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piecksz · 3 years

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forget me too. | (m)

pairing: modern punk!bakugo x fem!reader

warnings: nsfw, angst, cheating, oral sex, penetrative sex, angry sex, choking, fingering, exes with benefits, mentions of breeding, hair pulling, explicit language, toxic relationship, manipulation, reader just being a lovesick puppy but wouldn’t we all be if it came to bakugo

summary: it’s been a year since you broke up with bakugo after you found him cheating on you, and you swore you’d moved on from him, but when you run into him again at a record shop, you fall back into a dangerous cycle of love and hate

words: 9,800+

a/n: so i gave in and watched downfalls high, and i’m not gonna lie, it wasn’t the best piece of media i’ve ever consumed, but mgk’s feature track with halsey kind of ate (AND IT LITERALLY INSPIRED SO MANY ANGSTY IDEAS I WAS ITCHINGGG). therefore, this is said angsty idea. you can listen to the song forget me too by machine gun kelly (feat. halsey) while reading, that’s if you’re really daring. good luck lol

If there was one thing in the world you couldn’t fully understand, it was the type of girls who hated their ex-boyfriends, twirling their hair flirtatiously and giggling at all their pitiful punchlines one week, and the next, hatching bogus rumors to discourage other girls from seeking them out romantically, letting them know that their charm came at a price.

Until it was Bakugo.

You genuinely didn’t see it coming. You weren’t even able to recognize the severity of the situation until you were convulsing with the gravity of your sobs, shrieking at him in front of his apartment. Bakugo had called you earlier that evening to reschedule your previously-arranged dinner date since his friend Kirishima was in town, and he wanted to dedicate the rest of the night to catching up with his old schoolmate. You happily forfeited your own plans and instead opted to rendezvous with your boyfriend and his familiar later in the week, but as the night hauled on your favorite TV show no longer satiated your boredom.

Shuffling into the kitchen and scouring your cabinet for ingredients, you drew up the idea to bake some sweets for Bakugo and Kirishima because you figured it would be a nice surprise, however once you arrived at Bakugo’s place you deduced quickly that his friend wasn’t over. It should have been notably clear that something was unusual by the way he was hesitant to let you in.

He poked his head out from behind the privacy of his front door, definitely surprised to see you, but not in the way you had hoped.

“Y/N,” he greeted you with a tight-lipped expression, eyes dropping to the tub of sugar cookies in your hands. “What are you doing here? Why didn’t you call me to let me know you were coming over?”

You hummed after detecting a subtle edge in his voice. “I wanted to surprise you.” You rose to your toes to look past his head. “I thought you said your friend was coming over.”

Bakugo nodded, and once he extended his hand to accept your treats you could see that his torso was bare. “Idiot had to cancel at the last minute. School shit. He said he’ll be here tomorrow.”

Your grip tightened on the container.

If his friend couldn’t make it then why didn’t he let you know? The two of you still could have made it to your dinner reservations.

And in that moment, you swore your internal monologue was loud enough to hear, because you immediately received your answer when you heard a soft, feminine voice come from inside his apartment.

“Who the fuck is that?” you barked, trying to outbalance Bakugo’s weight on the door. “Bakugo you little fucking shit--let me in.” It was a moment-long game between the two of you until Bakugo gave in, accepting the reality that he’d already been caught. You stumbled into the door as it swung open, revealing his company.

She was petite with short blonde hair, wearing a panicked expression that matched Bakugo’s oversized flannel on her naked body almost impeccably. You stared at each other until you broke the tense silence with a quiet holy shit.

“Holy shit,” you repeated louder, blinking as fast as you could to hold back the salty tears that were beginning to cloud your vision. “You fucking dick!” You didn’t notice how forceful your voice had gotten until you were shouting at him, the immense pressure building in your chest making your voice crack. You hurled every vulgar name in the book at Bakugo who couldn’t even look you in the eye while you cried in front of him.

This couldn’t have been the same man you once saw your future playing out with. The hell unfolding in front of you was exactly what your friends, Momo and Ochako, had predicted once you disclosed your interest in Bakugo. They warned you that he had a record on campus, with multiple girls, and yet somehow when he wooed you with sweet words and thoughtful gifts, just like they said he would, you still thought you were different. The worst part of it all was that he wasn’t a terrible guy by any means. He was a little rough around the edges with a temper, but he was hilarious and passionate, all while being profound and smart.

In your fantasies the two of you were married, and then came babies with tufts of your tresses and the mischief of his ruby eyes. He would have been a winner, if he wasn’t so emotionally incompetent. Perhaps you were naive to assume what you and Bakugo had was love just because he said so.

Your quivering fingers worked unsteadily against the lid of the tupperware. You tossed it aside before dumping the container’s contents on the floor of his apartment and hurled the empty food saver at him.

“Come fucking on Y/N,” he said wearily. The fucking nerve he had to act tired.

“Enjoy your cookies,” you responded venomously, leaving quickly before another set of tears came surging.

The next several months were excruciating, and the pain you experienced was nothing compared to its onset. If you weren’t spending days cocooned in bed to sleep off the fatigue of your endless crying, then you were on your couch, staring unamused while Blair Waldorf waltzed across your TV screen.

At least she got her happy fucking ending. Good for her.

You couldn’t even find the energy to eat, and ice cream was not the cure-all for heartbreaks like everyone lied and said it was.

Every so often Momo and Ochako would pay you a visit. For the first few weeks they let you mourn, consoling you and cleaning up the litter of crumpled tissues around your apartment. After the first month, they suggested that maybe meeting someone new would be the best way to help you forget about your break up, but you didn’t want to meet someone new. You just wanted to know if Bakugo missed you too.

Once your grades started slipping, you used that as an excuse to turn to isolation and lose yourself in your schoolwork. The distraction left you with no leisure time to scroll through old photos of you and Bakugo in your phone, and within a couple months, you swore that you’d finally moved on from him.

But it seemed all of that was forgotten the moment you recognized his head of spiky blonde hair from the next aisle over in the record shop, and you silently cursed the universe’s cruel way of working, that all-knowing bitch.

You kept your head down, pretending to be overtly interested in the Kendrick Lamar vinyl you held in your hands, but you couldn’t stop peeking over the shelf to see if Bakugo had moved from his spot.

You could hear him shuffling, and every time you looked up, he was a step closer to the end of the aisle, meaning that your game plan was to move in the opposite direction, so you could slip past him without being detected.

You continued to move one step to the left every time Bakugo moved another step to the right, surely securing your elusive escape, but when you glanced up again, he had disappeared from your line of surveillance. Shit.

“Y/N?”

Shit!

Slowly, you pivoted in the direction of your name only to gawk, horrified, as your ex-boyfriend strolled up to you casually, like he had never ripped your heart out and trampled all over it.

Once he got closer, you realized how generous the year between your break up and now had been to him. His yellow flannel was useless tied around his waist when it should have been on his shoulders instead, covering the way his black Led Zeppelin shirt clung to the impressive build of his upper body.

“Holy fuck, it is you,” Bakugo said, incredulously. You swore he had grown taller now that he was standing in front of you because you couldn’t remember if he had always towered over you.

“Small world,” you said, distastefully.

“Not really,” Bakugo shrugged. “This is just where I come to slave away for minimum wage.”

You simply blinked at him with a placid expression, unable to decide which of your emotions was best considering the circumstances.

“I almost didn’t recognize you,” he chuckled. “Did you cut your hair?”

You raised an eyebrow plainly. “No.” If anything your hair had grown a few inches longer.

“Highlights?”

“No.”

“Shit seriously?” Bakugo cast his eyes downwards and then back up, sizing up your figure. “Well you look good.”

You could only offer up a dry laugh in response while shaking your head at the peculiarity of the situation.

“What is wrong with you?” you jeered.

You couldn’t believe the ease with which he approached you after not seeing you for twelve whole months, especially when six and a half of those months were spent bawling your eyes out over him and trying to repair the heart he broke carelessly.

Bakugo’s blithe expression withered. The look left behind was one of bashful remorse, as if he was embarrassed by the person he was a year ago.

You weren’t even sure if he had really changed since you’d gone out of your way to avoid hearing or seeing anything about him after you claimed to have gotten over him. The real reason was that you felt you couldn’t trust yourself. You feared that if you came across anything having to do with him, you’d descend into another self-destructive, heartache-driven spiral.

