to before heading into a minefield of social complexity, corsets, and lies. You turned to Diego, almost unsure of how to let him depart. It was almost pathetic of you, growing tongue-tied from a simple goodbye. The duo had no semblance of sentimental value to you. All you had was yourself, a dagger, and a large sum of money waiting for you.

"We leave you in capable hands, Your Highness," Diego smiled as he bowed, before quickly winking at you.

"Farewell," Carmen added, her expression illegible as she too, bowed and left with her counterpart.

"Right then," Sebastian led you up the massive staircase. Each step was narrow and troublesome but you attempted to tread smoothly. "Would you care for tea? You toiled through quite a long trip..."

. . .

Tags:

[little-ligi]

Whumptober - No. 12

No. 12 - Broken bones Fandom - BBC Merlin Wordcount - 1687

Arthur clicked his fingers at Merlin who was talking to his horse. Merlin jumped and followed him, taking the horse’s reins. Arthur held his head high as he strode back into the tilt yard. The crowd erupted again, trumpeters heralding his approach.

Merlin grinned as he held the horse so Arthur could mount.

“The people love their prince,” Merlin commented, shaking his head.

“Of course they do,” Arthur said, pulling a face at Merlin’s annoying ability to state the obvious all the time.

“Can’t think why,” Merlin continued. “They obviously don’t realise what a big prat you are.”

Arthur pulled his foot from the stirrup and kicked Merlin hard in the chest, sending his tumbling to the floor. He scowled up at Arthur, his hands planted either side of him in the mud.

“Proving my point there!” he shouted.

Arthur just raised an eyebrow and shrugged.

“I hope he knocks you off your horse,” Merlin grumbled, gesturing to the other end of the tilt where his opponent, Sir Leon, was mounting his own horse.

“Doubt it,” Arthur scoffed. He held his hand out for his shield, but Merlin of course didn’t have it ready. Luckily a young squire had followed them from the tent at the side of the tournament ground, Arthur’s helmet and shield in his hands.

“Just because you think you’re better than everyone else…”

“I’m better than Leon,” Arthur said with a dismissive wave of his hand. He held it out again for his shield.

The squire stepped forward importantly, his chest puffed out. He couldn’t have been more than ten.

“My lord,” he said, handing the shield to Merlin and bowing low to Arthur.

“See that,” Arthur pointed at the boy, whose face had flushed red now. “That is respect, Merlin. You’d do well to try it.”

“Thanks, Kel, you’re doing a great job,” Merlin told the boy, taking the shield from him. The boy blushed even harder.

Of course Merlin would know the boy’s name. Every bloody person in Camelot seemed to be on first name terms with his stupid servant, and Merlin was polite and kind to all of them. It was only Arthur he talked back to and insulted.

Arthur scowled and refused to look at Merlin as he strapped the shield onto his left arm, securing it around his forearm. He shifted his shoulder, getting the heavy wood to settle comfortably.

“Helmet, please, Kel.” He spoke deliberately, looking directly at the boy. He almost collapsed, bowing so low that it was a wonder he didn’t pitch forwards. Arthur gave Merlin a pointed look over the boy’s bent back. Merlin curled his lip.

Once the boy had straightened from his ridiculous bow he handed Arthur his helmet.

“Thank you, my lord. Your Highness!” he cried then scuttled off, beaming.

Arthur grinned to himself.

“That helmet won’t fit if you keep letting your head swell.”

Arthur stopped grinning. He was tempted to kick Merlin again but settled for snatching the reins from him instead. He settled his helmet on his head, snapping the visor down and nudged his horse into a trot to the end of the tilt.

The crowd cheered again.

“Prince Arthur!” The list master shouted, drawing even more applause and whistling from the crowd. “Sir Leon!” A fair amount of applause thundered for Leon as well, he was well liked by the crowds as one of the best knights in the kingdom.

Merlin handed up Arthur’s lance.

“Good luck, my lord.”

Arthur squinted down at him through the narrow slit in his visor, trying to gauge if he was being sarcastic. He couldn’t tell. He lifted his lance, adjusting his grip until it felt comfortable in his hand.

He readied his lance, raised his shield and pressed the balls of his feet down in the stirrups. The list master lifted the white flag…

The crowd roared as the flag was dropped, the two horses surging forwards at a strong canter. Arthur levelled his lance, rising to his feet in the stirrups, leaning forwards, bracing for the impact of his lance ploughing into Leon’s shield.

Closer… closer…

He let himself rise and fall with the horse’s movements, his eyes narrowed along the length of his lance, ready to strike…

There was an almighty crash and pain exploded in his left arm. He was forced back in the saddle, the black clouds of agony blurring his vision. A loud cry echoed around his helmet. He swayed, his lance – broken from his own hit against Leon’s shield – slipping from his fingers.

His horse kept running, trained to run to the end of the tilt, even when his grip on the reins slackened and he toppled forwards against her neck. She stopped and turned at the end of the tilt, prancing nervously at the lack of response from him. Someone was shouting his name.

Several figures were running towards him but through the pain and the slit in his visor he couldn’t make out more than vague shapes. Hands took the reins, his horse settling.

Someone had their hands him, on his thigh and his lower back. They were holding him in the saddle, stopping him slipping sideways off the horse. He reached up and yanked his helmet off, the weight of it pulling his arm back down the minute it slipped off his head. He grimaced and let it drop to the ground.

It was Merlin holding him, of course. He’d also been the one shouting his name. His face was etched with concern.

“Arthur! Are you–” he started, one hand reaching for the shield, the other steady on his thigh still.

Arthur tried to pull himself upright in his saddle. He still had his pride, even if he was winded and gasping for breath against the constant screaming agony in his arm, shoulder and ribs.

“I’m not a girl, Merlin,” he managed to squeeze out through lips that wanted to scream. “I can take a hit.” He’d been jousting for years and this was hardly the worst hit he’d had.

“Not like that one. I think your arm might be broken.”

Well that explained the excruciating pain then.

He looked over at the stands; his father had risen from his throne, one hand on the railing on front of him and a frown on his face, but he made no move to come closer. He looked disappointed that his son had been defeated, more than worried his son had been hurt. Arthur let out a grunt and turned back to Merlin.

“Let’s get you back to the tent,” Merlin said calmly.

The young squire from earlier – Arthur had forgotten his name already – was holding his reins, stroking the horse’s nose while staring wide eyed at Arthur. Merlin chivvied him on and he began leading the horse back off the tilt yard.

When they got to Arthur’s tent Merlin reached up to hook a hand under Arthur’s armpit. Arthur braced his good arm against Merlin’s shoulder, gritting his teeth and groaning as he slid off the horse. His feet had barely touched the ground when someone else ran to his side.

“Sire!” Leon’s hair was plastered to his face with sweat, his gaze scanning Arthur quickly. He fell to one knee at Arthur’s feet, his head bowed. “My apologies, my lord. I’m sorry. I never intended to injure you.”

“Rise, Sir Leon,” Arthur said wearily. “It is a tournament, you are meant to hit me.”

“But you are the Crown Prince, my lord.”

He rolled his eyes and looked down at Leon, who had not risen from his knees yet.

“Get on your bloody feet, Leon,” he snapped. His arm was throbbing and he found he didn’t have the patience to listen to his friend apologising any more.

“Sorry, my lord.” Leon stood.

Arthur nodded then looked away from him. Merlin was still standing beside him, propping him up with an arm around his back.

“Sir Leon,” Merlin started, clearly trying to take charge of the situation. “I need to get his shield off his arm, could you help?” He pushed Arthur into a chair, still supporting his injured arm carefully.

“Of course, shall I fetch Gaius?”

“No, just, hold the shield, take its weight while I undo the straps.”

Arthur tried not to yelp as the shield was jostled on his arm. Leon held it gently where Merlin told him to, pulling it slowly away from Arthur’s body so Merlin could get his hands in behind it. Merlin’s fingers were like daggers up his wrist, every touch agonizing despite his manservant’s gentleness.

He found he was holding his breath as Merlin unfastened the two straps that held the shield to his arm, one on his wrist the other just below the crook of his elbow. He let the breath out with a sharp yell as Merlin slid his arm out of the straps.

The shield had been holding it steady like a splint but now without the support of the strong wood, it was throbbing and burning, sending pain radiating up his shoulder.

“Yep definitely broken,” Merlin said, slowly pushing Arthur’s chainmail up his elbow. “Find Gaius,” he asked Leon, who immediately dropped the shield to the floor beside Arthur’s chair and sprinted from the tent.

Arthur let his head fall back against the chair, a groan forcing its way out of his throat.

“So,” Merlin started, the tone of his voice telling Arthur he was about to be insulted or teased. “You’re better than Sir Leon, are you?”

“Yes,” he said stubbornly.

“Sir Leon doesn’t have a broken arm.”

He aimed a kick at Merlin’s shin but Merlin stepped to the side easily.

“Sir Leon is a fine knight with excellent jousting skills,” Arthur said. “He got in a very good hit.”

Merlin nodded sagely. “So what does that make you then? A prat with bad jousting skills?”

“Your prince.”

He was saved from having to try and hit Merlin over the head without jostling his broken arm by the arrival of Gaius, who swatted Merlin out of the way and deposited his physician’s bag into his arms.

[spell-cleaver]

(Luke Palps AU prequel) Luke knew he was dying as his breath became labored, Vader had gotten what he wanted in the end and Luke hoped the Force would bless him a journey to the Afterlife as his vision dimmed at the last sight of Vader hovering over him blade ignited.

Warning for, uhhh, a lot of child abuse. Basically borderline torture. And manipulation and ugh, it’s just not good, Palps is a piece of sh*t.

Previous parts linked on the masterpost here!

Luke knew he was dying as his breath became laboured, Vader had got what he wanted in the end and Luke hoped the Force would bless him a journey to the Afterlife as his vision dimmed at the last sight of Vader hovering over him blade ignited.

He’d been here before, he thought, mind foggy and vague, or was it after…?

“At last,” Vader sneered. A kick to his ribs had him spinning over onto his back with an oomph, starbursts of pain blooming in his side. “Perhaps your father will see you for the pathetic creature you truly are.”

Luke didn’t bother answering—just watched darkness swamp his vision. He could see his father’s face now, and thought bitterly that at least he wouldn’t be around to see his disappointment when Vader told him of his utter failure—

Nova’s face swam before his face, for a moment. He wondered if he’d see her, in the afterlife; his father said she’d been exiled and banished from the palace for treason, but he’d long suspected that she was actually dead, or caught, or executed, so maybe in death he’d actually get to see someone who’d cared about him—

“Now, now, Vader, I ordered you not to kill him. My son is still of value to me.”

Luke stiffened and, by sheer instinct and learned deference, his eyes slid open and he forced himself to at least sit upright, nearly slitting his throat on Vader’s blade. The wound in his side throbbed and he felt like his guts would spill out across the scuffed training room floor if he didn’t clutch at it, though that left waves of pain and nausea washing through his nerves like ink through water.

A shadow passed in front of him, dark robes dragging in menacing whispers on the floor and pausing before him. Cold, dry hands pried his away from his side.

“Oh dear,” his father said, voice low, “what did you do this time, Luke?”

Luke cringed back from that yellow gaze, the concern and disappointment in it, and let his father drop his hands so they landed on and bloodied the floor.

“I didn’t maintain my guard,” he said shakily, averting his eyes. He didn’t have the yellow eyes of the Sith son his father would want, he knew that well, so best not to show them altogether. “I fell for an obvious feint and couldn’t block the attack or avoid it.”

“Is that correct, Lord Vader?” his father asked, raising his voice a little. Luke didn’t shift his gaze to look at his father’s apprentice as he growled, but the words still sent shudders down his back anyway.

“His footwork is abysmal, his technique is mediocre at best, and he barely has the strength to resist the lightest of blows,” Vader reported, tone as dark and furious as ever. Luke still hung his head but shot his gaze up to glare at him. Luke was not that bad—

“You disagree, my son?” his father asked him.

Luke’s gaze went right back to the floor. “No, Father.”

“Continue, Vader.”

“He is an embarrassment to teach.”

Luke flinched.

“Now,” his father said, “don’t be too harsh. Just because he has proven useless to us in the Force and unworthy of the mantle of the Sith, does not mean you should be cruel. In fact, you should be kinder: he will never meet our exacting standards, so…” He smiled. “Lower your standards to let him meet someone’s, at least.”

Luke boiled with humiliation.

He was shaking. The wound in his side still throbbed, but he didn’t think it was life-threatening; his father would have excused him from this conversation by now if it was.

Vader said, “He remains weak.”

His father said to him: “Then I suppose that we should work on building up some of your muscle.” He reached over to squeeze Luke’s bicep so tightly it hurt, but Luke barely flinched. “Do you want to return to the training room and go through your exercises again?”

It wasn’t a question, so Luke didn’t give his honest opinion—not that he ever did. He just said, “Yes, Father.”

“Good boy.” He smiled tightly. “Now, I know that Empire Day is approaching, and with it your birthday… ”

Luke’s heart leapt into his throat, hope kindling—

“…and I had arranged a TIE simulator to be brought here for you so you could practise your flying…”

Luke almost dared to smile.

“…but you understand, Luke,” his father lowered his voice, “why, with how disappointing you’ve been,” he gestured to the wound, “in your training recently… I have to rescind the gift? You have to earn these things, my son, and you have not.”

Luke deflated.

He’d done it again. If only he succeeded, if only he worked harder, fought better, his father would be able to dote on him the way fathers should. He always wanted to, always came so close, but he was right: he couldn’t reward poor behaviour in Luke.

Luke was going to be Emperor one day. He had to be the best, and he had to be ready. His father could not settle for anything less.

“Now walk to the medbay and have something done about your injury,” he dismissed. “Tell them to ensure it does not scar.”

Luke nodded. Things could never scar. Never cause lasting pain. He didn’t know why—he had enough temporary pain on a regular basis that it wouldn’t hurt him anyway—but he was his father, so he obeyed.

That was what sons did.

So he nodded some more and—with a groan—heaved himself to his feet, trying not to faint at the pain that seared through him. He staggered out, burning with the disappointed stares of his father that followed.

“Vader,” his father turned to his tormentor, “what plans have you made to rectify his training? He may be a hopeless case, but you understand that I cannot give up on my son and heir?”

Luke paused by the door, gasping in great breaths, and staring at Vader in between the spots of darkness in his vision. Vader was staring right back at him with unbridled loathing.

His lightsaber was still lit. Luke wanted to throw up at the sight of it.

“Master,” Vader said, “you should.”

*

The images floated at the back of Luke’s mind, barely understandable amongst the ringing pain—in his head, not his side, why would it be in his side?—and consciousness buffered at the corner of his mind, like he’d imagined balloons would, from the few descriptions of them he’d found in various novels.

A bright light, a brilliant light, and a dark, rasping shadow coming down to eclipse it, and that shadow asked, Who promised to help you escape?

Luke blinked and darkness descended, wiping all memory.

Then the light came again, and with it a gentle pain against his mind.

Who was it?

Who wanted to take you from me?

Please, Luke…

And Luke wondered if he could keep the name a secret, if he really wanted to save Senator Erialus and his sorry neck when he’d no doubt meant him harm anyway, the way his father had, the way everyone meant him harm—

Senator Erialus, the voice growled and then the looming shadow stormed away. Luke wondered why his lightsaber wasn’t lit and wondered why he wondered that.

Then he knew no more.

Send me the first sentence of a scene from this AU and I’ll continue it!

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[faewhump]

Unseelie Pet: 14. Chapter

Malachi notices that Alex keeps losing weight and calls a healer to examine his pet, unfortunately revealing the issue to be a disciplinary matter instead.