“I tried calling to apologize, but you blocked my number. And then blocked me on everything else,” Bakugo explained.

You shifted uncomfortably.

“I never saw you around campus, and when I showed up to your apartment you weren’t home. I felt like horse shit, seriously, but after a while I just gave up, I guess.”

You pursed your lips together at the mention of his attempts to remedy your breakup, specifically because this whole time you could have sworn he didn’t care to fix things with you.

Bakugo leaned in, and you surprised yourself by making no effort to create more distance between the both of you.

“I’m really fucking sorry, Y/N,” he said softly, for once without the gruffness of his usual tone.

If he made the effort to apologize even after a year, that must have meant that he still had some feelings left over for you, right? Did that mean he still loved you? The suspicion made your heart squeeze with expectation.

“Are you sorry that you hurt me, or are you sorry that you got caught?” You questioned.

“Both,” Bakugo snickered tactlessly.

You swore you could have punched his lights out then and there, but he must have noticed the way you tensed up because he looped his arm around you, pulling you in until you nestled into his larger frame.

“I fucking missed you, dumbass.”

Your stomach dropped at the very mention of the words you were longing to hear after your split, and you knew that you weren’t over him. Not even close. Even when you had caught another girl with her hands on him.

Your first mistake was unblocking Bakugo’s number that night, and your second was sending him a text. You stood in the bathroom, dumbfounded by your own actions while you clutched your phone nervously. Thank god he didn’t have his read receipts on. The last thing you needed to know was if he decided to leave you on read after you had just stroked his monumental ego.

You sat your phone aside and proceeded brushing your teeth until you were interrupted by a shrill ding from beside you. You grabbed your phone much too quickly and slid the screen up to be met with a reply from Bakugo.

9:32 PM

bakugo: so i’m still in your phone huh?

9:32 PM:

bakugo: lmao

9:33 PM:

bakugo: thinking about me even after bitching about how much you hate me?

9:34 PM:

bakugo: especially at night that’s hot

You scowled at the messages before putting your phone back down. Using the time it took you to finish brushing your teeth and washing your face, you recited your responses over and over again because as much as you wanted to, you knew it wouldn’t be smart to jump back into your relationship that fast. You still held negative sentiments about what he had done to you, but the pleasure of having him back was slowly beginning to outweigh your earlier feelings.

While shuffling into your bedroom, you kept your eyes glued to your phone screen, typing, deleting, and retyping messages, worried that they would sound too needy.

9:50 PM:

you: so i see you still have a head so big that it could block out the sun

9:53 PM:

bakugo: fuck off you little shit

9:53 PM:

bakugo: no classes tmrw and i’m off work at 12

9:54 PM:

you: ok? do i look like your fucking secretary?

10:00 PM:

bakugo: no im just letting you know in case you’re planning on stalking me again :^(

10:01 PM

bakugo: obviously i wanna see you tomorrow dipshit

Warmth spread across your cheeks until it deepened into a dangerous heat, and the happy memories of you and Bakugo a year ago resurfaced as deja vu. Everything was scarily reminiscent of the way he asked you out the first time, back when your opinions about him were much more straightforward.

You rolled over to the other side of your bed and squealed, flustered by how to-the-point he was about his desire to reconcile things with you.

“Get it together, honestly,” you reprimanded yourself, jabbing a finger against your temple in an effort to drill the mantra into your head.

You responded back to accept Bakugo’s invitation, being mindful not to sound too excited, but you couldn’t deny that you slept better than usual that night.

The next day when you met up with Bakugo after his shift at the record shop ended, the two of you settled on getting coffee from one of the restaurants on campus. Well, you got a coffee, but Bakugo went for an iced tea instead because he insisted that coffee tasted like “dog shit”.

Regardless of your staggering difference of opinion in beverages, you guys hit it off again, laughing and joking around like there had never been a rift between you two in the first place. You were taken aback by how comfortable you still felt around him and how much he still seemed to adore you.

Two weeks after your reunion, you and Bakugo were already falling back into the routine of going on dates like you’d done before, snickering in the back of crowded movie theaters and demolishing each other in multiple rounds of mini golf. You even kept the photo booth picture that was printed for you at the aquarium in your wallet, just so you could peek at it every now and then.

Three weeks after your reunion, you concluded that you were pretty much together. Bakugo had never made it official, and neither had you, but you trusted the way you felt, and it seemed clear that he felt the same way.

Your friends however, weren’t as happy to hear the news of you and Bakugo seeing each other again.

Momo’s eyes widened as she leaned over the table and thrusted her mechanical pencil in your direction.

“Y/N, please tell me you’re joking.” She turned to Ochako who looked at you with a troubled expression. “Uraraka, please tell me she’s joking.”

Ochako pressed her lips into a thin line, shaking her head in utter disbelief. She said nothing. Rather she looked to you for an answer, wanting you to explain the situation before she scolded you for being so forgiving toward someone who didn’t deserve it.

“He apologized okay? And it really seemed like he meant it, I’m not just saying that. You guys know I can’t hold grudges. I’m soft.”

Momo huffed.

“We started talking, and he told me that he tried to apologize but he never got the chance.”

Your friends were still quiet, waiting for the punchline, but once they realized that there was no hidden gag to the story, they leaned back in exhaustion, disappointed that you’d gotten yourself into another wearisome situation because of your thoughtlessness.

“And he said he missed me. After an entire year, he still misses me.”

“This wouldn’t have happened if we had found you someone else, you know. Someone nice. Better than Bakugo, so you don’t feel like you have to settle,” Momo countered.

“I didn’t need to date someone else,” you chided her. “I’m not one of those people that need to be in a relationship to feel fulfilled, plus I’ve been swamped with assignments.” You knew you were just trying to save face. You knew the real reason why you turned down all your prospective blind dates, and your friends knew it too. You couldn’t see yourself with anyone other than Bakugo, and you meant it when you said you didn’t need love to feel like you had purpose, but when it came to the blonde, it appeared that none of those principles applied.

“You’re lying,” Ochako sighed, tucking her hair behind her ear before clicking her pen and returning to her research paper.

“I’m not settling!” you declared, earning a few scattered glances from the other students in the library. You smiled at them ruefully, mouthing an apology, and ducked your head back into your college textbook.

You decided to drop the conversation, concluding that your friends just wouldn’t understand. They didn’t know your relationship with Bakugo like you did so how could they have understood?

Later that night however, you couldn’t help but chew over your friends’ reactions. There was clearly a reason why they felt the way they did, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to see their concern. You didn’t need to be chastised every time you did something they didn’t agree with, because you reminded yourself you were a grown ass woman. You treasured Momo and Ochako, but you were absolutely capable of looking out of yourself.

“Why do girls watch this shit?” Bakugo muttered from beside you, uninterested in the movie playing on the Macbook propped up in your lap. “It’s just dresses and sideburns, where the fuck are the fist fights?”

“It’s Pride and Prejudice, stupid. Not Deadpool,” you retorted, giggling slightly once Bakugo decided the skin of your neck was more interesting than Kiera Knightley. He released a throaty chuckle while attaching his lips to the base of your jaw and continued kissing until he stopped where your neck met your shoulders.

“Stop, I’m trying to watch the movie,” you complained tenderly with absolutely no intent to make Bakugo stop.

Bakugo sat up, grabbing your laptop off the sheets and closing it briskly. “Fuck the movie, I have a better idea,” he suggested. Your eyebrows furrowed, watching as he tossed the device onto the chair beside your closet.

“Hey, what are you doing, you dick?” you protested.

Within seconds Bakugo was on top of you with arms on either side of your head, effectively caging you in beneath him.

“Yeah?” he whispered provocatively, like he was making sure he had your permission first. He spoke under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear.

You didn’t know what sensation you registered first: the warmth now spreading quickly across your cheeks, down to your chest, or the pronounced throbbing between your thighs.

You nodded, softly responding with a “yeah” in return, and Bakugo didn’t waste a second before pressing his mouth to yours enthusiastically. You were surprised how quickly you re-familiarized yourself with the curve of his lips and the way they moved steadily against yours. Acting with fervor, he used his hand to grip your chin, forcing your mouth to open wider so he could slip his tongue past your teeth.

Bakugo used his free hand to grab your breast under your sweatshirt, and you relished in the feeling of his warm palm against your skin while he ran his fingertips against the silky fabric of your lace bra.

“Lace? You dirty bitch,” he teased, breaking contact. “There’s no way you could have known we were gonna fuck.”

You laughed, appreciating how seductive Bakugo looked. His sandy hair was tousled from your impatient hands in his locks, skin feverishly tinged with a dusty pink hue, and lips swollen from the force of his kiss.

“I didn’t know, but I was hoping we would,” you answered honestly. “I guess I got lucky.”

Bakugo snickered, clearly pleased with the response he received. His scarlet eyes flickered lustfully, and he hastily returned to working on your body. He pulled your sweatshirt up and off, tossing it over his shoulder before working swiftly against the clasp of your bra, which he skillfully managed to break with just one hand.

Must have had a lot of practice with that.

But your cynical thoughts were soon forgotten the moment Bakugo’s tongue curled around your nipple, enjoying the way his saliva made your skin glisten under the dim lamp light. He hummed loudly every time you jolted and whimpered, your back arching in tandem. He closed his lips around the delicate nub, sucking harshly while making no attempts to hide his sly smile. He was enjoying himself far too much.

He made sure he put his other hand to work, rolling your other nipple between his fingers, pinching roughly while tugging on it absentmindedly. Once he grew bored of your innocent mewls, he thirsted for something filthier.

Bakugo tantalizingly slid his hand down your stomach until his fingers curled around the waistband of your volleyball shorts. He stretched the Spandex material until when he released it, it snapped painfully against your skin, his cock throbbing at the exposure of your earthy groan.

He slipped off your shorts, and the sight before him was enough to elicit a long, drawn-out “Jesus fucking Christ”.

You didn’t realize you were so aroused that your underwear was soaking wet, your pussy now visible through the thin sheer fabric. Bakugo swallowed hard, palming himself to relieve some of the unbearable pressure he was feeling. He could feel his cock straining against his underwear, and he wanted to stick his dick inside you and fuck you until your eyes rolled back into your head, but the only thing he wanted more than that was to taste you.

“These are mine,” Bakugo insisted. He pulled your panties off, chuckling dryly at the wet stain on the fabric before tucking them into his pocket.

You tilted your head at him.

“What? I’m keeping them as a souvenir,” he replied.

But that’s not what you were concerned with. You were more humiliated than anything that this was your first time having sex with him in a year, and you’d been horny for him since you opened the door. You might as well have just written Bakugo’s Whore on your head in thick permanent marker, but you kept your suggestion to yourself knowing that Bakugo would have liked the idea way too much.

Bakugo reached down to pull his shirt over his head and threw it aside, unveiling his impressive physique. After you guys had broken up, he began finding himself in the gym more frequently, placating his regret and anger through physical exertion, and although he used weightlifting to cope, it left him with an incredible build.

Sweet lord, you thought, please fucking break me.

Bakugo wrapped his arms around your thighs, pulling you forcibly toward him. You propped yourself up on your elbows to get a good look as his face disappeared between your legs. You couldn’t see much past his hair, but you felt a long wet lick up your folds, and your arms immediately gave out, causing you to fall back onto the bed while your hips bucked upward.

You let out an obscene cry, but that only encouraged Bakugo more. He parted your lips with his tongue, licking another stripe up to your clit before sucking it into his mouth, all while peering up at you to see the way you writhed under his touch. You gripped the sheets, and your breathing grew increasingly labored as Bakugo swirled the tip of his tongue against the tender bud, slowly in one direction, and then the opposite. You continued to grind yourself against his mouth while your desire became insatiable. You felt like your hunger was completely justified, because you hadn’t been spoiled in a long fucking time.

You completely unraveled once you glanced down just in time to see Bakugo spit on your parted folds before using his fingers to coat your pussy in his saliva. His slick fingers rubbed your clit, taunting you for just a while longer, and then he dipped his fingers inside of you. He started with two fingers, slipping them in and out with ease until his spit mixed with your arousal created a vile lubricant.

With the way Bakugo’s lips were slightly parted and his eyebrows were knitted in the center, you could tell he was concentrating dangerously, observing how desperately you swallowed his fingers every time he pushed them in.

Your vision erupted into white heat when he bent down to take your clit back into his mouth while pumping in and out of you with an added finger. The symphony that filled the space of your room was absolutely foul. Your intense cries bounced off the walls, while Bakugo panted heavily at the messy sound of his fingers thrusting in and out of you. And neither of you cared if your neighbors could hear.

“Bakugo--,” you started, but your broken plea wasn’t nearly enough to get his attention.

“Bakugo,” you cried louder, your body beginning to shake with the onset of your orgasm.

“Are you gonna cum?” He asked, his voice slightly higher than you were used to, almost like he was whining.

You could only give a weak nod in response.

“Be a good little bitch and cum for me,” Bakugo coaxed, as you yielded to the intensity of your orgasm. He quickened his pace just to see you convulse as you reached your high, but then slowed down until he was ready to pull his fingers out of you.

The sight was enough to make Bakugo cum untouched. You were finger-fucked out, eyes shut as your chest heaved up and down while you tried to catch your breath. Your arousal was smeared on the inside of your thighs and your bedsheet was damp where you released.

Bakugo wanted to ask you if you were alright, but the aching pain in his pants took priority. He reached into his underwear, freeing his swollen cock from the confines of his boxers. He bit down on his bottom lip so hard he almost drew blood as he pumped himself gingerly, hissing at the feeling. His tip was raw and flushed, leaking precum in shameless amounts.

He hoisted your legs on either shoulder and positioned himself at your entrance, looking at you for confirmation, and you nodded feebly. He sunk his entire length into you, and you covered your mouth with your hand to stifle a shrill scream. Your walls were already sore, and the sting of Bakugo’s large cock inside of you was a painful bliss. Tears came quickly, and they rolled down your cheeks while Bakugo rocked his hips into you slowly. He was waiting for his aching to subside before speeding up his rhythm, and once it did he was taken over by an unappeasable greed.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he groaned, thrusting himself in and out of you. “If you keep squeezing me like that I’m gonna cum inside you and get you fucking pregnant.” Bakugo had one hand on your headboard, his grip so firm that his knuckles had turned white.

You sobbed underneath him, withstanding your own pain until it subdued into pleasure. You shifted your legs until they wrapped around Bakugo’s strong torso, unable to get enough of him.

Bakugo rammed into you, and your headboard hitting your wall furiously set the tempo until he fell into a staggered cadence.

“I’m gonna cum,” he choked out. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck--.” Your name was the last thing Bakugo could get out before he broke free of your hold, pulling himself out of you so he could release. He cummed on your stomach, generously shooting out hot spurts of white until he was soft and you were covered in his seed.

Bakugo leaned over and collapsed beside you, short of breath. He was drenched in sweat and his blonde hair stuck to his forehead with perspiration. He chuckled after a few silent minutes.

“What the fuck was that? Were you trying to get me to nut in you?” Bakugo asked, turning to face you.

You didn’t know what he was talking about until you remembered the way you wrapped him up in your legs while he was inside you.

You snorted, erupting into a fit of sheepish laughter. “Yeah.”

Bakugo raised an eyebrow, bewildered. “Crazy bitch.”

He pulled his sweatpants up and rolled out of your bed. “I’m not ready to be a dad yet,” he voiced, before shuffling lazily out of the room to find something he could clean you up with and smoke a cigarette on the fire escape.

The next morning you found yourself alone, Bakugo nowhere to be found despite you falling asleep with his arms around your waist. You raised a sleepy eyebrow at the empty space next to you that was still sunken from his weight. Okay good, so you didn’t hallucinate last night. You figured Bakugo had early duties to attend to, so you simply grumbled before turning over to get more sleep.

Following that day, every time Bakugo came over to your place, or you found yourself at his, the routine was simple: have breathtaking sex and then pass out.

You grew used to expecting it from him whenever the two of you spent any time alone, and the night before always consumed your thoughts the morning after. You’d squeeze your thighs together during your lecture hall while your professor yammered on about early psychology. The memory of Bakugo’s hand around your throat as he fucked you from behind prompted a surge of heat to your core.

Even when the two of you couldn’t see each other because neither of your schedules coincided, you found a way to make things work, whether it was over the phone, through text, or over Facetime.

Occasionally, you’d ring up Bakugo while he was closing up the shop to taunt him, touching yourself on the other line while he’d grow painfully hard and couldn’t relieve himself until he got home.

“You little fucking shit.” You loved the way his low growls sounded over the phone. “Let’s see how bold you are when I come over and turn your thighs into earmuffs.”