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Content warnings:  discussions of weight loss, dehumanisation, non-consensual touching (not sexual), mentions ofdrugging (faerie food), mentions of noncon, captor bonding, caning

Tagging: @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @whumpsideblog @frnkieroismydaddy @slaintetowhump @thewhiteraven73 @galaxywhump @u-n-o-f-f-i-c-i-a-l

“Are you sure you are eating all your meals, darling?” Malachi asked as he critically mustered Alex’s protruding ribs. 

“Yes,” Alex lied and quickly pulled the tunic over his head. 

“Hmm.” Malachi frowned. “You should be getting more than enough nourishment, so why do you keep losing weight?” He stepped closer and cupped Alex’s cheek, gently stroking with his thumb. “Do you need bigger portions? More fatty foods? Am I not feeding my pet enough?”

Alex slowly shook his head, if he didn’t know any better, he would have thought that Malachi sounded genuinely concerned. 

“No, the food you give me is more than enough,” he replied. It’s just that I never eat any of it, unless you’re watching. 

“Then why do you keep getting thinner and thinner? The tailor already had to adjust several of your clothes.”

“I don’t know.” Suddenly, he had an idea. “Maybe the faerie food is the issue? Maybe it’s not nourishing enough, and I need human food to live?” He looked up hopefully, but Malachi didn’t seem convinced. 

“No, that can’t be it,” he decided. “None of my previous pets ever had comparable issues.”

“Maybe it’s something wrong with me then?” Alex suggested, unwilling to give up yet. He didn’t enjoy going hungry all the time either, so if he could convince Malachi to give him human food instead…

“That might be it, yes.” Malachi nodded, then gave Alex a smile. “But don’t you worry, my little bird, tomorrow I will organise a healer to examine you, and then we will find out what it is that makes you ill.”

The announcement had clearly been meant to be reassuring, but it had the opposite effect on Alex. If Malachi found out the actual reason for his weight loss, he’d be livid and would surely hurt him for disobeying and lying. In the last days he had tried to feed Alex more whenever he visited, and it had almost made Alex feel bad for worrying him like that. 

No, Alex reminded himself firmly. He isn’t worried about my well-being; he just doesn’t want his toy to break so soon. And no matter what he said, he doesn’t actually love me.

After Malachi had kissed him he’d been worried about what that might mean for the things the Fae expected from him, but luckily nothing had happened so far. When he had resolutely told him that he wouldn’t kiss ever him again, Malachi had merely laughed quietly and shook his head in amusement. Alex still didn’t understand what the hell had gotten into him that day. Why hadn’t he pushed Malachi away? Why had he, on some level, enjoyed the kiss? 

It didn’t make any sense… and yet he caught himself staring at Malachi’s lips again and again, remembering the way they had felt pressed against his. Was this some kind of faerie magic? Or was he losing his mind? Whatever it was, he wouldn’t allow himself to give into it again. And besides, right now there were more pressing issues. 

“This is Lady Áine, the best healer at this Court,” Malachi introduced the High Fae that followed him. 

 Alex mustered her warily, unable to stop the fear from rising in him. Áine was tall and slim and wore her dark brown hair open. Unlike all other faeries Alex had met so far, she didn’t look at him with contempt or lewdness… but with compassion? Alex was taken aback; this couldn’t be right.

“Lord Malachi, what is it that you would like me to assess?” Áine asked. “This human looks unhurt and alert to me.”

Alex squirmed while Malachi described the issue, well aware that a faerie healer would be able to tell immediately that he wasn’t ill at all. He’d always known that refusing the food was a risk and would probably be uncovered sooner or later. It had become harder and harder to throw the delicious food out to the crows, but so far he had stayed strong. This small act of defiance was the only rebellion he still had; he couldn’t give up on it.

Unfortunately, Malachi misinterpreted his nervousness as him being scared of the healer and pulled him down to sit on his lap.

“Hush, sweetheart, Lady Áine won’t hurt you,” he said reassuringly, wrapped an arm around Alex’s waist and gently pressed a kiss against his neck. “There’s no need to be scared, I’ve got you.”

Alex stiffened uncomfortably, but there was no way he could squirm away without upsetting Malachi. The Fae held him still while Áine examined him carefully, both conventionally and with her magic. Eventually, she stepped back and sighed.

“Your pet isn’t ill, he’s just malnourished,” she said, sounding a little exasperated. “It is important for humans to eat enough to stay healthy and starving them is very harmful.” From the reproachful way she looked at Malachi Alex concluded that she suspected him of not giving him enough food, either out of negligence or as punishment.

“I know,” Malachi gave back, frustration creeping into his voice. “I thought I fed him well, but maybe I did something wrong.” He then continued to describe to Áine in detail what he had given Alex.

Áine was confused. “I’m sorry, but that doesn’t fit with his physical state at all. There’s no way he ate all of that.”

“According to my servants, he always eats almost everything,” Malachi said.

Alex had gone very silent, unable to look either of the Fae in the eyes he kept his head down.

“You have been eating everything you were given, haven’t you?” Malachi asked, leaning in closer.

Alex swallowed and whimpered, as he had discovered that the Fae found that cute.

“Tell me pet, what happened to the food?” The concern in Malachi’s voice was replaced by steel. “You’d do better to tell me the truth now.”

“The… the window,” Alex whispered quietly, paralysed by fear.

“You threw it out of the window?” Malachi pressed.

Reluctantly Alex nodded.

Malachi sighed, then addressed Áine. “Thank you for your help, I deeply apologise for stealing your time for something that turned out to be a disciplinary matter instead. You may leave.”

“Of course, Lord Malachi, there’s nothing to apologise for,” Áine replied politely. Her eyes met Alex’s, and he thought he saw a flash of guilt in them. She smiled at him reassuringly and he gave a shaky one back, watching her leave the room with envy. But then he had to focus on the angry Fae behind him.

“You know, I was very worried for you lately, so I am very glad that you aren’t ill,” Malachi said. “But to discover such a betrayal instead…”

Alex yelped in surprise when Malachi shoved him to the floor.

“I’m sorry,” he whimpered and pushed himself up to his knees. “I – I just couldn’t eat the faerie food, I just couldn’t, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you – the food just makes my mind so loopy, I can’t think when I eat it, it’s awful.” He carefully pressed himself closer to Malachi’s legs, showing affection usually made the Fae more lenient with him.

Malachi sighed, but made no move to reassure Alex. “You heard Lady Áine, eating enough is very important,” he lectured. “Silly thing, taking such bad care of yourself. And even worse, you wilfully deceived and lied to me. That is not what a good pet does, is it?”

“N-no.” Alex was frozen in fear, there was no way Malachi would let him get away with this.

“No, it isn’t,” Malachi agreed. “You were very, very bad and deserve to be punished. What do you say?”

Alex whimpered, what if Malachi would lock him in a dark cell for real now?

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I’m sorry – I – I just didn't think, I'm so sorry.” He frantically clung to Malachi. “Please – please don’t put me in that cell, please don’t, I’m sorry –“

“Shhh pet, calm down.” Finally Malachi stoked over his head, and Alex leaned in desperately. “I won’t put you in that cell, I promise. But you still need to be disciplined, don’t you agree?”

Taking a deep breath Alex nodded. In a way he knew that he didn’t deserve whatever Malachi chose to do to him now, but he was too scared to object.

“Good.” Malachi stroked over his head one last time, then took his hand away and schooled his face into a stern expression. “Take off your tunic and kneel on the pillow over there.”

Scared of upsetting the Fae even further, Alex obeyed and knelt down on the indicated pillow in the middle of the room, feeling uncomfortably vulnerable dressed in nothing but his tight leggings. His head swarmed with all kinds of possible punishments of that required this setup he could think. Wiping his sweaty palm on his leggings, Alex just hoped that it wouldn’t be too bad.

“I am very disappointed with you, little human,” Malachi said.  “Lying is one of the most nasty habits humans possess, but don’t worry, I will make sure that you learn to behave.”

He slowly walked closer, and Alex’s eyes widened when he saw the cane in his hands. It was made of dark wood, sleek, and its handle wrapped in red fabric, probably to assure a better grip.

“Your horrid misbehaviour warrants a severe punishment, but since you apologised and begged so sweetly, I am willing to be more lenient.” Malachi took up position behind him. “Now, what is it that you are being punished for?”

Alex swallowed, trying his best to keep his breathing under control. “Lying and trying to deceive you.”

“Good.”

Alex jumped when he heard the cane swish through the air as Malachi gauged the distance.

“If you move out of position, we will start from the beginning,” Malachi said, tapping the cane against Alex’s left shoulder. “Understood?”

“Y-yes,” Alex stuttered, unable to stop himself from trembling.

“Very well. Don’t fret, this time you won’t have to keep count.”

The tapping disappeared, and the swishing sound of the cane was the only warning Alex got before a line of fire erupted on his skin. He gasped, fighting back the tears that shot into his eyes. Malachi tapped the cane against his other shoulder three times, then the second strike caused Alex to double over, trying to lean away from the pain.

“Get back into position, pet,” Malachi said sternly.

Alex wanted nothing more than to jump up and run away, but the fear of what Malachi would do to him in retaliation kept him in place. At least it was just a caning, being locked in a cell would be way worse. Slowly Alex sat up, tensing when the cane tapped against his back again, this time several inches below the first strike.

Malachi continued like this, slowly and methodically raising welts across Alex’s back in regular intervals, making sure to avoid his spine and kidneys. Alex soon gave up on holding back his tears and dissolved into uninhibited sobbing, crying out at every strike. Still he didn’t dare to move out of position, holding on to the thought that at least he wouldn’t be locked up.

When Malachi finally dropped the cane it took Alex a couple of moments until he registered that it really was over.

“Hush, darling, it’s alright,” Malachi soothed and pulled Alex into his arms. “We’re all done now, I forgive you.”

Shocked Alex tried to push Malachi away, but the Fae’s hold was too strong. He didn’t want Malachi to touch him, he was the one who had hurt him. Alex was in agony, his back felt as if it was on fire, and he couldn’t deal with Malachi’s confusing mood changes right now.

“Shh shh shh, calm down, my sweet.” Instead of allowing Alex to move away, Malachi gathered him even closer. “I am very proud of you for accepting your punishment, you did so well.”

Ignoring his struggles Malachi held him close, gently shushing him and stroking his hair, until Alex finally gave up the fight. He didn’t want to accept comfort from the person that had hurt him, but there was no-one else who could give it to him instead. Still shivering and crying Alex relaxed into Malachi’s arms, pliant and unresisting as the Fae comforted him from the pain he’d caused.

[shutupandshipit]

Cosmic Joke - Oneshot

Summary: There was a wanting in his chest, a humming underneath his skin, a whine behind his rib cage.

He swallowed thickly, throat dry. His hands trembled at his sides, sweat dripping from them as he tried and tried and tried to light that match, to start that explosion, but something in him had switched on and extinguished those flames. Something soft and wanting and small. Something that was small, but large enough to overcome his whole being.

Saliva pooled in his mouth like the stickiness that pooled in his underwear.

.....

Or where Katsuki never entertained the thought of presenting as an omega, and then he did. That's not going to stop him from being the number one hero, but hiding being an omega at UA was harder than he thought.

Pairing: Bakudeku with mentions of Shinkami and Bakukami friendship

Rating: E

Fluff piece post main events: Gentle Lovers

There was a reason male omegas were so rare. A perfectly valid fucking reason that Katsuki wished every day the universe had listened to. A male omega was a mistake. A mutation in the genome. They were rarer than people born quirkless which was becoming more and more rare with each passing birth.

Male omegas, in society's eyes, were an extraneous part of the machine that already ran smoothly. Much like a woman who had been born whole and intact, who bled and hurt every month, but still couldn't get pregnant. Or people who were quirkless.

Even then, society still found other uses for them, but there was absolutely no use for an omega that couldn't get pregnant.

Katsuki hadn't understood what that really meant, hadn't wanted to call absolute bullshit on society as a whole, until he'd presented as an omega. Before that, he'd been one of the people to even subscribe to that thought process. After all, he'd only been eleven and cocky and so sure that any day his alpha would rear its head. Then Izuku would present as an omega, and he'd have just one more thing to lord over his childhood friend's head.

Several of his other classmates had already presented at that point. A little omega girl, a set of beta twins that had been a boy and a girl, and an alpha girl. Girls most often presented faster since puberty for them began earlier than boys, but if the girls were presenting, that meant the boys wouldn't be far behind.

Katsuki had been impatient to meet his alpha.

He'd presented over that summer break, the heat hitting him like a punch in the stomach as he meandered through the thick twilight air with several of his friends. The heat started as sweat pooling in his palms and lower back, down his thighs and in the cups of his collar bones. Heat flushed his cheeks with color as he laughed wildly at something stupid one of the others was doing. Euphoria coursed through his body as one of them bumped into him.

Something hot and wet and slick coated the inside of his underwear, and he stopped.

Something wasn't right.

There was a wanting in his chest, a humming underneath his skin, a whine behind his rib cage.

He swallowed thickly, throat dry. His hands trembled at his sides, sweat dripping from them as he tried and tried and tried to light that match, to start that explosion, but something in him had switched on and extinguished those flames. Something soft and wanting and small. Something that was small, but large enough to overcome his whole being.

Saliva pooled in his mouth like the stickiness that pooled in his underwear.

“Bakugou, what's going on, man?” his friend asked, the one that had bumped into him. He turned to walk back towards him from where the others had stopped. “You still coming over to my house?” He clapped a hand on Katsuki's shoulder, looking concerned. “Hey, you okay? You look a little red. Are you sick?”

“Don't fucking touch me!” Katsuki snarled, smacking away the boy's hand with more ferocity than the situation deserved. He stared down at the concrete, fists clenched tightly at his sides. “Don't fucking touch me,” he hissed even though that humming whine in his chest only increased at his friend's touch.

'Friend. Protection. Comfort. Scent friend. Protection. Comfort. Friend. Protection. Comfort. Scent friend.' The voice in his chest wasn't his own, too soft and high. He knew what that voice belonged to.

“Hey, what's going on? You're kind of acting like a nut case,” the boy asked again with more concern, reaching for him.

Ignoring the whine, Katsuki snarled and bared his teeth. “Don't touch me!” Turning, he sprinted down the road, away from his friends and away from their comforting scents.

They couldn't know he was- They couldn't know. They couldn't find out. No one could know. No one could find out. He'd take the secret to his grave before that ever happened.

There had to be some kind of mistake. Where was the rewind button? Where could he press reset on his body? It all had to be some kind of sick joke the universe was playing on him. He couldn't be... He couldn't be...

He hadn't realized he wasn't running towards home until he stopped, out of breath and panting on an unfamiliar street. The smell of a lighting storm in full swing clogged his nose, and it took him a long moment to realize he'd been following the scent. He'd been searching out the person it belonged to. He knew who the scent belonged to even though he would have never smelled it until he presented. They'd known each other longer than anyone else. There was no way he wouldn't know.

“Fuck,” he hissed, trembling in the middle of the street like the scared child he was. The sun had dropped below the horizon, the stars beginning to materialize in the sky and the street lights just starting to flicker to life. The heat hadn't abated.

In the darkness, he knew he needed to get home. He needed to get to, 'Protection. Comfort. Family. Protection.' He needed to get home, but he was also terrified of what his parents would say about his new secret. He knew what his mother thought of male omegas, he'd heard her talk about them too many times before.

They were 'useless, pathetic, disappointing creatures that were better off if they just ended it when they presented. They were just a strain on society. It's not like they could amount to anything.'

It had been years since he'd cried. That last time had been when he'd accidentally burned himself for the first time with his own quirk. There in the middle of the street though, he felt the tears welling in his eyes, hot and traitorous.

He was so hot, unbearably so. His skin felt wrong, like it didn't fit right or didn't even belong to him. The dampness of his underwear got worse with each passing second, and something warm slipped down the back of his thigh.

“Hey, do you smell that?” a husky voice said from around the corner ahead of Katsuki.

A hum, deep and primal that made his own hum turn to whine. “Smells like heat. I can smell the slick too. Smells like a new omega. She's close by.”

“Real close.”

She.

The word hit Katsuki like a punch to the chest. Right. Because almost all omegas were women. Ninety-five percent of omegas were women. It made biological sense. Why would anyone assume he was a boy? He probably didn't even smell like one anymore. Why would anyone assume any omega they couldn't see was a boy? Omegas were meant to continue on the population, to give birth and raise and nurture the next generation.

Even if he'd been born a girl, Katsuki wasn't a nurturer.

He shouldn't be an omega. He couldn't be an omega.

He couldn't.

He cou-

“It's making me kinda horny,” the first voice rasped, closer than before.

Fear pierced through him. All his senses were on high alert. Ready for a threat. Ready for an attack. Ready to defend himself. Ready for-

'Alpha,' his omega whined.

“Let's go see if she... needs some help.”

Katsuki took off again. Away from the lightning storm scent, away from those two men. 'Two Alphas.' This time, he didn't take a detour. He was home in what felt like moments, mind frantic as he pushed through the door and slammed it behind him. He was up the stairs despite his mother yelling at him to not 'slam the fucking doors, you damn brat!'

He slammed his bedroom door closed. If he had a lock, he would have locked it as well.

Sheets, blankets, pillows. All stripped from his bed quickly and efficiently.

Everything shoved into the closet.

Wriggling out of his clothes, he left them in front of his bare bed.

Dive into the dark, cramped space. He barely fit. Burrow and burrow and burrow until he was surrounded. Until his skin stopped itching so much. Until his breathing eased and the omega in his chest purred.

'Safe.'

“Safe,” he agreed tiredly, curling as tightly in on himself as he could. He breathed into the space and settled, calmed by the warmth of his own body heat radiating back at him.

Outside the door, he heard his parents shuffling around. There was his mother's cinnamon and cardamon scent. 'Alpha Mother.' And there was his father's much more subdued scent that his mother had told him once smelled like Tequila. 'Beta Father.'

Their scents were calming, a gentle reminder of the safety and protection they provided. He wished he had something covered in their scents in his hiding place. 'Nest.' Something that he could curl around and hold close because his heart was still racing, sweat still pouring off him, his quirk still not sparking. He was still scared of their reactions, but he also knew they would keep him safe no matter what.

“Mitsuki,” his father's soft voice said on the other side of the door, and he heard his mother's responding rumble.

“Fuck. Yeah, yeah. I'm going to get the suppressants and pheromone blockers. It might be early enough that we can at least get the blockers into him and not attract every alpha on the block. For now, it's going to get a little unbearable while I mask his scent,” she growled, and her stomping footsteps faded down the hall.

After a moment, his father asked, “Katsuki, can I open the door?”

Turning onto his opposite side, Katsuki opened the door himself just a crack. He could see his father's gentle brown eyes, smell his bitter Tequila scent, hear the gentle hum he was emitting. “I hate this, Dad,” he whispered, suppressing the urge to let hot tears fill his eyes.

“I know. It's your first heat. It's going to be a little uncomfortable for a while, but Mom's getting you something that should help a little. After your heat is over, we'll explain everything.”

“How can I be an omega? I can't. But you're acting like you knew I was going to be,” he accused, some of that familiar anger sliding back it, but too dulled by the heat to do him any good. Masaru's head dropped in answer, and Katsuki whined, “Dad.”

Marasu only glanced over his shoulder.

“Let me talk to him,” Mitsuki demanded, coming into view behind him, and his father immediately moved out of the way for her to crouch, “Go get some of our clothes. Probably last nights clothes would be best.”

Her scent was nearly overwhelming as she crouched before him, and his knees went weak with the sense of calm she was silently pushing onto him. He wanted to fight it, wanted to fight the command in her scent, but he couldn't. He didn't know how to yet.

His body ached all over like he'd just finished fighting an ogre, and the ogre had won.

'Alpha Mother. Safety. Protection. Family.'

"Mom," Katsuki whined, shifting in his blankets to face her better.

"Here, take these and drink this entire bottle of water," she said, shoving the water through the hole and then holding out a cupped palm ready to drop whatever she was holding.

He held out a trembling, sweat slicked hand, and she deposited two pills into his palm. He took them without question, swallowing them down and then gulping down the contents of the bottle until it was empty. "What was that?"

"A desensitizer and pheromone blocker. They'll help. At least a little." She sat back, taking the bottle from him. "I heard what you asked your father. When you were really little, the doctors let us know that you had elevated levels of estrogen which is common in omegas. There was always the possibility, so we aired on the side of caution, but we didn't want to worry you."

"I don't want to be an omega," he said, covering his face with his blanket as the tears fell, the ones he'd been holding back since the street and those alphas and his friends. "I want to be an alpha like you. I should be an alpha."

Mitsuki's hand nestled into his hair, her scent enveloping him in a cocoon of warmth and spice. "I know."

"Does this mean I won't be able to be a hero now? Because no one likes male omegas? Because we're useless?"

She looked away and cursed under her breath before snapping fierce eyes back to him. "Of course not! Don't say stupid shit like that!" Mitsuki snapped irately, and he stretched out his neck long in unconscious submission. She sighed, softening her voice as much as it ever could. "You can do anything you want. This doesn't define you, and it never will. Just because you can't give birth-" His omega lifted its head and whined plaintively, the sound rising in his own throat, and Mitsuki's scent only grew stronger in response. "This doesn't define you. Your actions are what's going to define you in the end." She ruffled his hair. "So if your weak, it's only because you rolled over for your omega. If you're weak, it'll only be your fault."

He growled and snapped at her hand, more subdued than normal, but still the same as always. Swatting her hand away, he pulled the sheet up to completely cover himself and scrubbed at his face. "Okay," he said, voice stronger than before. He wouldn't let this define him. Omega be damned. He was still going to be the number one hero, and if anyone had a problem with a male omega being on top... Well, they could just suck his dick.

His omega raised it's head in his chest, cocking it in confusion. This wasn't how an omega was supposed to think. Submission. Softness. Nurturing. That's what he was supposed to be like.

Staring down at his chest, he muttered, "Do you hear that, omega? I'm not going to let you control me. Just because you're here now doesn't mean you get to boss me around. I'm not some skinny, whiny, panting omega looking for an alpha, you hear me? I've got plans. I'll die before I let you ruin that for me."

Both Mitsuki and Masaru were laughing outside the door, and he peaked out to look at them again.

Unceremoniously, his mother shoved two shirts through the hole. They reeked of his parents, and his omega purred loudly in his chest.

"How about you start with getting through your first heat and then we can talk about learning how to put your omega in its place," she suggested before closing the door, "We'll come check on you in a few hours. I have somebody to run off."

The door to his room opened and closed, and then he was alone. Both his parents scents faded until he was only smelling them on the shirts his mother had given him. He folded them up and shoved them into his pillow case, curling around the pillow.

The heat flooding his body was more bearable now, as if he simply had a fever. Like when he got sick. He could live with that. He could pretend this one time that this was just some fucked up cosmic joke.

.....

It wasn't long after that the Izuku presented as an alpha, but that only seemed to make him duck his head more, tucking his canines away.

Katsuki hated him all the more, ignoring the way his scent slipped beneath his defenses, slipped into his body. When Izuku was around, his underwear was always wet despite the suppressants and pheromone blockers and everything else he did to hide the fact that he was an omega now. None of the other alphas in the school did that to him.

And he hated it. Hated all of it.

He had to hide away just to protect himself while Izuku should have been proudly displaying new canines and flaunting his scent. Instead, Izuku seemed to take pheromone blockers as well, muting the unmistakable signs of 'Alpha' until they were unnoticeable if you didn't already know. After that first week when he presented, he was never absent from school for a rut which meant he was taking suppressants as well.

Katsuki hated him, and he didn't understand what Izuku had to hide from.

.....

Katsuki's second heat started during the UA entrance exam as Present Mic was explaining the second portion. Just like the first time, sweat began to coat his neck and back, along his thighs and collarbones. His palms dripped with the pooling sweat, and he did his best to keep his eyes focused as the heat slipped along the back of his neck. Under the desk, he experimentally set off a small explosion to make sure his quirk hadn't been extinguished like the first time.

He could feel Izuku's eyes on him as he pulled out his small bag of pills and downed another dose of suppressants and pheromone blockers for the day.

Sitting with Izuku at his side, his scent was nearly overwhelming. Still, it was, 'Comfort. Protection. Safety. Friend. Family. Alpha Lover. Safety. Alpha Lover. Comfort. Protection.' He shouldn't have been able to smell Izuku at all, but Izuku had either skipped a dose or was as affected by the atmosphere as he was, unconsciously pumping out more pheromones to clash with the others in the room.

His parents and he had guessed this might happen after suppressing -against theirs and the doctor's advice- his heats for so many years, during the years they should have been the strongest. He'd never been around so many preening and flexing alphas in his entire life. Besides his mother, Izuku, and a couple kids in the school, there hadn't been any other alphas to deal with. Overall, the omegas had outnumbered the alphas which was a statistical improbability.

And yet it had happened, so he'd been pampered through the earliest years of his puberty with the luxury of fewer alphas.

All hero courses always attracted more alphas than anything else though, and the room was all but hazy with pheromones. So, they'd adjusted his dose schedule so it'd be safer for him to take a second dose that day if he'd needed to.

He really, really needed to.

"Kacchan, are you alright?" Izuku's voice was right at his ear, just a whisper. "You look a little flushed. Are you sick? Do you need to see the nurse?"

Not looking at Izuku, Katsuki stood with the other students, and snarled, "Shut up, Deku. Leave me the fuck alone, and stay out of my way." Turning, he ignored the spike of curiosity and worry that shot through Izuku's scent and the whining omega in his chest.

Blessedly, slick only began to spill from him towards the end of the practical. Flushed with victory and destruction and adrenaline, he didn't really notice it or pay it any attention besides acknowledging that he was wet until he heard the conversation of a group of burly looking idiot alphas and singular female alpha.

The buzzer ending the practical rang.

"Hey, does it smell like slick to you?" one asked, sniffing the air with barely contained bliss, nose twitching, "It smells so sweet."

Another laughed wildly.

The alpha girl with bubblegum pink skin and little white horns laughed more quietly along with them, but concern filled her voice as she said, "Damn, some poor girl started her heat here? That fucking sucks. She should make a run for it. Find a little hidey hole until the proctors can come grab her. I don't even want to imagine what could happen in a group of alphas this big."

"A ravaging is what would happen," the first alpha laughed, "She wouldn't even survive. She'd be pregnant before she left."

Anger flitted across the girl's face, but she didn't say anything.

Another spoke up, shaking his head. "See, this is why omegas shouldn't be heroes. There's a reason there's no top heroes that are omegas. I mean, almost no heroes are omegas in general. What if they went into heat in the middle of battle? They'd totally be dead. Or like, during a mission? What are they supposed to do then? Hope some alpha comes along to fuck them through it? Omegas should just stay home where they belong."

Katsuki felt his hands crackling with frustration and bitter, bitter hate, the anger pushing down his omegas head forcefully. His omega went willingly though with a grumbled, 'Not real Alpha. Not worthy. Piss baby. Small penis.' He would have laughed if the female hadn't spoken up.

She snapped her teeth at the other alphas, growling deep in her chest. "That's not how heats work, dipshit. Why don't you go back to middle school and take sex ed again! In high stress situations like a mission, it's highly unlikely an omega's body would even be able to go into heat. On top of that, they can take suppressants to keep their heats on hold, to keep them on a timed schedule, make them easier or stop them all together. Like the pill or the depo shot for alpha or beta women. Ruts pretty much work the same, and statistically speaking, you're more likely to go into a rut during battle than an omega going into heat. Idiots."

"What's the depo shot?"

The girl was red as a tomato now despite her pink skin, far from the shy girl she'd seemed to be moments before. Liquid bubbled in her palms. "It's birth control, you absolute moron. I'll be surprised with how ignorant you are if anyone every wants to mate you. I bet you're dick is useless, isn't it? I bet your dick is smaller than mine. Oh wait, that would mean you don't have one." A cruel smile curled across her lips.

The snarling growls of the other alphas around her sent a shock straight through Katsuki, and he hated everything about his body. Instead of curling into himself like he wanted, like how his omega was telling him to submit, he turned completely to watch as the other three alphas squared off against her. Fear tinged her strong, bubblegum sweet scent, but that didn't stop her scent from flaring out dangerously to meet theirs.

They were fighting because he was near. He knew that's how this worked, but he'd never actually watched a fight break out over an omega before. Or not even an omega, just the idea of one. Just the smell of one. Alphas fighting for a prize.

It made him nauseous and scared though he'd never admit it, but not enough to keep him from calling, "Don't you think three on one is a coward's move? You guys want to be heroes? Don't make me laugh."

The four paused, eyes flickering towards him and noses twitching. There was so much alpha stink in the air though, the smell of his slick should have been well covered up by that point. Before they could get a good hold on his scent though, just in case it wasn't, he turned and started towards the exit.

Back home in the comfort of his room, his heat hit him full force. He had no time to prepare, no time to grab water or something to eat or take a desensitizer, as the wave of heat crashed through him and sent him to his knees.

Struggling, he pulled his sheets, pillows and blankets from his bed like the first time he'd gone into heat and shoved them in his closet. Stripping down, he left his briefs on only for the fact of the shear amount of slick coating them. They were soaked through, but hadn't begun to drip meaning they'd done their job.

After his first heat, his mother had bought him specialized underwear for omegas close to heat. 'Like period underwear, but for slick,' she'd explained helpfully, and he'd wanted to gag, 'And they're supposed to help block the smell.'

He'd never had to wear them, but along with the extra dose of suppressants, he'd thought nothing would hurt from being too cautious.

If he wasn't slowly going out of his mind with his heat and the feeling of his skin, he would have gone to the bathroom to clean up before crawling into his make-shift nest. Instead, he rifled through every drawer of clothing he owned until he found the clothes he used to wear as a kid. Pressing each piece of fabric to his nose, he searched, searched, searched for something. Something that smelled like-

'Alpha Lover.'

The scents of a lightning storm crowded his nose, pouring rain and electricity. More subtle than he would have preferred, but there all the same, held in an old All Might t-shirt Izuku had given him when they'd been kids before they'd been split apart by their quirks. It was the only alpha scent that invoked the same feeling of comfort that his mother's scent did. Shuffling through the rest of the clothing quickly, he found another shirt with Izuku's scent.

With the two shirts and his uniform jacket, he burrowed into his nest and closed his closet door.

Except that the scent of an alpha wasn't enough to get him through his heat this time, not like when he was young and hadn't fully grasped the idea of what he was attracted to. When his body wasn't mature enough to understand what his heat was meant for. He was well and truly into puberty now, and that made his heat a million times worse.

He spent the entire week and a half of his heat whining and sweating and incensed as he rutted against his bedding searching for that distant friction that would guide him through his heat. He kept a tight grip on himself throughout the entirety of his heat. Not matter how hard it got though, he never touched his entrance, moist and aching with slick.