And occasionally, he’d send you videos of himself in bed while you were at the library late cramming for your exams the next morning, touching his cock with haste before cumming on his hands as he groaned your name loudly.

Not an ounce of passion was lost between you two, and if anything you’d only grown closer together from the time spent apart. You had your love back, and everything in your life was ideal.

Of course, that was all before the party.

The party at Sero’s house that you’d caught wind of once you joined Momo, Ochako, and your other friend Mina for lunch.

“You know I don’t like going to parties thrown by frats,” Ochako muttered, ripping off small bites of her chicken wrap.

“Why not? There’ll be plenty of guys there for you to talk to, your phone has been a little dry lately,” Mina responded, laughing silently.

Ochako squinted at her jest before playfully rolling her eyes herself. “That’s exactly why. You know what happened last time I went to a frat party. The hangover isn’t worth it.”

Mina exhaled heavily and turned to you with a hopeful look.

“Y/N, you’ll go with us right? Me and Momo?”

You squeezed your water bottle wearily. “I don’t know. I’m not a fan of frat parties either.” You didn’t know what answer to give her, she looked extremely optimistic, and you hated to rain on Mina’s Friday night plans, but you didn’t want to spend the rest of the evening crammed in a frat house with a crowd of strangers.

Mina stuck out her bottom lip and reached to grab your hand from across the table. “Please? Please? There’s no guarantee Momo won’t ditch me at the party for Todoroki.”

Momo murmured inaudibly beside her.

You sighed, however you relented, giving into the arrangements Mina had made for you, but you regretted your decision far too late.

You showed up to the gathering with Mina and Momo dressed modestly. Unlike your friends and many of the other girls there, you already had someone that you were seeing, and you wanted to look as reserved as you could so there was no confusion around whether or not you were off the market.

Bakugo was possessive, and he preferred to keep his possessions close. There was no telling what he would do or how he’d react if he learned of another man trying to make a move on you.

You took small sips out of your cup while you followed quietly behind Momo and Mina as they moved from person to person, greeting friends you were unfamiliar with. You feigned a cheery smile when you were introduced to them, but overall you were bored with the party scene. You weren’t really a frat party girl.

You yelled over to Momo that you needed another drink and shook your head when she asked you if you needed her to come with you. She looked far too engrossed in her conversation with Todoroki, and you didn’t want to just whisk her away while they were talking. In fact, you were the chairman of the Anti-Cockblock Committee.

You sauntered into the kitchen, sliding in next to the counter once the guests who were there first left. You started grabbing bottles to inspect the labels because to be honest, you weren’t sure what half of these brands were. As a broke college student, you bought your own drinks, which were mainly $20 cases of hard lemonade and cheap raspberry Smirnoff vodka from the liquor store. Clearly Sero had selective taste in high quality shit.

You poured yourself a small sip of Patron, tasting the clear liquid, and tried not to gag at the oaky taste as it burned your throat going down.

You felt someone ease in beside you. “Hey, bartender.”

You glanced at the guest next to you, their familiar visage coming into view. You recognized his distinctive green head of hair and innocent freckles peppered across his cheeks, it was the same face you saw every day in your sociology class.

What was his name? Ku--something. Zu…?

You remembered your professor referred to him by his nickname, Deku, and once you said his name as convincingly as you could, you gathered by his boyish grin that you were right.

“I’m surprised you remembered,” he laughed, and adjusted his circle-rimmed glasses while his emerald eyes swelled into crescents.

“I didn’t really take you for a partier,” you observed. Deku was incredibly smart from what you’d seen in class. He knew the answers before your professor could even finish their questions, and when you’d ask him if he could repeat what the teacher said for your notes, he explained the material even better than the person who was an expert in the subject for a living.

“I’m not,” he replied. “But you know, the college experience and all that.”

You scoffed and nodded, knowingly. “Melt your brain studying for 25 hours a day, 8 days a week, and then get shitfaced whenever you can. Yeah, that’s definitely the college experience,” you joked, pouring yourself a couple shots of vodka and mixed it with orange soda.

“I was meaning to ask you,” Deku started. “I mean--Yeah--I was meaning to ask you for your number in class earlier this week.”

You stirred your drink with a finger before stealing a taste. “Of course,” you agreed happily.

Deku’s face deepened into a rosy bloom once he took out his phone, typing in your contact while you recited the numbers.

“I’m not asking for a weird reason or anything like that. Just so we can help each other out with homework and stuff.”

You nodded, already acknowledging that Deku was a sweet kid, at least as far as you knew. You didn’t expect him to have any promiscuous intentions.

“Yeah, but I don’t think I’ll be as much help to you as you’ll be to me,” you teased, and Deku chuckled nervously still trying to shake the blush off his cheeks. “I’m free on Monday, I can meet up with you after class if you want.”

Deku buried his face into his cup, his shallow breathing causing his glasses to fog up. “Yeah, that sounds great,” he mumbled bashfully.

“Text me the deets,” you grinned, before wandering off back to your friends.

On the way back to the stairwell where Momo and Mina were still standing, your attention was drawn by a large crowd around the living room that erupted into jovial squeals and cheers every few seconds. You gravitated toward the mass of guests, standing on your toes to get a better look, but when that didn’t work you gently made your way through the throng of people, issuing soft “sorry, excuse me’s” and “thank you’s” to the people that didn’t mind letting you slip past them.

You had no knowledge that he was going to be here. He never told you what his plans for the night were, but this was the last place you were expecting Bakugo to be.

Here.

Playing a game of “Kiss and Blow” on a crowded couch with someone who wasn’t you. When it reached his turn, you could see his shallow inhale and how he put in no effort to keep the card against his mouth. It fell between the cushions, and the crowd erupted into another rally.

Bakugo grinned artfully and hooked his arm around the eager brunette before smothering her giggles with a deep tongue-filled kiss.

At first, the cogs in your brain couldn’t turn fast enough to register what was happening, and your thought process stuttered for a moment while your eyes took in more than you expected. Your body remained immobile, giving your thoughts a few seconds to catch up. Maybe for those few seconds, your anguish was suspended, and your shock was simply a cushion until you fell apart.

You couldn’t make your way out of the party fast enough, and you didn’t even think to let Momo and Mina know that you were leaving. Everything around you sounded warbled, like you were underwater, as your leaden legs carried you out, past the front lawn, and across the street until you were far away that you could no longer hear the music of the party. It was then that you pulled out your phone to text Mina claiming that you didn’t feel well and called an Uber to take you home.

The following morning you ignored all of Bakugo’s texts. He sent one at 10 AM, asking you if you were down to get breakfast, and then another at noon suggesting lunch since you didn’t respond to his text about breakfast. He texted you again, and again, and again, and you continued to disregard him.

You didn’t cry this time around. No. You were filled with a foreign anger. It was strange and new, and it burned nothing like the rage you’d felt in all your years of living. You didn’t know whether you were angry at him for putting you through this again or if you were angry at yourself for really believing that he’d changed. You really wanted to confront Bakugo in person, but you were afraid of your unpredictability. You didn’t know what you would do if you saw him--roundhouse kick him in the throat most likely.

Bakugo’s relentless attempts to get in contact with you didn’t let up, even late into the night. He sent another text threatening to show up at your apartment if you didn’t answer him, and then he called yet again.

Angrily, you reached out to answer your phone, but once you held it to your ear all the fury you’d been bearing throughout the day emerged.

“Can you fuck off?” You hissed.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Bakugo responded, taken off guard by your greeting. “What the fuck?”

“If you were so hellbent on seeing me today, you should have thought about that before you decided to be a hypocritical little bastard! Again!” You shook with anger, unable to effectively piece together all the profane names you wanted to call him.

Bakugo was still while you put him on blast.

“Do you not have anything to say to me, you fuckwit?”

“No, because I don’t even know why you’re going full bitch right now!” Bakugo defended himself. You sat back at his reply, confused at why he was guarded. You knew that when Bakugo was aware he was in the wrong he always remained quiet and pensive.

“Last night?” you clarified. “Does last night not ring a bell to you?”

He let out a small grunt of recollection. “I was at a party last night, what are you talking about?”

“No shit, Bakugo! I saw you swallowing another girl whole!”

The other line erupted into laughter, and a large knot settled in your throat.

“Am I not allowed to kiss other girls now?” he asked.

Had he been hit by a semi-truck? Did he need a swift lobotomy?