He hated it, hated the substance his body produced for a process he couldn't even partake in. He hated that his body yearned to be filled even though he couldn't get pregnant. He hated his body because it was broken, a mistake in the genome. He'd never thought about the idea of pups before, but with his heat in full swing, his imagination went on a full tour of a family he would never have.

Two or three pups. Blonde hair and green eyes. Green hair and red eyes. Meek and timid. Boisterous and rowdy. Boys and girls. Alphas and betas only, god willing. Fire erupting from palms roughened by playing too hard outside.

His alpha curled around him, supporting him through his heats. Light touches of his abdomen, his thighs, his shoulders. Gripping him tightly, nipping at his shoulder and whispering in his ear. Body strong along his back. Breath hot-

The phantom touch left Katsuki shuddering against his bedding, sticky and hot and wet, but unable to lift himself to go clean.

There was a plaintive, high pitched whine in the middle of his chest that slipped passed his lips, more of a keening whimper than a whine. 'No pups. Cannot birth. No pups,' his omega keened.

The despair in his chest choked him until the keening was falling from his own lips in long drawn out whistles. His buried his teeth into his forearm, silencing his own voice.

That heat may have only been his second, but he was reminded of why he'd eaten suppressants like candy to keep them at bay.

.....

Class 1-A's A/B/O percentage make-up was an interesting one that made it easier and harder at the same time for Katsuki to hide his omega status. With a fifty-fifty split of alphas to omegas, and the rest being betas or unpresented, there were more than enough pheromones to cover up his own, but not enough to send him into another heat. Which was a relief. Besides Izuku, neither Mina nor Todoroki had scents that were pleasing enough to his nose to make him wet. Kirishima was the only other alpha in the class that he was willing to smell or smell like, his scent strong enough to cover any smell of slick that may present and pleasant enough not to rile his stomach.

It made it harder because omegas naturally flocked together. Power in numbers. Protection in numbers. Someone who understood the plight.

'Friends. Protection. Scent friends,' his omega chanted at him constantly, urging him towards the others.

Denki had managed to weasel his way into Katsuki's group of friends by virtue of his stupidity, but the others, Uraraka and Jirou found their places in Izuku's circle which was fine by Katsuki. Two less liabilities to his secret.

As much as he tried to ignore them though, he always seemed to find himself with them close to their heats whether it was intentional or not. Whether it was their two groups of friends sitting at tables next to each other or the other omegas unconsciously brushing up against him to scent him. It didn't bother him as much as it should have, his omega happily purring in return.

Despite how much he pushed them away and called them names, his omega recognized a kinship with them and never let him forget it. So he let them scent him and gravitate towards him and find comfort around him.

Luckily, their coming heats never affected him the way it affected the others. Pulling their heats a little further forward as well. After that first day, he'd doubled his daily dose of both suppressants and pheromone blockers, and carried extras with him just in case. The others, he'd found out from Denki's ramblings, only took suppressants to regulate rather that stop their heats.

"I can't go without my heat for too long. I tried some of the higher dosed suppressants, the ones that actually stop your heats, and I literally went nuts. I only missed one heat, and that was it. They took me off them faster than they'd every pulled anyone," Denki told him, straddling the bench of a table in the school's courtyard.

They were the only ones out there, waiting for the others to turn up. They would have eaten in the cafeteria, but the sun was out and warm on Katsuki's face, and the air was free of the stench of flaunting alphas.

Denki went quiet, pulling at a loose string on his pants. "I was emotional and crying all the time. It's like... higher doses of estrogen, you know? Or something like that. Whatever hormone controls when we go into heat. And I..."

Katsuki glanced at him, waiting for him to continue. He set down his chopstick, frowning deeply. "And what, Dunce Face?" he asked, his omega pacing worriedly in his chest.

Rubbing at the sleeve of his right arm, Denki said, "I, uh, it made me want to- Uh- I tried to kill myself. They put me on suicide watch for my first couple heats after that because I was still really volatile. Suicidal ideations and everything. I almost managed that time when someone wasn't looking for like two seconds. The suppressants... they just made everything about being a male omega seem twenty times bigger. All I could think of was the pups I couldn't have and the alpha I'd inevitably disappoint." He laughed helplessly, tears in his eyes. "It was kind of the worst six months of my life. I think I was... thirteen."

Katsuki pressed his lips into a thin line, staring down at his lunch. The words slid right beneath his skin, making a home there. They were too familiar to the thoughts that ran through his own head when he let down his guard. "Why are you telling me all this?"

Denki looked at him, startled. "I don't really know." A grin pulled at the corners of his mouth. "I guess I'm just comfortable with you. More than the other betas. It's almost like your one of us."

Katsuki didn't want to outright lie to Denki, so he didn't say anything, only glared back at him.

After a moment, Denki shouted in surprise. "Oh god, that sounded insulting! I didn't mean you're an omega! I just meant, like, you're comfortable to be around! Like how it's nice to be around the girls! Like you kind of put off a vibe-"

"Denki."

"W-what?"

"Shut up."

Denki ducked his head. "Okay."

Sero, Mina and Kirishima showed up in that next moment, flopping onto the benches with bursts of exhausted breath. They dropped their trays on the table.

"Ah man," Mina groaned, "What the fuck, Bakubro? For a beta, all the omegas seem to flock to you. How do you do it? Like even the ones in 1-B. What's that about?"

"Who's to know?" Katsuki muttered, staring into his food.

"Come on, man, what's your secret?" Sero asked, leaning towards him.

Rolling his eyes, Katsuki raised them. "My winning personality," he said in a monotone.

The group burst out laughing, but Denki's eyes were on him, questioning.

.....

Katsuki's secret began to unravel as the omegas began to go into heat. Denki was the first, his heat coming soon after they were admitted into the school dorms.

The day started out as it normally did. Everyone shuffling into class. Denki making a fool of himself to make Jirou and Uraraka laugh where they were crowded around Katsuki's desk without his permission. Halfway through the beginning of the day, he went silent, stopped answering questions, stopped asking questions. His scent, ozone and lemonade, grew thicker as the hours passed.

Denki was gone at lunch, and didn't come back for the second half of the day.

Katsuki already knew what was happening before he stepped onto his floor, but the sickly sweet scent of slick filled the air along with something bitter. Bitter like distress. Their conversation from weeks ago came back, and his omega whined plaintively in his chest.

'Friend. Distressed. Go comfort. Help. Don't let alpha touch. Protect. Friend. Distressed.'

"Dammit," he whispered, hurrying to his room and dropping his bag there. He grabbed the few water bottles and snacks he kept for after he worked out early in the morning, and made his way to Denki's room.

A crowd had gathered around his door, sniffing at the cracks, crooning softly to him. There were Uraraka and Jirou with their own supplies, a blanket and bag filled with water and food, a teddy bear held close to a chest.

There were also Kirishima and Mina, softly knocking and purring and asking if he was okay. They were his friends trying to look out for him, but they were also a pair of alphas, ones that hadn't scented or courted Denki with the intent of mating him.

Then there were others who were just curious and wondering about the fuss. They're noses weren't strong, but they didn't have to be to smell the heat in the air. Sero, Iida, Aoyama, Hagakure, Mineta and Momo hovered behind the alphas. Betas that were definitely not welcome.

Uraraka and Jirou chirped at his arrival, backing along the wall to let him to get close to the door.

Shoving Kirishima and Mina away from the door, he snarled deep and low in his throat. He snapped his teeth at the gathered crowd. "Get back!" he growled, voice full of the authority that his omega didn't have but still stood stall and gave, "Now!"

His friends skittered back into the others, eyes wide with surprise as they stared back at him.

Not turning his back on the group, he tapped lightly on the door and waited for the answering whine. He allowed his omega to croon back. 'Comfort. Protection. Safety. Friends. Here to help. Protection.' He waited until Denki's omega responded, and he cracked the door open.

Both Mina's and Kirishima's expressions sharpened and shriveled as distress and pheromones rushed over them. Even the betas responded, covering their noses and mouths with their hands.

Katsuki motioned for the two girls to enter, and they scurried in quickly as he snarled again. 'Leave. Stay away.'

"We want to help," Mina stammered, eyes worried as she peered around him.

"Bring one of your shirts, something you've worn recently. Leave them outside the door. I'll rip your fucking heads off if you try to come in," Katsuki snapped before closing and locking the door behind him.

Denki was curled up in a nest of his blankets and what seemed to be every piece of clothing he owned on the floor. He only wear a pair of black briefs that looked identical to the ones Katsuki owned, and he had to wonder if their mothers had bought them from the same place. Denki trembled, sweat damp hair sticking up all over his damn head, body flushed red in the small shaft of sunlight pushing through the crack in his curtains.

Blood coated his pale arms from several bruising bite marks, bright and new against old scars. "Why am I here?" he moaned, tears tracing over the bridge of his nose and down his temple, "Why do I have to be alive? I don't want to do this anymore. I don't want to hurt anymore, Jirou. I don't want it."

"Don't say that," Jirou whispered, pressing gentle kisses to his broken skin and temple, kissing away his tears as they fell, "There's so much to live for."

"There's no point. I can't do what I'm meant to. I'll never have pups. I'll never make an alpha happy," he sobbed, golden eyes squeezed shut.

Uraraka nestled the teddy bear against his chest before covering him with the blanket Jirou had brought. Katsuki set down his bag where Jirou had set the other.

Without discussion, the three omegas moved to surround him, their scents and omegas reaching out to him. Even through his blockers, Katsuki's omega was stretching, stretching, stretching his pheromones as far as they could go. Jirou laid in front of Denki, wrapping her hands around his. Uraraka lifted his head into her lap, petting at his matted hair.

Katsuki laid behind him, their backs pressed together. His purr overlapped the girls', and they created a chorus around him, trying their best to calm him. "Listen to me, Dunce Face," he whispered, the purr making his voice waver, "This does not define you." He dug into his memory, pulling out what his mother had told him all those years ago. He was older now, had more experience, and he understood Denki on a level none of the others ever could. "Your actions will define you. They'll determine what kind of man you are in the end. Whether you can give birth is not your only function. Don't let that whiny, bitchy omega in your chest determine your worth. Your worth is not determined on whether you can make an alpha happy or not, if you can give an alpha pups or not. And if an alpha hates you for being born different means they're not worthy of being your mate anyway. There are always alternatives to traditional birth, don't think that's the only way. Don't you want to be a hero?" When he didn't get an answer, he pushed up onto an elbow and snarled over his shoulder, "Don't you?"

Denki nodded, but his eyes were still screwed shut, his chin dimpled.

"Then become a hero. Don't let this," Katsuki waved his hand over Denki's body, "This mutation in your genes stop you from doing that. Don't let your omega make you want to leave this world. To do this." He ran warm fingers over Denki's bloody bite marks, gentler than he'd ever been. "That's not their decision. You are their master. You're worth is not determined by their one track desire."

The three omegas were blinked at him, Denki sniffling as he stared at him.

After a long moment, Denki whispered, "Alright. Okay," but he pressed his forehead back to Jirou's, the tears gathering in the corners of his eyes again.

Sighing, Katsuki stood as there was a knock at the door. When he opened it, the hallway was empty, but there was a small pile of shirts on the floor. He knew from the size of the pile that they weren't just from Mina and Kirishima, but instead of getting annoyed, he just picked them up and dumped them over Denki. "Presents from your friends. I hope they smell to your liking."

Sniffling, Denki pushed himself up, and started to pick through the pile.

Katsuki, Jirou and Uraraka stayed with him throughout his entire heat except for when they had to be in class. They took shifts to get food, shower and use the bathroom. They stayed so he wouldn't be alone. They stayed to make sure he didn't do something stupid. Like let in an alpha sniffing at the crack of his door.

Katsuki couldn't remember how many times he ran off one of the four alphas in their class or ones that had found their way into their dorm. He wasn't keen on their four, but he instinctively knew they were only worried about their friend. The ones from other classes... He could smell the menace and ill intent and wanting.

The dorms were supposed to be a safe haven for them.

After running off the sixth wayward alpha, Katsuki found the entirety of the class gathered in the common room and chewed them out until all their heads were ducked. He focused particularly on the alphas as it should have been an instinctual thing to run off other alphas encroaching on the classes' territory, especially with a particularly vulnerable classmate in the building. Especially with an omega in heat in the building. "He may not be fertile, but that doesn't stop him from being your fucking classmate. Take some fucking responsibility. Make your alphas submit to you, and do what you were born to do!" he's snarled at the four, standing in the middle of the class smelling like omega and heat and Denki's distress.

The alphas ducked their head, even Todoroki, with Kirishima and Mina looking bad, but Izuku looking the worst. After that, the number of unwelcome alphas in the dorms exponentially decreased.

Walking out of the dorms the next morning, he wasn't expecting to see Izuku raise his hackles to display deadly canines and snarl at another alpha that stepped not only too close to the dorms, but too close to the three omegas that smelled thickly of Denki's heat.

Katsuki hadn't been able to tear his eyes from Izuku the rest of the day, his omega unbearably restless in his chest. 'Alpha Lover. Mate. Scent. Friend. Family. Alpha Lover. Mate. Mate. Mate.'

It was almost a relief to go back to Denki's room, but that meant the other three could smell the arousal and confusion on him. That also bothered him because they kept glancing at him. They weren't, luckily, stupid enough to comment on it though.

Denki's heat broke on the third day, and while it was a welcome relief, it was bittersweet as the four dispersed back to their respective rooms and groups. The four didn't make sense as a group of friends, but it had been comfortable. Simple talk and comparing music and all piling together in Denki's nest.

One day, they'd all have to take their heats on their own because they'd actually be seeking out mates. They were in this together for now though, and even if the others didn't know he was an omega like them, he'd let his omega steer him to protect them as well.

While Katsuki's omega was more than happy with the events, Katsuki couldn't get Denki's scent out of his clothes and hair for a week.

.....

Katsuki should have known that at some point the others would start to wonder about his lack of a definitive scent. Sometimes he smelled like omega, mostly when he'd just taken his blockers for the day and the blockers from the day before had begun to wear off. Sometimes he smelled like beta, scent muted almost to the point of nonexistence, no discernible features speaking to alpha, beta or omega. Sometimes he smelled like an alpha, Kirishima's or Izuku's scent sticking to him after brushing too close or letting Kirishima scent him. His attitude and personality made people who didn't know him not question it.

That didn't stop them from challenging him though.

Katsuki stood in the middle of the ring, stretching slowly as he waited for his opponent to step up.

Shinsou, hair messy and a deeper purple than the last time Katsuki had seen him, stepped out onto the mat with a heavy sigh. "You know, you're the last person I wanted to spar today."

'Likewise,' Katsuki thought viciously, but remembered to stay quiet. His skin felt hot with exertion, sweat beading across his forehead. He was having sympathy heat pangs as Uraraka made the slowest slide into heat that Katsuki had ever had to suffer through. Normally, he didn't respond to their heats, but he suspected one of the others had started their pre-heat as well. His omega was releasing a higher volume of his scent in response. As it was, he couldn't increase his dosage of blockers any more, so he'd been using Kirishima's casual and often scenting to cover up any remnants of his own scent.

His omega lifted its head, sniffing the air as Shinsou stepped closer to him. 'Alpha. Compatible. Good smell. Companion. Competitor. Possible mate.' His omega like Shinsou's frame, how he'd filled out since the Sports Festival and the gentle lilac scent he was releasing.

'Don't even think about it,' he thought savagely at his omega, especially when he saw Denki perk up. His ozone and lemon scent filled the area to overpower the others in both classes.