“Why would you kiss another girl if you have a girlfriend?”

Bakugo muttered a quiet “what”, and then the lightbulb clicked.

“Holy shit, Y/N, did you think we were back together?”

Huh?

“When did we ever say that we were together?” he questioned lightly, finding your misunderstanding comical.

But--

“I thought we were just fucking around, you know? I never mentioned getting back together, and you didn’t either, so I just assumed we were just fucking.”

You didn’t say a word. As angry as you wanted to be and as angry as you already were, he was right. You had only assumed that you two were back together, but neither of you agreed on it explicitly.

“Our dates...” you countered listlessly.

“Two people hanging out together isn’t always a date.” Bakugo shifted on the other end and then grunted again to occupy the tense silence. “Shitting me, I didn’t know that’s what you were thinking.”

Realization of how foolish you made yourself look set in, and you hoped the awkwardness that hung in the air was fleeting. You swallow heavily, unable to digest defeat.

“Okay,” you murmured, before hanging up and flinging your phone aside.

You and Bakugo didn’t speak for the rest of the night into next morning, and by midday Monday when your study session with Deku rolled around, you were more than reluctant to go. You knew the frustration of someone cancelling last minute, but you were unsure whether you could bring a positive spirit to your meetup, and the last thing you wanted to do was put kind-hearted Deku through your bad mood.

As the time drew closer, you were considering texting him to rain check, letting him know you were feeling under the weather, when he sent you a picture at the coffee shop. Deku had ordered you lunch, mentioning that you must’ve been hungry after classes all day. He explained that he didn’t know what you liked so he just bought for you what he usually got for himself.

After that, you couldn’t have possibly turned him down, so you showed up anyway. Before you knew it, the clock already approached 9 PM, and the coffee shop was about to close for the night. Time had flown by while you were getting lost in upbeat conversation with Deku, and the two of you laughed and joked around more than you’d done your assignment, but you didn’t mind since it gave you another excuse to meet up with him. You didn’t expect him to be as naturally humorous as he was, nor did you guess you’d have as much in common with him as you did, but you’d forgotten about your own heartache during the time you spent in his company. Not to mention, he was very easy on the eyes, but that was just an additional plus.

However, when you finally returned home to your empty apartment that night, all your feelings came flooding back.

“Right,” you muttered to yourself, setting your backpack down by the door, and throwing your keys onto the kitchen counter. “Back to square one.”

Normally, you’d invite Bakugo over, but you had no desire to be anywhere within a three mile radius of him at the moment, so you quickly got ready for bed, figuring that the more time you spent asleep meant less time that you’d have to dwell over the all-too-familiar pain in your chest.

You continued to spend more and more time with Deku even though most of your plans were organized around schoolwork, even if it was studying for a test or just practicing terminology flashcards. Eventually, you’d gotten close enough that you didn’t mind inviting him over since your apartment was much quieter than the dorm he shared with his roommate, Kaminari.

You were both sat on your couch, and you took turns quizzing each other on general knowledge sociology questions. You flipped through the flashcards, Deku answering every question with impressive ease, until you had grown tired.

“Deku, this isn’t fun. You know every term,” you sighed, shuffling through the stack.

“Studying isn’t supposed to be fun, that’s why it’s called studying and not having fun,” he joked lamely, extending his hands to take his flashcards back.

You giggled silently at his flat humor and leaned back against the armrest to put your knees up. “Okay, well what do you like to do when you’re not studying?”

Deku slipped his flashcards into the pocket of his backpack. “Between classes, studying, and wrestling, I don’t really have much time for anything else.”

You gaped. “You wrestle? No fucking way.”

Deku raised an eyebrow at you, amused and unsure of the reason for your stupefaction. “Why do you think I’m a loser or something?”

“I don’t think you’re a loser,” you explained. “I just wouldn’t have guessed.” You took note of his lean stature. He did look like he worked out, but you never considered his pastime was something as brutish as wrestling. You figured his interests would explain the scars that decorated both of his hands.

“Okay then,” you began, hopping up and throwing the blanket you were wrapped in on the couch. “Teach me something.”

Deku stared at you, uncertain whether you were serious. “I don’t wanna hurt you,” he said, timidly.

“Oh man up, you baby,” you joked while wrapping your hands around his wrists, urging him to stand up. “Who’s to say I won’t hurt you?”

Deku chuckled nervously before following you over to the open space between your living room and kitchen. He stood for a second, thinking of the easiest moves to show you, and then he nodded, like he had fully decided.

“Okay, come here.”

You did as you were told, letting Deku guide you into the correct position. You cleared your throat, unnerved by the way his chest pressed up against your back, and his strong hands looped around your arms to lock them behind your head.

“This is a full nelson,” he instructed. “It’s a submission hold. It’s not allowed in our matches, but feel free to use it if you ever find some creep following you home.” You could feel his chest rumble with laughter between your shoulder blades.

You nodded, feeling flustered. “Mhm.”

The next demonstration had the two of you on the floor with your arm twisted at an uncomfortable angle while Deku’s arm was situated over your rib cage. You could feel his staggered breathing across the shell of your ear, and you looked over your shoulder expectantly, waiting for him to explain the move.

Deku must have realized how close your faces were to each other because he absolutely lost his cool. He began stammering, unable to get his words out. “And this one is called the--um...sorry it’s called the--,” he breathed. “I’m sorry, I’m--I just wanna kiss you so bad right now.” His body tensed with his confession, but you were the one who made the first move.

Once Deku’s hold loosened, you leaned into him, allowing your lips to collide with his. Your mouths moved against each other fervently, and the two of you rolled over until you were on top of him with your legs on either side of his waist. Ever since a few nights before you’d blown up on Bakugo, you hadn’t been touched. Not even by yourself. You tried, but your fingers came nothing close to competing with his. You were so incredibly needy that you had to forcefully stop yourself from gyrating your hips on Deku’s crotch. He was already red in the face, and you were afraid he might collapse if you worked your ass against the growing bulge in his jeans.

You broke your kiss to take Deku’s hands, and you rested them on your chest. With Bakugo, he would have immediately taken control, driving you into ecstasy, but with Deku it was different. It was as if he had never touched a pair of breasts before. His breathing grew even more shallow as his body became rigid.

You tilted your head, slightly irritated from the lack of action, but you were more concerned about Deku’s wellbeing.

“Are you okay?” you asked, tongue in cheek.

Deku nodded anxiously. “Yup, yup, yup, I’m great. I’m good.”

But something was off, and you knew you weren’t enjoying yourself like you typically would even with days of pent up libido. You closed your eyes tiredly and released an exasperated sigh, slowly pulling yourself off of him. “I’m sorry, I can’t do this right now--we shouldn’t--.”

Deku opened his mouth to contest, but you cut him off.

“It’s getting late, you should go. I’ll see you around.” You buried your face in your hands, embarrassed at your desperation. “I’m so sorry,” you apologized again.

Deku adjusted his glasses and murmured a small “It’s fine, Y/N.” He helped you up after he pulled himself off of the floor and gathered his belongings before heading out quickly, eager to flee the tension.

Fuck, you thought. How did things get so complicated? Deku was a sweet kid, genuinely pure at heart, and you knew he wanted you from the way his emerald eyes were glued to your frame, even while you were fully-clothed. Yet he wasn’t Bakugo. He didn’t know how to work you like Bakugo did, and you felt shamefaced for thinking about your ex-boyfriend again. You mulled it over and began to question why you were stopping yourself from having your cake and eating it too.

Bakugo didn’t intend on getting back together with you, but he enjoyed the phenomenal sex, and so did you. You held so much contempt for him now, but there was no reason why you couldn’t just agree to the terms of his compact.

Exes with benefits, only now with a few additions of your own.

No dates, no flirty chatter outside of your arrangements, nothing that could potentially steer you the wrong way towards forgiving him yet again, because like you told your friends: you were a pushover, and Bakugo was a sweet talker. That was a combination destined for hell.

Your revelation was exactly how you ended up sleeping with Bakugo again. Your sex life was practically a Dr. Seuss book. The two of you would have sex in his car, in the bathroom at a bar, and you’d have sex here, there, and pretty much anywhere.

When you first called him up, he answered almost immediately, somewhat excited to see your contact after going without speaking to each other for nearly a week. After you acceded, he snorted, wondering if you were conspiring.

“Are you fucking scheming something? Cooking up some devious shit to get me alone so you can kill me? Suffocate me while I’m sleeping? You’re goddamn insane.”