The alpha across from him cocked his head, glancing from Katsuki's aggressive expression to Denki's curious one. His eyes snapped back when Katsuki snarled low in his throat. "Protecting your little omega friend? He's cute. And I can smell that another one is going into heat. It's all over you. It's like it's under your skin."

"Alright, you two. Try not to hurt each other too badly. Recovery Girl isn't healing you guys anymore if you ruin each other," Aizawa said tiredly, standing at the edge of the ring. He narrowed his eyes specifically at Katsuki, but Katsuki just ignored his teacher in favor of cracking his knuckles.

'You might be here now, but you can't beat me,' Katsuki said in a wordless growl.

"Don't underestimate me," Shinsou murmured, "I'm not the same person from a year ago."

Katsuki dropped into a low fighting stance, hands held palms out. 'Neither am I.'

As Aizawa stepped away from the mat, waving for them to begin, Katsuki burst away from his mark. He dropped to the floor before Shinsou could consider dodging, shooting out a leg to sweep his feet from under him, but the alpha wasn't there.

Instead, in a move that was far more limber than he appeared, Shinsou flipped himself backwards, legs following one right after the other. He came up with his fists raised beside his chin and eyes sharp. "I told you not to underestimate me."

Katsuki snarled low in his throat, and his omega thrilled at the challenge in Shinsou's words. 'Challenge. Opponent. Alpha. Fight. Strong. Possible mate.' Fighting the rumble of approval his omega was making, he darted forward and slipped under Shinsou's guard. Fist flying, he just barely noticed Shinsou's own fist on a path towards his face before their fists impacted.

They wheeled away from each other, surprised and spurred on at the same time.

Standing straight, Katsuki licked at the blood in the corner of his mouth and watched as Shinsou wiped away the trickle of blood down his lips.

Sniffing, Shinsou frowned and stared down at his fist. Glancing back up, he cocked his head again. They stalked back towards each other, and Shinsou started speaking as they exchanged blows. "Your friends' scents aren't the only thing all over you," he said calmly, just barely dodging a fistful of fire to the face, "Do they know?"

'Know what? Stop fucking talking and fight.'

His voice dropped lower, and Katsuki wouldn't have heard him if they weren't already nose to nose. "Do they know you're a little omega bitch too? Or have you been hiding it this whole time? They don't know, do they? That you're an extraneous piece. Useless."

Katsuki froze, eyes wide, and in that fatal moment, Shinsou slammed his knee into Katsuki's stomach. He doubled over as his omega shrank back beneath the onslaught of the alpha's spilling pheromones. 'Don't you dare cower! Don't you dare submit!' Shoving a foot into Shinsou's stomach, he put as much distance as he could between them to catch his breath.

They were both panting and bloody, smoking holes in their clothing. It took them a moment before they rushed each other again, fighting as if their fate would be decided by the win or the loss.

"Do they know you want to be fucked into the floor as badly as your little friend? Do you think he'd open up for me? Just let me mount him like a slut and use him up?" Shinsou asked, and even though Katsuki knew that he was only talking out his ass to get a rise out of him, he felt his blood begin to boil in response. "Do you help him through his heat? Fuck him as if you were an alpha? I bet he'd be so wet if I fucked him, dripping wet even if he didn't really want me. Should I try?"

Katsuki could barely stop the words from falling from his mouth. His vicious growl was warning enough. 'Don't fucking touch him!'

"Can't you smell him? Putting out all those pheromones. Do you think he even realizes? That he's broadcasting an invitation? Do you think he's getting wet just thinking about it?" His face never changed, the blood dripping over his lips and down his chin. His face was impassive, even as he asked, "What about you? I bet you get wet thinking about alpha cock too. All you omegas are the same, aren't you? Even useless, sterile ones. You just want some alpha to come and put you in your place. You'd like to be filled, try to breed, but you know you can't. You're broken too, just like your little friend."

Katsuki roared, and in the next second, they were on the ground. He straddled Shinsou, pinning him more effectively than he'd pinned Deku in their stupid fucking fight. His pheromones were wrapped around him, trying to make him submit non-verbally, but Katsuki was done with the flight. He pummeled into Shinsou's body, and he could hear the other scrambling behind him. "Shut the fuck up! Don't fucking touch him! Don't fucking talk about shit you don't understand!" he shouted at the top of his lungs. Shinsou may have finally been able to use his quirk, but Katsuki was bodily pulled away from him before he could.

He struggled against Izuku's strong hold, fighting against the calming pheromones radiating off of him. Fresh rain and lightning were accompanied by mint, and Katsuki realized Izuku must have come off his scent blockers. His scent was ten times stronger than usual, nearly choking him. Who was he trying to attract anyway? Who's attention was he trying to catch by coming off his blockers? Or had he finally just realized there was no reason for him to hide? His mind was reeling with Izuku's body hard against his back, solid and built.

"Let me go! I'm going to fucking kill him!" Katsuki snarled, pushing against Izuku's body as much to get back to the fight as to get away from him and his warmth and his scent.

Smoke filled his eyes. Someone was calling to Tsu for help. The acrid smell of burning paint doubled in beside Izuku's scent. Something was on fire.

"Bakugou!" Aizawa warned.

"Stop." Shinsou was sitting up, his face a bloody, impassive mess as he stared at Katsuki.

Katsuki stilled immediately and his mind went blank. Rage still simmered in his chest, riling up his omega even though he'd been so excited for the fight before. Threatening Denki had turned him against Shinsou. Small blessings, Katsuki supposed.

"Midoriya, let him go, please," Shinsou said, and Katsuki's mind cleared as Shinsou stepped close.

Izuku released him, but kept a hand on his shoulder.

Shinsou held out a large hand to Katsuki. "Thank you for a good fight. It was amazing. Most people hold back, so I'm honored that you didn't. I'm impressed at your self-control not to respond. I didn't mean anything that I said. I was just trying to get a rise out of you, to get you to say something." He waited until Katsuki grudgingly took his hand, and his voice dropped lower so that only Katsuki could hear him. "I'd never hurt your friend, and I don't tell other peoples' secrets." His scent had receded, allowing Izuku's to overpower it. "So, I'll keep yours too," he finished.

Katsuki glared at the alpha, feeling a defensive snarl rise from his omega. "Don't do me any favors. And his name is Denki, not 'your friend'," he spat and turned on a heel.

Izuku stuck around, apologizing and chatting with Shinsou.

Grabbing his sweatshirt, Katsuki marched from the gym.

.....

Denki's heat rose with one of Uraraka's months after his spar with Shinsou. Jirou and Katsuki split up between them instead of keeping them together. Two omegas in heat in the same room would not only send every alpha in a ten mile radius into a rut, but also push Jirou into her next heat sooner than planned. Splitting up between the two meant they were with them at all times, and that meant Katsuki was around after the school day when a knock sounded at Denki's door.

Groaning, he pushed himself off the floor where he'd been curled around Denki only for the omega to whine at the loss of contact. His heat had been worse than usual, leaving him thrashing and rutting against the floor as Katsuki tried to soothe him without touching him too intimately. Normally, he didn't have a problem lending his cock or hand or mouth to the situation, but not this time. No matter how much Denki begged and pleaded, Katsuki wouldn't be able to give him what he wanted no matter what he did.

They hadn't slept in days, and Katsuki had stopped going to class after the third day.

Deep bags marring the skin beneath his eyes and shirtless chest sticky with sweat, Katsuki opened the door. "What?"

The alpha's lilac smell hit him like a bulldozer, and he knew if he was being so affected by the subtle scent, Denki would go out of his mild.

Anger flared in his chest. Stepping into the hallway, Katsuki pushed Shinsou towards the opposite wall. "Rein in your fucking scent, shit head. You're going to make him worse. He's been out of his mind for nearly five days. You guys have been getting pretty chummy lately, so why the fuck are you here now? So late?" Katsuki spit his words bitterly. His omega's protection was out in full force, snarling and rumbling deep in his chest, but his omega immediately backed down, recognizing Shinsou's scent all over Denki's room.

Shinsou had a hand over his mouth and nose, breathing shallowly through parted lips as the smell of Denki's heat lifted from Katsuki's skin and spilled from the cracked door. "I came to drop off some clothes. Denki texted me at the beginning of the week, but I was on a work study mission, and... Tell him I'm sorry."

Katsuki stared down at the bag Shinsou was holding, eyes narrowed. He backed away from Shinsou, frowning. "What is Denki to you?"

"He's-"

Before Shinsou could continue, the door creaked open to reveal Denki hanging off the frame, his heat briefs soaked through and straining over his erection. His golden eyes were glazed, his hair matted from days of sweat and Katsuki's fingers. He looked like he was wanting for nothing more than to be dicked down. "Toshi," he rasped, taking an unsteady step out the door.

Horror and the need to protect the unsuspecting omega tore through Katsuki. "No, you horny idiot! Get back inside and shut the door!" he shouted, but his omega didn't rise like he was expecting.

'Mates. Mark. Alpha. Omega. Pair. Mates. Need to mark.'

Shinsou remained pressed against the wall under Katsuki's hand, stalk still.

Scooping up the bag Shinsou had brought, Katsuki rushed to push the idiot back into the room, but Denki ducked his arm with more speed than he'd been expecting. He just barely managed to wrap his arm around Denki's waist as he pressed up against Shinsou. Denki's arms wrapped around his neck, and he pulled himself up Shinsou's body enough to press their mouths together.

Shinsou stiffened even further, fists tightening at his sides even as his eyes squeezed shut and his mouth moved along with Denki's. A moan slipped passed his lips.

Stunned, it took Katsuki several long moments before he could jerk Denki away. He didn't know that they'd gotten that close. He lifted Denki off his feet, turning him back towards the room, kicking and screaming. Kicking open the door, he struggled to get Denki back through the door, both hands and feet braced along the door frame.

Slick started to slip down Katsuki's stomach and into the top of his shorts.

"Hitoshi! Alpha!" Denki all but screamed.

Katsuki caught a glimpse of Izuku at the end of the hallways, seemingly coming to investigate all of noise. "Oi! Deku! Come fucking help me with this dunce face before he sends Shinsou into a goddamn rut!" he yelled at him.

Izuku looked startled, eyes darting over the entirety of the situation before moving quickly. He clapped Shinsou on the shoulder. "Get out of here before you do something you'll regret," he said gently, squeezing the other alpha's shoulder, "We'll take care of him." When Shinsou didn't move, he continued. "Your panting. You're not going to be able to hold out much longer. Run while you can. You did great."

"Alpha!" Denki yowled, nearly bending Katsuki in half as he pushed away from the door. His nails dug deep into Katsuki's arm, and the smell of blood filled the air.

"Go!" Izuku shouted, and Shinsou took off down the hallway. Crossing to Katsuki and Denki, he ran a hand down Katsuki's back and coaxed a tremble out of him. "I've got it," he whispered for Katsuki's ears alone as to not send Denki spiraling even further.

Pulling a shirt from the bag on Katsuki's arm, Izuku started to purr loudly and lifted the shirt to press to Denki's face as he clamped his free hand around the back of Denki's neck.

Denki went limp instantly, and Katsuki sagged beneath his weight. He purred, purred, purred, reaching up to cradle Izuku's hand and inhaling deeply. "Hitoshi. Alpha," he moaned happily, slick dripping down Katsuki's stomach again.

"Okay. I'll hold this while you walk in," Izuku murmured, his voice warbling with the force of his purr.

Katsuki was trembling. Between Denki's heat and his fading suppressants and Izuku's scent and Izuku's body pressed close to his, he could barely keep himself from rubbing his scent all over him. He wanted to scent him. He wanted to mate him. He wanted-

'Alpha. Mate. Companion. Friend. Family. Alpha Lover. Heat. Mate. Heat.' His omega pressed flush against his skin, heating him from the inside out.

Katsuki growled deep in his throat, and both Izuku and Denki reacted.

Denki became utter putty under his hands. The front of his shorts was soaked with Denki's slick.

Izuku's eyes flickered to him, his hand dropping from Denki's neck to slide around the back of Katsuki's, and he shivered again. Did he just slide his wrist against his scent gland? Did his fingers just trace the length of his neck? Did he-

"Calm down, Katsuki, I'm not going to do anything to Denki."

A silent sigh of relief passed through Katsuki. Izuku didn't get it which meant he didn't get that Katsuki was releasing so many pheromones that they were nearly covering up Denki's. His omega rubbed against his chest, scratching to be let out. 'Alpha Lover! Mate!'

He needed his suppressants and a very long bath.

"I've got him," he growled, trying not to think of the heat on the back of his neck, "Now, fuck off!"

Wrenching away from Izuku, he hefted Denki into the room and kicked the door closed behind him, locking it quickly. He laid Denki down in his nest, dumping out the bag of Shinsou's clothing right on top of him. He immediately started to roll through the clothing, sighing happily as his pressed another shirt to his nose and a pair of shorts between his legs.

Katsuki sat down on the edge of Denki's bed, staring down at him and trying to reign in his own omega. There was slick on his stomach and slick between his thighs, and the heat of Izuku's hand lingered back of his neck yet. He wasn't a little terrified that it would never leave.

It was only thirty minutes later that another knock sounded at the door.

Denki moaned loudly, so Katsuki waited until he'd settled down again before opening the door.

The doorway was empty, but a change of clothes, a bag of waters and snacks, and a damp wash cloth sat on the ground. Everything smelled like Izuku, even the clothes which were clearly Katsuki's.

The image of Izuku vigorously scenting Katsuki's clothing had him gathering everything and slamming the door again. He pressed the stack to his nose. Tucked into the folds of his clothing though, he found his bottles of suppressants and blockers, and ice dumped into his veins.

"Fuck," he whispered, slumping to the floor.

Denki's head lifted from his nest, and after a moment's consideration, he crawled over to curl up against Katsuki's side. He purred gently, stroking down Katsuki's bare side.

.....

Izuku swallowed down the feeling that rose in his throat after Katsuki slammed the door. He shouldn't have touched Katsuki like that. He shouldn't have scented him without permission. He shouldn't have-

He shook his head, running a hand through his curls. His suppressants were in full swing, but he could feel the pre-rut surfacing along his skin.

It could have just been from the proximity to Denki or it could have been the sight of Katsuki all rumpled covered in Denki's heat pheromones looking like a wet dream come to life.

Or it could have just been Denki's heat.

That was definitely it.

For sure.

Nothing more than that.

His wrist felt seared where he'd ran it along Katsuki's skin.

'Mate. Omega. Mark. Mate. Friend. Family. Omega Lover. Mate.'

Shoving down his own alpha's head, Izuku headed towards Katsuki room. Despite knowing Katsuki was going to be pissed about him going into his room uninvited, he figured he'd at least be a little grateful for a change of clothes.

When he picked up the bottles of suppressants and blockers, he was less surprised than he thought he should have been. He'd suspected Katsuki of being an omega since the entrance exam, and the pills were just the last bit of evidence he needed.

Being in Katsuki's space, surrounded by his scent, his alpha purred loudly in response. 'Omega Lover.'

Heat flushing his cheeks, Izuku shoved the bottles between the folds of the clothing he'd grabbed and muttered dispassionately, “Not yet.'

…..

Later, when Denki's heat had finally broken and they were laying silently in his nest, Katsuki asked, "So, when did that start?"

"When did what start?" Denki asked. He was cuddled up in Shinsou's sweater and a clean pair of boxers. He stared at the ceiling and didn't look over at Katsuki.

Katsuki didn't turn to look at him either, lips pressed into a thin line. "You know what I'm talking about Dunce Face. When did that shit with the purple haired bastard start?"

Pushing himself up, Denki started down at Katsuki. "You mean Hitoshi?"

"Who else would I mean, dumbass? You've literally been masturbating to his smell for two whole days. Your heat lasted for a week because you didn't have his smell. Is there another alpha whose dick you're trying to jump? You slutting it up with all the alphas?" Katsuki snapped, all patience leaving him after being stuck in a room with Denki for an entire week and producing slick for the last two days because of Izuku's intentional or otherwise scenting. Stupid fucking Deku. He was at his wit's end with Denki and Izuku and his own fucking body.

Denki sputtered. "N-no! No! I've only been s-s-seeing Hitoshi! There's no other alphas! Why would you say that?"

"Because you were hiding the fact that you were seeing some half-baked alpha behind our backs!" he spat, sitting up and pushing away from Denki, "Do the others know?"

Denki dropped his eyes, playing with a fraying thread at the edge of a cuff. "No. I mean, Sero knows, but that's because he walked in on us. We were just hanging out in here." He quickly continued as Katsuki's eyebrow drew into sharp points over his eyes. "We weren't doing anything! We were just laying in here talking. You know what? I don't know why I'm defending myself. I shouldn't have to defend myself for being in a relationship. I shouldn't have to defend myself to my friend! You should be happy for me! You're supposed to be my friend!" There were tears in his yellow eyes, and his fingers were wrapped tightly in the cuffs of the sweater.

Katsuki hated post-heat probably the most out of anything surrounding the three omegas' heats. They always got so emotional. It was like even after being rung out by their heats, they still found some well of emotion that hadn't been touched and needed to expel if before things could return to normal. It was a hassle.

He glared at Denki, angry because there were tears in Denki's eyes. He was angry because he had made Denki cry so soon after his heat, after he'd cried for the first five days of it. He was angry because he could feel sympathy tears building in the corners of his own eyes. Fucking post-heat! "I am your friend, are you fucking kidding me? I'm the one who's been here through your entire heat! I'm the one who kept you from doing something fucking stupid like giving yourself to some random alpha! Just because I worry about you doesn't mean I'm not your fucking friend, asshole!"

"Yeah, but you don't have to act like Hitoshi's a bad guy, like he's trying to take advantage of me! He'd never make me do something I don't want to do! He's never commanded me!" Denki shouted back, the tears falling. He scrubbed at his face, but the tears just kept on rolling. "I'm not stupid, Katsuki. I know you think I am, but I'm not. And neither is Hitoshi. No matter if you think I'm an idiot, we know better than to rush into things. We know that things in high school might not last forever. We're waiting to do anything more than kiss, and that's why this heat was so hard. Because all I wanted was him curled around me, protecting me, but I couldn't. We'd go too far. I know that! So, stop treating me like a kid!” The tears had dried up, and he simply stared imploringly at Katsuki. “You should be happy for me that I found an alpha who wants me even though I can't give him pups. Don't you want to find an alpha like that too?"

Katsuki was taken aback by the sudden change in conversation, glaring at the other omega. His hackles raised defensively. "Why the fuck would I want that?"

Denki stared back at him sadly, bottom lip trembling. "Katsuki, we've been here for two years. I know."

"You don't know shit!"

"I do! And so does Ochako and Kyoka! We've known since our first year the first time you helped me through heat. We started to suspect when we were all drawn to you. We know, and we haven't said anything because we know you don't want people to know. Aren't you tired though?"

"There's nothing to be tired of because there's nothing to know!"

"Aren't you tired of hiding? Of the blockers and suppressants and all of it? Fighting your omega every single day? None of it is healthy, and no one would think less of you just because you're an om-"

Katsuki's snarl was animalistic as he stood and stalked towards his pile of belongings. "Don't fucking say it."

"What? That you're an omega? Well, you are Katsuki, and you can't run from it forever! One of these days, you're going to have to come off your suppressants, and it's not going to feel good. At all. You're so strong and great, but you can't get through a heat that's been suppressed for years on your own. You're going to be one of the top heroes one day, but are you really going to hide away what you really are just because you're scared?"

"Shut the fuck up, Denki. You don't know what the fuck you're talking about."

Denki sighed, still sitting in the middle of his nest. "One day, Katsuki, you're going to find someone, whether that's an alpha or not, that you really want to be with, and you're going to have to come clean. Are you going to be able to?"

Without turning to look at him, Katsuki stalked from the room. He needed to scrub himself clean until he couldn't smell Denki's heat on him. Until he couldn't hear Denki's words echoing through his ears.

.....

Katsuki should have known better. Should have prepared better.

No one thought the mission would last so long. It was just a work study mission over their last summer at UA. They were only supposed to be out of the city for a couple weeks at most. He'd prepared for the worst case and taken both bottles of suppressants and blockers instead of just what he'd need for the trip. He'd assumed he'd have enough. The prescription was up at the end of the month, which was just enough time for them to get back if something went seriously wrong.

He'd started rationing them as soon as he'd been told they'd be there for another week. They were there for nearly a month and a half.

He ran out the day before they were meant to come back.

His heat started to push against his skin as they traveled back, but it was a creeping, tentative thing almost as slow as Uraraka's heat. When he finally pushed back into the dorms, empty as everyone was still in class, he combating the need to nest. That restless, uncomfortable feeling beneath his skin that made him want to itch bloody scratches into his skin. He had the thought that while everyone was still in class, he could sneak into their rooms and borrow just one thing, a shirt or pillow or extra towel, that they wouldn't miss while it was gone. It'd only be a few days after all.

'Nest. Nest. Nest. Nest. Nest,' his omega chanted.

Instead of beginning, Katsuki dropped his stuff off in his room and grabbed his shower things.

The shower was nearly unbearable on his already oversensitive skin, and to make it bearable enough to finish the shower, he had to turn the temperature down as low as he could. Standing beneath the freezing spray, he could barely feel the cold as his skin steamed. He gritted his teeth against the sensations, scrubbing until his skin was raw and pink.

Once he was out of the shower, he slipped into his heat briefs and stalked through the dorms for the kitchen. Following his instincts, he gathered water bottle after water bottle and snacks that would be easy to get down and keep down.

Back in his room, he pulled his sheets from his bed and considered where to start nesting. He preferred small, dark, cozy spots so far for his heats, but he didn't have a closet to nest in this time. Growling out his irritation, he dropped the blankets on the floor and pulled his mattress from his frame. He shoved it in a corner opposite of where his frame was, opening one side of the sliding glass doors as wide as they'd go. Returning for the blankets, he dropped them in the middle of the mattress and then began pushing all of his furniture around the mattress to enclose the space as much as possible. It wouldn't be as small and dark as he'd like, but it'd have to do.

Satisfied with his nest to that point, he stalked from his room, leaving his door wide open as he made his way to Kirishima's room first. The door was unlocked as always, and he pushed into the room without hesitation. Standing in the doorway, he inhaled the alpha's heady, spice ridden scent, like seasoned meat cooking over an open flames. Apples and cinnamon and paprika all mingling together as he shuffled through the clothes scattered across his floor for something suitable. He found Kirishima's favorite workout shirt saturated with his scent and slung it over his shoulder before leaving the room.

He stopped by Uraraka's and Ashido's rooms, both unlocked -was he the only person that locked their damn door?- and paid a visit to Sero's room after that. He grabbed only one item, something they might not notice for awhile, but that he could wash thoroughly once his heat was over.

Dropping down to the floor beneath his, he went into Jirou's room first, finding the box she kept all of the clothing she was willing to share with the others during their heats and rifling through it. There was a pair of tattered old sweatpants in the bottom that Uraraka coveted during her heats that Katsuki pulled out with a decided hum. Closing the box, he pushed it back into its hiding hole.

He paused outside Denki's door for several long moments. After their argument months and months ago, Denki had made it a point to attach himself to Shinsou's side. If he wasn't with him, he was hanging out with the other two omegas. Things had been far tenser in their friend group than ever before, and Katsuki wasn't sure the other omega would be okay with him going into his space.

'Friend. Scent. Need. Nest,' his omega whined plaintively, pressing against his rib cage.

He could only hope that their time apart had helped Denki's anger calm. He could only hope that Denki wasn't still holding a grudge against him for everything he'd said.

He should have just apologized when Kirishima, Mina and Sero had told him to.

Slipping into the room, he tried his best not to touch too many things, but it took him several shirts to find one that smelled solely of Denki and not also of Shinsou. They're scents were already beginning to tangle together, and he knew they'd make it passed graduation. He suspected they'd be a mated pair before the end of the year after graduation.

He tucked the shirt beneath the folds of the other clothing he'd gathered, and quickly left the other omega's room.

He grimaced at the overwhelming scent of alpha coming from Hagakure's room, and wondered when the girl had finally presented. She'd been the last in the class, trailing behind Oijirou who had been a beta. He'd forgotten how out of control new alpha's pheromones could be. Not that two omegas on the same floor helped the situation.

He dropped his haul on his bed before finding his way to the second floor and the last bedroom he was compelled to borrow -steal- from. He stood outside Izuku's door for far longer than he'd stood outside of Denki's, nose twitching and dick already half hard in his heat briefs. 'Just do it. Just go in there, take something, and go. It's not hard. Stop being a pussy. Just. Do. It,' Katsuki chanted at himself as his body trembled at the thought of being encompassed by the alpha's gentle scent.

It took his omega to push him into the room. 'Alpha. Scent. Need. Nest. Alpha Lover. Want. Want. Want.'

Inhaling deeply, Katsuki finally twisted the knob and pushed open the door.

The room was just like he remembered Izuku's room from childhood. All Might merch plastered across the walls and his bed and bookshelves. Even his curtains are All Might themed, and he couldn't believe that he'd forgotten how much of fanboys they used to be over All Might. All Might hoodies and action figures and cartoons. Only, one of them had outgrown the obsession in the physical sense and the other still wore it proudly on his sleeve.

Sniffling at the sudden rush of emotion, Katsuki ran the back of his hand beneath his nose before stepping further into the room. Izuku's scent is as clean and subtly strong as ever, and it eased the omega in his chest immediately as he took in the room one piece of fan merch at a time. On a high shelf, he spotted the notebooks Izuku had been notorious for when they were in middle school. He'd figured he still made them, but the shelf was nearly full with more than twenty notebooks. He had to wonder how much time he'd spent on them.

If Katsuki had more time before his heat made it impossible for him to even move, he would have pulled down the notebooks and paged through Izuku's thoughts, but he didn't, and with each passing moment he knew it was getting more and more dangerous to be outside his bedroom. He didn't have suppressants in his room, and even if he did, he wouldn't be able to suppress the heat that had been building for two years. Two years of hiding later, he'd be outed as an omega and his feelings for Izuku would be broadcast just by his heat scent being in Izuku's room.

He wished he could stop himself from needing Izuku's scent, but even as a child, he'd never been able to help being near Izuku. After everything that had happened in the passed two years alone between them, it was a wonder he could have still been in denial.

The scratching and clawing and needing in his chest screamed a different story.

He let his omega lead him forward, running his fingers along his desk and the back of his chair. He picked up the night shirt draped over the chair and pressed it to his nose. Heat crawled into his cheeks from embarrassment rather than his heat. Being in Izuku's room felt more illicit than the others, like he was doing something untoward. Like he was some kind of pervert. Like he was planning on jerking off in his bed instead of just taking a shirt.

The thought made heat rush south, and he tilted his head back on his neck to stare at the ceiling and breath. He couldn't afford to rush himself into heat while still in an alpha's space, let alone in Izuku's room. He hadn't had a heat in over two years on double suppressants, and that didn't bode well for him.

Growling down his omega, he threw the shirt over his shoulder and continued around the room. There were his curtains, pulled open to let the sun in. There was his stupid All Might plush. There was his pillow with a drool stain on the corner.

He stopped as he stared at the end of the bed.

Folded at the end was an annoying familiar blanket. When they'd been younger, it had been the softest kind of flannel, but years of washings and abuse had matted the material. Under his fingers though, it felt as soft as he remembered, and when he lifted it, he laughed at the hole they'd ripped through the fabric when they'd been fighting over it. Pressing the blanket to his nose, Izuku's smell was the most prevalent, but he could smell himself beneath that as well. Their childhood scents mingling together.

His omega's purr was deafening.

Snuggling into the blanket, he pulled it around his shoulders and felt no qualms about taking it with him. Izuku would come looking for it eventually, but that might be for the better in the end if his omega's obsession was anything to go by.

"Come on, you utter animal," Katsuki muttered to his chest, closing Izuku's door behind him and taking his ass back to his room. He needed to sequester himself. He needed to nest.

Locking his door behind him, he threw himself on his makeshift nest, rumbling and purring and nuzzling until he was hopelessly tangled in his friends clothing. He wriggled into Izuku's oversized sweater, covering his nose with the collar. The sweater fit well on the alpha, but on Katsuki, it as loose around the shoulders and flapped around his waist. His arms felt a little more snug than he preferred though.

There was something missing, and it didn't take him long to realize what it was.

.....

Uraraka frowned down at her phone at lunch, staring at the text Katsuki had sent her.

Hot Head

I don't have anything that smells like my parents

"What?" she muttered, wondering what that could possibly mean. It didn't make much sense. Actually, it didn't make any sense at all. She hadn't heard from Katsuki in over a month. He'd been on that work study mission that had lasted way longer than it was supposed to. So, he must have been back, but she didn't understand why he was texting her now. Of all times. None of the three omegas were in heat, and that was usually where Katsuki's vigilance over them stopped. "What does this even mean?"

"What's going on?" Izuku asked, leaning towards her to catch a glimpse of her phone.

She turned her phone so he could see the message, still frowning. "Katsuki just sent me that. Do you have any idea what it could mean?"

"Oh? Kacchan?" Izuku asked, eyes skating over the screen, "Is he back? The mission ran long."

Uraraka shrugged. "I mean, I guess. He hasn't talked to me since they went out, so probably. But I just don't get what this means."

Izuku read the text again before sighing. Standing, he tapped her on the shoulder. "It's fine, I know what it means. I'll take care of it."

Startled she stared up at him. "I don't know..." She trailed off at his wide smile.

"It'll be fine. I'll take care of it. I'll meet you guys back at the dorms tonight," he said, picking up his tray and moving from the table.

"Wait, you're going right now? You're skipping afternoon classes?"

Izuku smiled wider. "I'm sure it's important, so I'm going to take care of it now. Take care of him when you get back."

"Wha- Izuku!"

Izuku was gone though, already heading from the cafeteria.

.....

"I don't know. He just left in the middle of lunch. He said to take care of Katsuki like he knew something. I figured we could check on him." Uraraka explained as she stepped into the dorms with Jirou and Denki. As soon as they started up the stairs towards their rooms, the scent hit them like a brick to the face.

Denki dropped to the stairs, panting harshly. "Oh my god, what is that?" he whispered, accepting Jirou's helping hand and pulling himself up.

"Someone's in heat," Jirou and Uraraka said together, supporting him between them even as they felt the weight of pheromones pressing on them. They were already beginning to respond to the heat, skin uncomfortable, slick gathering between their legs, sweat coating their bodies.

"Who would be-" Denki stopped in the middle of his sentence, realization dawning as the bitter despair rolled over them. Lifting his head, he stared at his two friends. "Katsuki.” He pulled away to scramble up the stairs with the girls following close behind him.

"Katsuki? But he's on suppressants!" Uraraka called, sprinting after Denki, but she knew. They all knew. There was no one else in the building that would possibly be in heat, but that didn't mean it made sense.

They were still confused when they got to his door, but it was undeniable. Katsuki's pheromones were filling the entire hallway, pouring from his room in waves of despair and pain and heat. With trembling hands, Uraraka pulled out the ring of keys she kept all the omegas' room keys on. None of them ever locked their doors, but she knew him better.