You rolled your eyes aggravated. “No. Are you down, or do you wanna pussy out now?”

Bakugo agreed, and both of you managed to keep things fairly cordial. Well, as cordial as they could possibly be, given your shared history. You couldn’t care less about the differences and arguments you had when you guys were in bed. If anything, you preferred it when Bakugo was angry at you, pissed at something you had said or just releasing pent up stress that built up over the week. That only made the sex filthier.

Although Bakugo wasn’t yours, and you weren’t his, that didn’t mean he didn’t hold some affection for you, and perhaps still even vice versa. He was possessive over you regardless, even if it meant coming dangerously close to breaching the contract. Especially when he caught you one night with Deku at an on-campus movie screening in the park.

After the fiasco at your apartment with you and Deku, you apologized sincerely to him a couple of days later in class. Deku took no hard feelings to your blunder, and he nodded at the mild rejection when you clarified that things would be best if the two of you stayed friends. He reassured you that he was fine, and he was far too occupied for a relationship of any sort anyway.

But Bakugo wasn’t aware that you two had already tested the waters and decided it was sink rather than swim.

When he spotted you alone sitting on a blanket, he strolled over, wearing a sardonic grin. He struck up a superficial conversation that quickly dissipated once Deku returned with the snacks you two planned on sharing.

Your grin when Deku arrived didn’t compare to the indifferent smile you gave Bakugo when he approached you, and he noticed. His eyes narrowed at your green-haired friend as burning rage coursed through his veins.

“Deku, this is Bakugo,” you said, uninterested in Bakugo’s presence while you took the bag of sour candy Deku offered to you.

Deku smiled at Bakugo, extending his hand to exchange a handshake, but Bakugo simply slapped his hand away dismissively.

“Whatever,” Bakugo jeered, his jaw rooted, before he diverted his attention back to you. “See you later, dumbass.”

He left without a fight, but you knew he wouldn’t put the memory past him, and the following night, all of Bakugo’s anger came bubbling out. The way his brain operated was fascinating, especially since he knew that you two had no romantic commitments to each other, that’s what you agreed on, but finally seeing you over him with someone who he assumed was your new interest turned him crazed.

Bakugo held a painful fistful of your hair, pushing your face into the mattress while he wrecked you. He forced himself into you from behind, muffling your screams with the pillow while he rammed into you relentlessly. Every thrust was vicious, exhibiting the full height of his temper.

“You’re mine, do you understand that? You’re mine to touch, mine to ruin. If anyone else puts their hands on you, I swear I’ll beat them within an inch of their life.”

Bakugo hated to admit it, especially since he knew admitting it turned him into the hypocritical dick of the year, but he enjoyed having you chase after him like a lovelorn puppy. You clung to his side, and you were there at his beck and call. He’d always hated being emotionally tied down, hence his apprehension toward serious relationships, but the way you took advantage of the freedom to see other men made him livid.

“Maybe if I really did put a baby in you other people wouldn’t be such a fucking pain. What do you think?”

Bakugo’s pace didn’t let up as his grip on your hair tightened, and he pulled you upright until your head rested back on his shoulder.

“Answer me,” he demanded, dangerously.

All you could muster were broken sobs. You had never seen Bakugo like this, and you were willing to avow that after discounting your fear and pain, it was hot, and you were slightly intrigued.

Bakugo secured his hand around your neck, allowing his fingers to dig into the side of your throat, and you could feel his cock throbbing inside you which let you know he was close, but he wasn’t making any efforts to slow down any time soon.

“The thought of you with him makes me want to fucking vomit. You know he’ll never be able to make you feel like I do,” he snarled against your ear. “No one will.”

You choked out a meager “I know” while your vision grew blurrier from the lack of oxygen to your head.

You came first and then Bakugo came shortly after, claiming you by pumping you full with his hot seed until you collapsed on the bed from overexhaustion.

You realized then, through the cloudiness of your thoughts came a single conviction: that your relationship with Bakugo was an endless cycle. You’d taken every romantic risk for Bakugo while he risked nothing. That’s how you remained foolish for so long, so naive. You refused to learn over and over again, and you sacrificed yourself in the process.

Once Bakugo threw you modest praise and disappeared into the bathroom, you gave way to the enormity of your despair. Your tears were silent and persistent until your breathing turned ragged while humiliation and resentment burned just beneath your skin.

You were smitten with someone who was bad at romance. Your love was a fairytale, but not everyone believed in fairytales, meaning that was both the birth and death of your chronicle. Fairytales were only real if you believed they were.

Bakugo continued to give you reasons to leave and seek out the love you deserved, but you took momentary bliss as your excuse for staying, like a lovesick fool or like an addict dying from overdose. You wish he would at least give you something to hold onto, like false hope or a pretty lie, but you knew that’s all you’d ever be able to do: wish that things were different so you two could have grown into something beautiful.

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starshine583 · 3 years

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New Girl on the Block (23)

(Welp, y’all, this is it. This is the last, pre-written chapter that I have written. From here on out we’re gonna have to rely strictly on my writing consistency and... I’m so sorry for that lol Because CLEARLY, if we’re on the last pre-written chapter, after having posted, like, three over the last month, we know that this isn’t gonna be good. BUT! I do have THIS chapter to give you! So please enjoy! And don’t forget to check out the mini series connected to this called Journal Entries!)

Ch.1 / Ch.22 / Ch.24 (ao3)

Chapter 23: How the Cards Fall

Marinette stared in horror at her former classmates, violently kicking herself for being so reckless. How could she forget that this was one of Alya and Nino’s favorite food carts too? She used to eat there with them all the time! She should have known better than to pick this place! Actually, she shouldn’t have picked anywhere to eat at all! Going to a place she used to enjoy meant going to a place where she used to hang out with her old friends, which meant eventually running into them, which meant- well - this! Oh, how could she be so stupid?

Maybe it won’t be so bad, she reasoned with herself before she could start hyperventilating. Maybe they’ll just roll their eyes and leave instead of making a scene.

But Alya was never one to back down from a (accidental) challenge. As soon as she realized her eyes weren’t playing tricks on her, a scowl etched itself onto her lips, and she started stomping in Marinette’s direction.

“It is you!” The red-head scoffed. “Oh, when I get my hands on you-”

Marinette flinched back, officially throwing breathing out the window. She looked at her current classmates and wondered what they would do if she ran, what they would think. Would they follow her or would they stay and talk with Alya? What if they started asking questions that Marinette couldn’t answer? What if Alya answered the questions before she could? Would they believe her? Was she going to have to find a new school again? What if Lila’s lies followed her there too? What if she never escaped Lila’s claims?

Suddenly, not breathing turned into breathing too fast, but before she could spiral further than gasping, a shadow passed over her.

It was Allan and Claude, coming to stand in front of her as a defense.

“Hey, woah!” Claude said, holding up his hands in a calming gesture. “Why don’t you back off a bit and tell us what’s got you so upset?”

A hand touched her shoulder lightly, and Marinette’s gaze snapped to Felix, who was now standing next to her. He met her eyes with a subtle raise of the eyebrows, and she knew what it meant.

“Are you alright?”

Marinette drew in a deep breath to steady herself and nodded, even though her insides felt like they were turning outwards at this point. Felix must have seen through her fib because his hand stayed on her shoulder as he looked back at Alya. His eyebrows were furrowed, which could be from his concern, but Marinette also knew curiosity when she saw it. He wants to know who these people are, and why they’re angry with her. And after everything she’s told him about her old school, he might be able to figure it out.

Alya briefly paused at the boys’ blockade, before raising an eyebrow and crossing her arms.

“So is this who you’re hiding behind now?” She asked, unimpressed. “Are these the new people you’ve managed to dupe?”

Marinette tensed, and Felix’s grip tightened on her shoulder. Whether that was a sign of support or his disgruntlement, she wasn’t sure.

“Are we supposed to know what that means?” Allegra, who had also come to stand next to Marinette, drawled.

“No.” Alya said. “Not yet, anyway. This one likes to wait until you’re in pretty deep before springing her trap.”

Marinette bit her lip, indignation rising in her chest. She didn’t deserve this. She hasn’t done anything wrong!

“Alya, that’s enough-” She tried to say, but Alya cut her off.

“I wasn’t talking to you.” The red-head snapped. “You don’t get to have a say anymore, not unless you’re willing to admit what you’ve done, what you really are.”

“Alya, come on.” Nino, who finally decided to join the conversation, coaxed. “L-Let’s just go. It’s not worth fighting over.”

Marinette might have been grateful had he not backed down right after when Alya shot him a glare.

“I’m going to assume you guys are her new classmates and friends.” Alya continued. “So let me tell you, as a former classmate and best friend, that this girl,” she pointed her finger accusingly at Marinette, “is a fraud.”

“That’s not true!” Marinette couldn’t help shouting.

Alya ignored her. “She makes herself look sweet and innocent by making you croissants or cookies and bringing you handmade gifts, but it’s all an act. All she really wants is the attention that the gifts bring, and when she doesn’t get it, she goes ballistic. I used to think she was the best thing in the world until a foreign exchange student came along and became more popular. Then she started stealing that person’s homework and ripping it up, or throwing her textbooks in the trash, or even tripping her down flights of stairs. One time we even caught her stealing personal items!”

“I didn’t do any of that!” Marinette insisted, more so to her friends than to Alya. “I told you she framed me!”

Alya scoffed. “You can’t even deny it anymore! Lila has all of the rude texts you’ve sent her, there were multiple witnesses to the tattered homework that was on your desk- myself included -and we all saw her take her family heirloom out of your locker.”

“That wasn’t a family heirloom! She literally bought that in a store two months before and then put it in my locker to frame me!”

Alya rolled her eyes and turned back to Claude and Allan. “Obviously, she’s going to make up whatever excuse she can to keep you from listening to me, but I advise you to dump her now while you can. She’ll make your life a living nightmare if she thinks you’re better than her somehow, though at this point,” Alya shot Marinette another scalding glare, “we all are.”

Tears burned in the corner of Marinette’s eyes, but before she could further argue her innocence, Claude spoke up.

“Ok, so what proof do you have of this?”

It was something she’d expected Felix to ask, honestly, and it left her staring at the brunette in shock. He was.. asking questions. The right questions. He wasn’t taking Alya’s words as gospel the way everyone else at Dupont had done with Lila’s words.

Alya frowned. “I already told you-”

“No, I don’t care about what you’ve said.” Claude interrupted. “You’re a stranger I just met, and Marinette is a good friend that I’ve known for a wonderful month and a half. I’m going to need more than your word.”

Alya narrowed her eyes at him, debating.

“Alright, fine. I’ll bring Lila here as a first hand account. She has the texts saved on her phone. As for the homework and such, those have already been replaced and done away with, but I do have the class president binder where several important forms are missing from Marinette burning them instead of giving them to Lila after leaving.”

Marinette had to bite her tongue to avoid laughing despite herself. Lila said that she burned some of the class papers? What would make her lie about something like that? Was it to get out of the work? Oh, boy, was that going to come back to bite her. She probably had to resign all of the ‘missing’ paperwork! Oh, this is the greatest thing Marinette’s ever heard. Hopefully, she said she lost a lot.

“Do you have the burnt papers?” Allan asked.

“No, of course not-”

“So, let me see if I’ve got this right,” Allegra said, her voice edging on annoyance, “we’re supposed to believe the account of a foreign exchange student, who we also don’t know, and who, apparently, brought out the worst in Marinette by herself even though no one had ever done so before, and the only actual proof you have, other than that girl’s word, is a series of texts that can easily be altered and a binder with some missing pages that ‘Lila’ could have misplaced or even burned herself. Is that correct?”

Alya scoffed. “You’re making it sound ridiculous.”

“No, I’m repeating what you’ve said to us, which is ridiculous.”

“She’s done other things too!” Alya insisted. “Just the other day she met up with one of my other friends and tried to persuade them into her clutches again, even though she had already transferred schools. Look-”

Alya pulled out her phone, and for once, Marinette looked on with interest as well. Lila making up a lie like that meant someone had to be going against her now, right? So who was it? Did someone mention Marinette’s name in an argument, and now Lila’s latching onto that as an advantage?

After a minute of searching, Alya flipped her phone around for them to see her screen, and the picture displayed on it made Marinette’s stomach drop.

“Woah, is that Adrien Agreste?”

The group, aside from Felix, leaned forward to see the picture better, but Marinette found herself leaning back, the blood draining from her features. That was a picture of her and Adrien at the café last Friday, but- but how did- when could they have possibly-

“Where did you get that?” She blurted out before she could stop herself.

Alya fixed her with a smug grin. “Look familiar? Lila took this while you and Adrien were having lunch last week. I’d been wondering why he was asking her so many questions about her stories, but now it all makes sense. You’ve been secretly coaxing him to your side again, and poor Adrien couldn’t resist. Even when I called him about the picture, he said he just wanted to be your friend again. I guess he always did see the best in everyone, though.”

Marinette felt sick to her stomach. How long was Lila with them in that café and Marinette didn’t even know it? How much did she overhear as Marinette blabbered on and on to Adrien about her current life? Did she know about Marinette attending Rosemary? Did she tell Alya about her attending Rosemary? How many people did she send that picture to?

She clutched for Felix’s hand on her shoulder, suddenly not trusting herself to stand, and he quickly put his other hand on top of hers. The comfort of his touch was appreciated, but not enough.

A burst of laughter cut into Marinette’s panic, and she turned to Claude who was all but rolling on the grass. He clutched his sides as he howled and even went as far as to wipe tears from his eyes.

“Wait a minute, wait a minute..” the brunette wheezed. “So you’re telling me, that Adrien Agreste, the fashion icon and heart throb of Paris, was in your class, but Marinette only started acting out after the foreign exchange student showed up? No offense to you, Mari, but I’m pretty sure a rich, young model would have been way more popular. How come she didn’t sabotage him?”

Alya faltered for a moment, not quite expecting the question and certainly not the laughter. “W-Well- I mean- she did have a major crush on him. Maybe she didn’t care that he was more popular than her because she liked him so much.”

Marinette felt her cheeks heat up out of embarrassment, but thankfully, no one touched on that subject. Instead, Allegra hummed and said, “Okay, fine. Assuming that’s true, what made Lila so popular?”

“Plenty of things.” Alya stated matter-of-factly. “She’s helped Prince Ali organize several charities, made petitions to save endangered animal preserves, is best friends with Ladybug-”

Marinette didn’t resist her eye roll.

“-and even saved Jagged stone’s kitten!”

Marinette glanced at Claude, who immediately deadpanned a “what”. She knew that if anyone was going to pick up the last line, it would be him.

“Jagged Stone never owned a kitten.” Claude said. “He’s allergic.”

“It was before he knew he was allergic.”

“He’s still never owned a kitten!” Claude exclaimed with a flail of his arms. “He’s only ever owned a crocodile! That’s been said in multiple interviews!”

“But-”

“And if we want to bring up charities, Prince Ali doesn’t organize any charities. He only donates to them.” Allegra pointed out.

“I-”

“And petitions to protect endangered animal preserves?” Allan echoed. “Those don’t need protection. They are set in stone by law.”

“I’m sure-”

“Look, you’ve clearly been given false information.” Claude said, crossing his arms, “and because you were dumb enough to believe the real attention-seeker, you’ve lost an amazing friend. Now I suggest you leave us alone before I report you to the authorities for harassment.”

Alya’s face twisted with rage. “Harrass- you know what? Whatever. I’ve done my part. Don’t say I didn’t warn you when she starts ruining your life out of jealousy.”

Marinette caught a glimpse of Claude clenching his fists, and Allan put a hand on the brunette’s shoulder to steady him.

“We won’t. Have a nice day.”

Alya huffed and stormed off, dragging Nino with her. He glanced over his shoulder to give Marinette an apologetic look, but she didn’t meet his gaze. Instead she crossed her arms over her chest and blew out a sigh. That.. could have gone worse.. she supposed.

“Marinette.”

Marinette’s fingers dug into her skin, and she hesitantly looked up at Felix. His hand had loosened on her shoulder, and he was staring at her with an unreadable expression. What was he thinking right now? Was he angry? Disappointed? Confused about why she didn’t tell him about her lunch date with Adrien? She wished he would give her a clue of some kind.

“Are you alright?” He asked softly. “You’re shaking.”

Marinette blinked, pulling her hands away from her body. She was shaking? How did she not notice?

“Oh, and you look so pale!” Allegra cried, wrapping her arms around Marinette’s shoulders. “Should we take you home?”