"Katsuki, we're coming in," she called, pushing the key into the lock.

"We're lucky the others were lagging behind," Jirou whispered, both her and Denki pressing close to Uraraka to slip into the room and close the door as quickly as possible.

The room was surprisingly well lit, the curtains and sliding door pushed open to let in the afternoon light and breeze.

Jirou whined low in her throat, hand pressed over her mouth and nose. "Blasty?" she asked quietly as they got only a couple steps away from Katsuki and his nest.

Lifting his head, he stared at them with blurry eyes and hair even more of a mess than normal. A low growl had begun in his throat, but he stopped as soon as he recognized them. He locked his eyes with Uraraka, blinking some of the heat away. "Did you bring them?"

"Did I bring what?" she asked, stepping forward and crouching on the edge of the bed through an opening between the dresser and desk.

"I texted you."

"Oh." She bit her lip, looking away instead of facing him head on.

Flopping back down, back turned to the other omegas, he grumbled, "Whatever."

Leaning over him, Uraraka tried to catch his eye again, but he turned his face into a familiar blanket wrapped in his fingers. "I'm sorry. I didn't understand the text. You didn't really give me any context. But, um..." She trailed off again, more guilty than she'd already been.

He turned his head to glare at her. "What?"

"Um, Izuku saw the text, and I guess he understood it? He left at lunch. I, uh, I figured he was going to get something from your parents," she said quickly, scrambling back was he sat up straight.

There was a snarl on his lips and color high in his cheeks, and Katsuki looked absolutely wrecked. "Are you fucking kidding me? Deku knows? This could not possibly get any worse! Get the fuck out of my room! Now!" He was screaming, and his commanding snarl was something pulled deep from his chest. "You're not welcome in here. Fuck off."

"Katsuki!" Denki protested, stepping forward, "This is your first heat in who knows how long! You're going to need our help!"

"I don't need anyone! Get the fuck out of my room!"

"Katsuki," Denki tried again, but Katsuki's resounding snarl had him reacting as if he were an actual alpha. He scrambled away from Katsuki's nest and back towards the door with the other two.

They closed and locked it behind them, and immediately heard the same keening whine that Denki had used during his firsts heats a UA. A sound that was the embodiment of despair, and spoke to Katsuki's true feelings.

'Barren. Sterile. Useless,' it said, and Denki's omega responded in kind until he was keening back, sinking to his knees as he pressed his forehead to the door.

"Come on, stop listening to your omega. Remember what Katsuki always tells you. Don't let your omega control you. It doesn't define you," Jirou told him, but even she was feeling it, swallowing hard as she tried to stay strong. She looked to Uraraka. "What do we do? We can't leave him. What if someone comes by? His scent is so strong..."

Inhaling a steadying breath, Uraraka said, "We stay out here. If he needs us, he'll come get us. Until then, we stand vigilance. We're strong heroes in training. If we can't protect Katsuki during his most vulnerable time, what kind of heroes and friends would we be?"

"Ones very affected by their friend's heat?" Denki asked, turning to slump with his back against the wall instead of the door.

Jirou and Uraraka couldn't help the small laughs that fell from them as they sat on either side of him.

.....

The scent of Katsuki's heat had permeated through the dorm, and not for the first time, Izuku was supremely glad for the double suppressants he'd taken as soon as he'd understood the text Uraraka had shown him. The other alphas were already fighting their instincts, and Hagakure being the newest alpha had sequestered herself away after being catapulted into a rut. Kirishima and Mina hadn't even attempted to get to their rooms. Even Todoroki had decided to remain outside with the others instead of having to pass Katsuki's floor.

Izuku stepped in front of the three omegas outside of Katsuki's door, frowning at the deck of cards Jirou was skillfully shuffling and their various stages of undress. The girls had changed into tank tops and loose joggers, and Denki wore only shorts. The three were sweating profusely, but steadfastly ignoring the moisture as Jirou dealed the cards.

"Hi, guys, what are you doing?" he asked, friendly as ever and holding the bag that held a pair of shirts and blanket from Katsuki's parents.

None of the omegas looked up as they sorted their cards.

"Well, Katsuki kicked us out, so we're keeping an eye out for any alphas that happen to wander passed from out here," Denki said, laying out four aces and making the girls groan loudly.

"You're a fucking cheater," Jirou spat, shuffling through her cards quickly as Uraraka grumbled and she picked up a card just to discard another.

"Why did he kick you out?" Izuku asked.

The three glanced up at him, eyebrows raised. Uraraka was the first to say anything. "It's Katsuki," she said simply, glancing down at the bag, "Are those from his parents? I can take them in. How are you not affected?" She reached for the bag, moving to stand up.

Izuku held the bag out of her reach. "I don't think it'd be a good idea for you to bring it to him."

"I don't think it'd be a good idea for you to bring it to him," she told him, voice dropping lower to nearly a growl, and he couldn't remember a time she'd ever talked to him like that. Not even when he'd stopped by to drop off supplies for Denki or Jirou during their heats.

He stared back at her, impassive. He'd learned the expression from Shouto and Shinzou, and found it to be particularly useful at times. "I'm bringing these in to him. He's already kicked you three out previously."

"You're an alpha, Izuku. He's in his first heat since I don't know when-"

"The entrance exam."

She paused, staring at him. "What?"

"The last time he went into heat was at the entrance exam. I remember because I could smell how his body heat had changed. He was on blockers and suppressants at that time too, but his body temperature spiked. And the smell of his sweat changed. I didn't really realize what all that meant until later when we were already here. Actually, I only kind of started to get it after Kaminari's first heat."

Uraraka stared at him, confused. "You can't smell someone's heat in their sweat, and you shouldn't be able to smell anything if he was on blockers. That doesn't make any sense, Izuku."

"Ask him. The last time he went in heat was the entrance exam. The smell of his sweat doesn't change like that when he's having sympathy heat symptoms."

"That's not a thing."

"It is. I've known Kacchan since we were in grade school. And I'm very observant."

"What?" Uraraka asked, exasperated.

Denki stood, blocking Izuku's way to the door also, but there was a thoughtful expression on his face as he stared back.

From the floor, Jirou tilted her head, eyes narrowing.

"You're an alpha, Izuku, and I don't know if Katsuki would want you in his room," Denki said calmly, calmer than he ever usually was, "What are your intentions with him? Explain how you're not going to lose control. The other alphas seem to have cleared as far out as they can. Kiri and Mina haven't even come back to their rooms."

"Denki!" Uraraka hissed, pupils constricting the longer she stood there, fingers poised in front of her for a fight.

It hurt Izuku that they thought he would ever be a threat to any of them, let alone Katsuki. "I took double suppressants before even considering coming near here. I just want to help him any way I can. If he wants nothing to do with me, I'll leave. You can even chaperon me in there to make sure neither of us go out of our minds, but I need to check on him myself. I can..." He swallowed thickly, throat growing tight as he dropped his eyes. "I can smell his despair. I need to check on him. I need to help him."

The three omegas glanced between each other, communicating without words. Finally, Uraraka huffed and stepped out of the way. "Fine, Izuku, but we're going in with you."

Izuku nodded without argument, just happy that they'd accepted his terms without more negotiation. Standing outside the door was slowly driving him nuts because he could hear Katsuki's keening and the sourness of his heat. He was just through the door, in pain and without anyone in there to help him. Even knowing that they'd been exiled by Katsuki himself, he was still a little mad that they hadn't pushed to stay.

Pushing the unfamiliar annoyance away before they smelled it on him, he stepped passed them as Uraraka unlocked the door. The pheromones were stronger passed the door, but not as strong as he'd been expecting. What was strongest was the undercut of copper and salt, of blood, beneath the heat.

Worry in his voice, Izuku stopped into the middle of the room as close to Katsuki's nest as he was willing to get without permission. "Kacchan," he murmured, knowing Katsuki knew he was there, that he'd already caught his scent.

"Deeeekkkkuuuu," Katsuki whined, dragging out his nickname so long that he was breathless by the end.

Izuku took another step forward before dropping to the ground. "I brought shirts from your parents and a blanket," he whispered.

His whine grew high and wordless, like the whine of a dog in distress.

"Kacchan, can I get close to your nest?"

Instead of answering, Katsuki extended his hand backwards towards the end of his nest, clenching and releasing his fist.

Izuku ignored Uraraka's warning growl as he crawled to the edge of the mattress and tentatively pressed a knee into the surface. Setting the bag aside, he pulled the shirts and blanket out, lying them just behind Katsuki's back. He didn't retreat though, watching Katsuki sit up slowly and adjust them as he saw fit. When Katsuki glanced over his shoulder at him, Izuku's breath caught in his throat.

His eyes were red rimmed and swollen, blood dried on his chin. Color stained his cheeks, running down his neck and over his chest and back. Several bruising bite marks marred the creamy skin of his forearms, dark blood dried around the crescents where his teeth had broken through. His eyes were glazed over, but present enough to know who Izuku was. They skated over him, taking him in from head to toe and stopping at his hair.

"You got a hair cut," he whispered, softer than Izuku had ever heard his voice.

Something twisted in Izuku's chest. This was wrong, this soft, vulnerable, hurting version of Katsuki. This wasn't his Katsuki, his Kacchan. He wanted to return him back to the Katsuki he'd fallen for all those years ago.

He hated that his alpha loved the vulnerability in his expression.

He ran a self-conscious hand through the thatch of curls on the top of his head and over the shaved sides. "Does it look stupid?"

"You look hotter without the bush." Ignoring the way Izuku sputtered, he turned his eyes to the three omegas standing just behind Izuku. "Get out."

"Izuku-" Uraraka started, but he cut her off.

Izuku watched the exchange in amazement as Katsuki said calmly and clearly, "He stays. If you try to make him leave, I will hurt you. If you argue with me, I will hurt you. If you try to stay, I will hurt you. I'm not playing games today. I'm not entertaining you today. I know you're trying to help like we've always done with each other, but you can't. Not today. So get out."

Uraraka and Jirou sputtered, "B-but-"

Denki stayed suspiciously silent, watching the situation.

"I'm not some mindless fucking omega. I'm not going to do anything I don't want to do. I can't even smell his alpha, okay?" Katsuki snapped, scent flaring over them and making the three omegas flinch. He sighed tiredly. "Just... get out." He turned, lying back down with his back to the group. Over his shoulder, he said, "And stop hanging out outside my door. Just go... take care of yourselves. I don't need you protecting me. Deku will get you when I kick him out. And don't get close to the other alphas."

Izuku wanted to laugh a little. Even deep in his own pain and heat, he was still thinking of their safety. If that wasn't the epitome of Katsuki, he didn't know what was.

"Okay," Denki murmured, the first to respond with voice soft and fond, "We'll come check on you in a little bit if Izuku doesn't come find us." His eyes narrowed as they turned to Izuku. "If I find out you did anything..." He trailed off, glancing to Katsuki's back again. "Well, let's go guys."

"What? We're just going to roll over!" Uraraka shouted, anger coloring her voice.

"Yes," Jirou said quickly, now eyeing the other pair the same way Denki had been, "He'll be fine."

"But-"

"Let's go." The two omegas pulled Uraraka out as she struggled, closing and locking the door behind them.

In the silence, Izuku couldn't miss when the whine started up again. "Get over here," Katsuki demanded softly, and Izuku crawled onto the bed, sitting on his knees beside him.

"What do you want me to do?"

"Make my omega shut the fuck up," Katsuki hissed, panting breath and face buried in the All Might blanket Izuku usually kept on the end of his bed.

Izuku's head spun with the implication of that blanket here, of what it meant. Katsuki had needed his scent enough to go into his room and take something important to him, something that connected the two of them. Warmth bloomed in his chest, and he started to purr quietly. Cautiously, he laid down behind Katsuki without touching him. "What is he saying?"

"He's just-" Katsuki stopped, and a shudder ran through his body. "Can't stop reminding me that I'm... barren. I can't do what an omega is meant to do. I'm useless and I'll never find an alpha willing to be with someone who can't give them pups. God, fuck this!" The smell of fresh blood filled the air. "Fuck being an omega! This is why! This is why I- I can't- I fucking- I don't- I want- I want-" The keening started again. "God, I just want a pup, but I can't. Denki's lucky. He found an alpha who wants him despite his inability. But I'll never-"

Driven forward by his alpha's need to comfort the distressed omega and his own to help his childhood friend, Izuku pressed a kiss to Katsuki's shoulder. Katsuki went silent beneath him as he started to speak. He couldn't stop his honestly, and really, he didn't want to. He was so tired of dancing around his own truths. "I do. I want you. Ever since we were kids, I've loved you. That didn't change when we were in middle school and you hated me and I figured out that I also wanted you. That didn't change when I realized you were an omega. It's always you. It's always been you no matter what. Even when you're an asshole to me and call me names and push me away. It's still you. Even if you were an alpha, it'd still be you."

Katsuki's breath was a shudder as he exhaled. "I don't believe you. You're delusional," he whispered.

"Do you want me to prove it somehow? Just tell me what I need to do. Tell me if you even want that from me."

"I-" Katsuki stopped and turned towards Izuku, hunger and exhaustion and despair crowding together in his eyes. Pushing himself up on an arm, he shoved Izuku onto his back and leaned towards him, brushing their mouths together. Just the barest brush of lips, but so intimate that it made Izuku's head spin. Katsuki didn't pull away, eyes half-lidded and lips brushing Izuku's as he spoke. "Tell me to stop."

"No," Izuku said simply, closing the distance between them and pressing their mouths together.

Katsuki leaned into the touch, pressing Izuku down into the mattress. When he slipped his tongue passed Izuku's parted lips, he groaned so deep it reverberated through Izuku's chest.

True to omega fashion, Katsuki's mood immediately switched. His scent barely took a moment to change and fill the room with the heady scent of slick and arousal. He attacked Izuku's mouth with the same ferocity that he battled with, hot and in control and primal. Grinding his hard clothed cock against Izuku's thigh, he groaned again.

Izuku knew this was partially his own fault. It had been the same for Denki, he remembered. His heats had changed once Shinsou had taken to him as much as Denki had to Shinsou, accepting him for everything he was. Only after his alpha had accepted his omega.

Despite Katsuki's desperation though, Izuku's mind was as clear as it could be with his long time crush hovering over him. He'd heard what it was like for other alphas to go into a rut, how uncontrollable and painful it could for them. How they sometimes couldn't keep themselves from marking omegas they stumbled upon. How they had been pushed into a rut by an omega in heat.

But Izuku was confident in the suppressants and his own will power. He knew that he wouldn't let Katsuki's omega or his own alpha push them into something they couldn't do so soon after coming to an understanding. He'd help Katsuki, but he hadn't shown up to fuck Katsuki. He didn't think that Katsuki would want that anyway. Not right now. Not like this.

…..

Katsuki was hot. Hot and breathless and hungry for Izuku. He wanted to devour him body and soul. He wanted to feel him against his body. He wanted to feel his hands on him as he took his pleasure. Katsuki had never been so sure in his life of what he wanted.

'Mate. Mark. Alpha. Acceptance. Mate.'

Vaguely, somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he wasn't ready for something so permanent. Something neither of them could take back.

But the desperation was unbearable. He couldn't fight against the omega filling his skin, telling him to take while the alpha was still there. Before the alpha ran, realizing what he was doing.

"Deku," Katsuki moaned, reminding himself and his omega that the alpha before him was Izuku, that he had wants and needs that may not align with his omega's. With his own.

He never realized just how much he wanted to devour Izuku all these years until that very moment. "I want you to touch me, Deku. Touch me. Kiss me. Fuck me. Mark me," he panted, unable to control the words slipping from his heat addled mind. If he hadn't been so blissed out on the feel of Izuku's thigh between his legs, he would have been embarrassed. Never had he imagined his first sexual encounter with Izuku would be as the bottom. Despite being an omega, he was very, very certain in his status as a top, but his omega screamed for him to be filled. To feel the push of hot flesh against his entrance. To feel seed fill him to the brim and a knot stretching him tight to keep it all in.

The thought grossed him out, but also made him wet with anticipation.

Izuku kissed him again, licking into his mouth. His scent was as calm as ever as he pressed his knee up between Katsuki's legs, making it all the easier for him to rub himself off. He was one hundred percent positive he could come just from the little friction.

Groaning, he slid further into Izuku's lap.

The feel of Izuku's own hard cock through his pants sent Katsuki straight over the edge, and he bit into Izuku's bottom lip as he shuddered, slumping heavily against him.

"Tell me what you want. I'll give you everything accept for fucking or marking you. But I know there's more. What do you want?" Izuku murmured with hot breath against his ear, voice gentle and coaxing. "I want to make you feel good, but I can't go too far."

"Go too far," Katsuki whispered back, voice nearly a plea and nose buried in the crook of Izuku's neck, "Touch me. Take me. Bruise me and bite me. I want everything you give me. I want it all. I want all of you. I want to feel you hot inside me." He licked at Izuku's scent gland beneath his jaw, searching for that alpha scent, but the blockers were still working as advertised. He and his omega agreed immediately on their annoyance, grumbling their displeasure.

Izuku trembled, hand on Katsuki's waist. "Kacchan, you're going to be the death of me."

"Call me by my name."

"K-Ka-Katsuki?" Izuku stuttered, and Katsuki shuddered against him. "Do you really hate my nickname for you?"

Huffing, Katsuki took the time to suck a mark into the side of his neck just under the collar of his uniform shirt. "That's what you called me when we were little kids. We're not kids anymore. I don't want you to call me that in bed."

"Th-Then I don't want you calling me 'Deku' i-i-i-i-i-in bed."

Smirking, Katsuki growled, "Izukuuuu," against his hear, and relished in the groan that it pulled forth.

"That's not all you want, is it? Tell me what you want me to do."

"I told you what I want."

"I'm not fucking you."

Katsuki huffed again and slid off Izuku to lay on his back, eyes closed as he breathed. His heat had calmed to a dull roar after he'd come, enough to give him some thinking room, to see through the fog. He hummed thoughtfully, fingers roaming over Izuku's chest. "You're right. Don't let my omega speak for me."

Izuku laughed, his own hand trailing up Katsuki's side. He turned his head to look at him. "I'm trying not to let my own alpha direct me. The suppressants are helping, but you're still an omega in heat. So he's kind of going nuts that I'm not taking you. But we're not animals. And I don't think it'd be a good idea right now."

Katsuki chuffed, smirking. "Agreed." He slid two fingers through the hole between two buttons, trembling at the skin to skin contact. Electricity skittered up his arm, and he wondered idly if this was what Denki felt like with Shinsou. If his body felt like a live wire. "My omega is screaming. You heard what he was sayings. It's kind of hard to-" He inhaled sharply as Deku's hand skimmed across his abdomen just above his briefs. "-droooown him o-o-out." The heat burst back to life, and he was panting and hard all over again. "Fucking fuckity fuck. Jesus. Dammit Izuku, just touch me," he hissed, eyes still screwed shut as his fingers curled into claws on Izuku's chest.

"Where?"

"Jesus, god, anywhere! Literally anywhere! Just put your goddamn hands on me!"

"Bossy," Izuku laughed, but swung a leg over Katsuki and straddled his hips. He sat purposefully on Katsuki's unmistakable bulge, rocking his hips gently down. He hadn't had many ruts, more than Katsuki had had heats, but less than the other alphas. Only one for each summer since he'd presented. He'd spent even less of those with another alpha or helping an another through their own rut. That didn't mean he was innocent though, and he knew what he preferred during sex. Sure, alphas were supposed to top at all times, but like he'd already said, they weren't animals. They had tastes and appetites and desires just like every other person. And his alpha had never really seemed to have a problem with him being a power bottom with another alpha.

Now though, with Katsuki beneath him barely clothed and chest heaving with heat and so pliant under his hands, his alpha was telling him to, 'Take. Take. Take!'

Ignoring his alpha's chanting, he rolled his hips again and smiled at Katsuki's groan. He leaned over Katsuki, pressing a kiss to his mouth, his nose, his cheeks and forehead and jaw and neck. He trailed his kisses down, down, down, licking at the sweat droplets beaded on his skin, rolling a pert nipple between his teeth. He was loosing himself in the rhythm of them, the grind and the thrust and the press. The only saving grace was that he was still fully clothed, and he was going to stay that way.

Sliding from Katsuki's lap and watching how he willingly spread his legs for him, Izuku nipped and sucked marks across the hard expanse of Katsuki's abs until he was stopped at the waistband of his heat briefs. Unable to resist, Izuku nuzzled at the crease of his hip and thigh, deeply inhaling the scent of allspice and burnt sugar and slick. Izuku could get well and truly drunk off of Katsuki's scent.

"I'm going to take these off," he warned before sliding the briefs down Katsuki's hips and thighs, setting them off to one side. The heat radiating from Katsuki was nearly suffocating once he had his face between his thighs, kissing along the inside of his thighs with single minded focus. With each moan Katsuki release, Izuku moved closer to the crux of his thighs to abuse a new patch of skin.

"Fuck, Izuku, just do something already," Katsuki snarled, hands gripping at the roots of Izuku's curls, "You're driving me up a fucking wall."

"How do you ask?" Izuku asked boldly in a deep rumble.

Katsuki jerked beneath his hands and mouth. "Please," he whispered, fingers tightening ever so slightly.

Izuku hadn't actually expected him to respond, and so he did what he'd been wanting to do since their first year in high school. Wrapping his arms up and around Katsuki's thighs to hold him in place, he licked a stripe up the underside of Katsuki's cock before taking him in his mouth. Katsuki's resounding whine sent a jolt of pleasure straight to Izuku's own dick.

…..

Izuku was sinfully good at sucking cock, so much better than any of the other omegas. They'd all needed different things to push through their heats, and sometimes that had led to compromising positions between the four. Their sexual relations never went further than heats. Heats were one thing, but just have sex to have sex was a line they'd never crossed in their friendships. He didn't actually know if it felt so good because he was in heat or that Izuku was actually that good, but it was only a few moments after Izuku had swallowed him down that Katsuki's mind whited out. He hadn't even had the presence of mind to thrust into his mouth.

He came to panting and breathless, fingers still tangled in the newly shortened curls, unconsciously scratching his fingers over Izuku's scalp.

Izuku purred happily. He hadn't come up from between Katsuki's legs, nuzzling his nose through the blonde curls around the base of his cock. He was kneading at Katsuki's hips and thighs, and Katsuki for the life of him couldn't understand what he was still doing down there. "Are you just going to chill down there or what?" he bit out, but his voice was softened around the edges, dulled by two orgasms and the intoxicating sensations of his body being worshiped.

"I want to..." Izuku trailed off, eyes still closed. He pressed his nose into the crease of Katsuki's thigh again.

"What do you want, Izuku?" he asked, voice husky and omega rioting in his chest as he started to grow hard at the mere thought of Izuku taking what he wanted. God, this was not something he missed from his last heat. Being rung dry and coming back to life moments later.

Izuku's grip was tight, but not bruising. Katsuki wanted the bruises, wanted the marks if he wasn't going to bite him, and Izuku seemed to reply to that silent command as he dug his fingers into his skin.

Katsuki hissed.

"I want to... I want to eat you out. Lick up all your slick until you don't know up from down. Finger you until you forget I even have a cock. That's what I want, but I know you probably don't like- I don't want to overstep-"

"Do it. Do it. Fucking do it," Katsuki chanted, thighs tightening around Izuku's head, "Make me feel good. Make me forget myself. Do whatever the fuck you want with me, Izuku."

Izuku groaned, closing his eyes to keep himself in control. "Well, since you requested so nicely..." Lifting Katsuki's hips a little higher, he used his thumbs to spread his cheeks.

A pool of slick had gathered beneath him on the sheets.

When Izuku swiped his tongue over Katsuki's entrance, he nearly blacked out. His slick was sweet to the point of too sweet with undertones of his all spice and burnt sugar scent. He couldn't stop the utter keen of pleasure that exploded from him.

Katsuki shouted above him, jerking beneath his hands. His heels dug into the mattress on either side of Izuku, using the leverage to lift his hips higher.

Izuku licked at him again, and again, and again, until Katsuki was a writhing wordless mess and he'd cleaned up every last drip of slick. Katsuki hadn't cum again yet, so Izuku waited until both of their breathing had slowed before teasing at the tight ring of muscle with the tip of his tongue, circling and prodding, but not pushing further. Only when the slick began to drip again did he push forward, working Katsuki open with his tongue. He opened easily, even more so when he finally slipped a finger in beside his tongue.

Katsuki was beside himself, eyes screwed shut and hips being held securely as he tried to thrust against Izuku's mouth. If he'd known that Izuku felt the same way, if he knew what the stupid nerd could do with his mouth besides run it, he had no doubt that he would have come off his suppressants sooner. He would have let Izuku take him apart heat after heat after heat just to feel his hot breath on him again.

He couldn't wait for Izuku's next rut so he could repay in kind, and dissect him piece by piece until he didn't know his own name.

"Izuku!" he panted, dragging at the alpha's curls, needing to kiss him, "Izuku, come up here! Kiss me!"

Izuku complied, his fingers burying themselves deep in his ass to replace the loss of his tongue.

Katsuki moaned into his mouth when their lips finally crashed together again, tasting himself, sucking on his tongue until Izuku was moaning right back. "Move already, nerd," he hissed against wet lips, needing more. Needing to feel that movement inside of himself. To spur him forward, Katsuki pushed his hands between their bodies and worked quickly to open Izuku's pants.

When Katsuki finally wrapped hot, damp fingers around him, Izuku moaned long and low and unbroken. "Oh god," he whined, stock still above Katsuki.

"Move, dammit," Katsuki growled, wrapping his free arm around the back of Izuku's neck and rolling his hips down onto Izuku's fingers.

The movement snapped Izuku out of his reverie. They moved together, Katsuki jerking Izuku off and Izuku thrusting his fingers as deep as he could into Katsuki's heat. Matching rhythms. Matching moans. Matching pitch. They had never been as in sync as they were in that moment, but they were both too blissed out to realize.

"Oh god. Oh gooood," Izuku moaned, fingers stuttering as Katsuki ran a thumb over Izuku's head, pressing just slightly into the slit before sliding down again.

"Hurry. Hurry. Hurry," Katsuki panted against Izuku's jaw, dragging his teeth along his skin. Copper and salt slipped across his tongue, and he moaned deeply. He'd broken skin, just a small scratch along Izuku's cheek. He screamed with Izuku's next thrust. "Fuck! Right there! Right fucking there!"

"I'm so close, Katsuki, so close," Izuku whispered, hips thrusting sloppily forward into Katsuki's hand. His hand had gone still in Katsuki, fingers buried deep and simply massaging that singular spot that had made him scream. He wanted to pull that noise from him again, but he was too far gone to focus enough to keep up the same onslaught.

"Come on, baby, cum for me. Let me hear-" Katsuki's voice cut off with a barely audible moan, his body going tense before shuddering with his release. Turning his teeth away from Izuku's skin quickly, he dug them into his own arm instead.

His fingers convulsed around Izuku, and he was following behind him with a shouted, "Fuck!" White liquid spilled over Katsuki's fingers, joining the pools of his already covered stomach.

Izuku carefully pulled his fingers from Katsuki, rolling onto his back as he panted. The smell of blood cut through the haze, and his nose scrunched in response. "Did you bite me?"

"No," Katsuki said, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand, "Myself. God, I need a fucking nap. I need a shower too. I'm disgusting."

"Sorry about that."

"Say sorry again and I'll never let you in here again. I'll die before I open my legs for you again."

Izuku laughed. He tucked himself back into his pants and turned to face Katsuki. "Don't. Please."

"That eager to get your cock wet?"

Sighing, he placed a hand on the side of Katsuki's neck and tugged them towards each other. "No. I just don't want to know you'd be suffering like when I first came in," he said soberly.

"That's fair. That's a good reason," Katsuki said, turning to meet his mouth.

They kissed lazily for long minutes that felt like they stretched on for hours. Tongues slid into mouths and along teeth. Hands trailed over bare skin. There was no heat beneath their skin, just taking in all the years they'd missed out on.

"Get me a wet wash cloth, nerd," Katsuki ordered, pushing at Izuku's shoulder when they finally broke apart. "And you should change."

"I need to get my blockers and suppressants too."

Katsuki hummed his agreement, eyes already drifting closed. The breeze drifted through the open sliding door, cooling the sweat on their bodies and pulling the stale air from the room.

Leaning over him, Izuku pressed a kiss to Katsuki's forehead. "You should sleep, or eat something and then sleep. I'll be back soon if one of the others doesn't hang me from the trees."

"If they do, they'll be hanging right beside you," Katsuki threatened, but he was barely there at all.

Izuku drifted out without Katsuki even noticing.

.....

The fallout from Katsuki's secret being revealed was less than he'd assumed. It was easier for the class to accept than the school, but Aizawa and All Might shielded him from as much of it as possible until mostly everything had calmed down.

The media completely blew the story out of the water and out of proportion, and it had been harder to hide from them as it was from the others. The hero agency that his did his work study had been on a high profile mission less than a month before the news came out, and all the speculation came down to whether him being an omega had dragged it out.

Katsuki let everything roll off his back though. He had an alpha who wanted him, Izuku of all people. Being an omega didn't change the fact that he was the strongest hero for their generation.

Three years found him still dealing with the same criticism as someone shoved a microphone in his face after a battle. A battle that didn't even have any other omegas involved in it. "What do you have to say about the controversy of omegas on the battlefield? Do you think male omegas in heroes agencies has increased due to their inability to birth? Do you think they're trying to carve out a spot in the hero world because that's all they can do?"

The signs of Katsuki's approaching heat had begun earlier that morning, but the mission had taken precedence. So instead of calling it off, he'd popped a suppressant and blocker and went on his way. Now, more than twelve hours later, the suppressants were beginning to wane, and all he wanted to do was get home. He'd built his nest the day before out of that idiotic animal instinct, but now he thanked that instinct. It meant he wouldn't have to spend the time to build one when all he wanted to do was rest.

Ignoring the reporter, he took a moment to send a text to Izuku.

Me:

Heat starting. My apartment after paperwork. Bring snacks.

The text came back immediately.

Deku:

I've got it. Love you. See you soon.

Shoving his phone back into the pouch he kept on his belt for miscellaneous items, he glanced back at the beta still in his face. "What were you saying? I wasn't listening. Some anti-omega bullshit."

"I was saying-"

"You know what? I do have something to say," he said, cutting the man off, "What I have to say to all omegas, but male omegas in particular, is that being an omega doesn't define you. If you let it, then you're fucking weak and you need to get over it. Your actions will define you, not your omega so don't let anti-omega idiots fucking tell you what you can and can't do." Stepping around the reporter and pushing the camera out of his face, he shouted over his shoulder, "I'm done talking. I've got shit to do!"

Shit meant dealing with the rest of the victims and rescue operations and then submitting his report.

At the end of it though, he had a fiance and alpha waiting at home for him to get back.