Marinette grabbed Allegra’s arm and forced a small smile as she shook her head. “No, no, I’m.. I..”

She wanted to say that she was fine, that they could continue having lunch as usual, but a lump in her throat made it hard to get the words out. Next thing she knew, tears were spilling down her cheeks, and she was putting her hand over her mouth to choke down a sob.

All this time.. All this time she’d been keeping her past a secret from them, scared that they might take Lila’s side like everyone else, yet here they were, holding her close and offering her hushed condolences. They were giving her the very support she’d been afraid of losing, and now she was ashamed that she’d ever been afraid at all.

“I’m so sorry!” She nearly sobbed.

Allegra pulled her closer. “No, don’t say that! There’s nothing you need to be apologizing for!”

Claude and Allan rushed to wrap their arms around her as well, and Felix slid his hand down to rub her back. This, of course, only made her cry harder, because they were being so gentle with her, so kind. How could she have ever doubted them?

“Why don’t we go back to the house?” Claude suggested gently. “Mom and Dad won’t be back yet so we can give you a minute to recover.”

“And Felix makes the best honeysuckle tea.” Allegra adds. “It’ll cure any pain those idiots caused.”

Marinette sniffed and gave a little nod. People were starting to stare at them anyway, and at this point, she’d lost her appetite.

“Thank you.”

“Of course, whatever you need.” Allegra said as she led Marinette back to the car.

Marinette took the handkerchief Felix offered her and dried some of her tears, then gave him a small, grateful smile. He hadn’t spoken much during the altercation, but the way he quietly hovered around her and held her hand when she needed it said enough, especially since she knew he didn’t appreciate being touched.

It’s funny. Whenever she used to think about them finding out about Lila- because, surely, it would have to happen eventually -she always assumed she would feel anxious or paranoid afterwards. “What if they didn’t believe her? What if they constantly doubted her actions now? What if she constantly doubted their actions? Would they ever be able to trust each other fully again?” But as she got into the limo and sat down, and everyone crowded around her to show their love and support over the awful things Lila had said, all Marinette felt was safe.

~~~~~~

Felix leaned his back against the peppered countertop and crossed his arms, his finger tapping against his bicep with impatience. The iron tea kettle sat on the stove next to him, slowly heating and steeping the honeysuckle tea that he’d been requested to make. Usually, it took no time at all for the kettle to whistle, but today, it felt like he’d been standing there for an eternity.

He glanced at the digital clock on the microwave to see how long he’d been waiting, and the numbers 12:45 blinked across it.

12:45pm.. That meant he’d been in the kitchen for about..

Two minutes.

Felix sighed and ran a hand through his hair, his gaze sliding to the kitchen doorway. Marinette was sitting in the living room with the others just outside of it, with her and Allegra on one three-cushioned-couch, and Claude and Allan on the other one across from them. She seemed to be having a decent time, chatting and laughing with everyone, but that didn’t ease Felix’s mind any, not after what he saw in the park.

He’ll admit to being curious when the fight first started. Rosemary is known for its hair-pulling, arm-biting brawls, but they’re also known to remain dignified despite them. For example, the brawls are almost always private, which is why, when someone called out to Marinette in such a harsh and open manner, Felix couldn’t help being intrigued.

When he saw how Marinette reacted, however, his stance on the situation dramatically changed.

In the month and a half that he’s known her, Marinette has faced down high-class celebrities, an overwhelming amount of clothing requests from Claude, and an actual akuma, and not once has Felix seen her so much as flinch. Not until today, that is, when that red-head somehow shook her to her core. Just the sight of her sent Marinette into hysterics, crying, shaking, her face becoming white as a sheet- he’s quite certain she almost hyperventilated at some point too. This strong girl that he’d grown to admire, that he was starting to believe could face anything unscathed, had crumbled to pieces in mere seconds, and it honestly frightened him. He wasn’t sure what to do or how to help. So he simply grabbed her shoulder, hoping she would understand what he was trying to say- that he was there for her, and was she alright?

She understood him, thankfully, and her shoulders started to loosen a bit under his gaze.

But then that red-head started talking.

She spat out the most ridiculous accusations Felix had ever heard, accusations stating that Marinette was a liar and a fake, that she only ever did things for attention. Even if the part about wanting attention was true- which it wasn’t -why would it matter? She does incredible things simply because people ask her to. Why shouldn’t she get any attention for it?

As annoying as the last claim was, though, it wasn’t nearly as infuriating as the rest of the things that girl said. She told them she was Marinette’s former best friend, yet she cast the ravenette aside at the drop of a hat simply because an exchange student with a rusted silver tongue told her to do so. Honestly, who would be dumb enough to believe that some foreign student was best friends with one of the Parisian superheroes? Or that a highschooler actually got to organize charity events? The most she would be able to do at her age was greet people as they walked inside.

Felix wasn’t even going to think about the Jagged Stone claim, since Claude already made it quite clear that that was another lie, but really, who goes into a new school spreading the most impossibly grand lies they can? More importantly, how did those lies manage to stick? Was everyone at Dupont a complete moron?

No.. No, that wasn’t it. No one was that stupid, surely. They all probably wanted to believe Lila. That’s why they pounced on Marinette the way they did. They were looking for an excuse to go after her the entire time.

Felix clenched his fist and turned to the kettle again, watching the steam rise from the spout. It’s no wonder she became so worried when saw Adrien Agreste at Rosemary. After her crush on him and the lies, Felix wouldn’t want to see his former classmates either.

...Speaking of Agreste, what was that picture about? Felix doubted Marinette was trying to ‘persuade him to her side’ as that red-head had said, but her reaction to it was extremely strong nonetheless. Why were they in a café together? It sounded like she met up with him only last week, but she’d told Felix a couple weeks ago that she didn’t want to see him. Why would she put herself through that? And why did she grip his hand so hard when she saw the picture?

The shrill whistle of the tea kettle broke into his thoughts, and Felix jumped to move it off of the burner. Once it was set aside properly, he turned the stove off and began setting out the mugs to fill them. They weren’t as delicate or pristine as the tea sets his father owned, but they would do nicely for the time being. Besides, if Marinette had a one-of-a-kind glass teacup, she might fret about breaking it instead of enjoying the tea.

Felix filled the mugs and put them on a tray, along with some sugars, milk, and honey, then picked up the tray to bring it into the living room. A round of delighted cheers filled the room as he entered, and Claude eagerly bounced up from the couch to grab his mug. Felix moved the tray out of his reach, though, not wanting to offset the balance and spill everything.

“Sorry it took so long.” Felix said as he set the tray on the table. “The tea is fresh so I brought in ice cubes to cool it off if you want them. If not, make sure to blow on it before drinking or you’ll burn your tongue.”

“Yeah, yeah, we know the drill.” Claude remarked as he reached for his mug again.

Felix rolled his eyes. “That was for Marinette’s benefit, not yours.”

“I’m sure Mari knows how to drink hot tea.” Claude retorted.

“But I appreciate the advice anyway.” Marinette spoke up with a smile.

Felix glanced at her as he handed her a pink mug, trying not to look at the puffed up red spots under her eyes. Her tears had long since disappeared, but the remnants of them still remained, including the trails on her cheeks that the tears had run down.

“You’re going to love this, Marinette.” Allegra chirped, thankfully taking the girl’s focus. “This tea literally tastes like honey. I doubt you’ll even need any sugar!”

“Yeah, but I’m gonna.” Claude smirked, already shoveling a spoonful of sugar into his tea. “Unsweet tea was never my style.”

“I swear you are gonna die from diabetes one day.” Allan muttered while taking a sip of his tea.

“And it will totally be worth it.” Claude replied.

Marinette and the others laughed, which helped Felix relax a tad as he sat next to Allan. If Marinette was laughing again, maybe that meant she was feeling better.

The ravenette’s lips hovered over the mug for a solid minute as she blew on the pale, celadon liquid, and when she finally decided to take a drink, Felix found himself staring. Did she like it? Was it too strong? Should he go make something else for her?

“Oh, this is amazing!” Marinette gasped, her eyes lighting up.

Felix smiled, relieved. “I’m glad you think so. I like to add a few drops of honey and a sprinkle of sugar every now and then because it brings out the flavor, but that’s just a personal preference.”

“The tea is incredible already, but I’ll try your style anyway.” She said, reaching for the sugar. Claude pushed it towards her, while Allegra gave her the honey, and once Marinette dumped the extra ingredients into her mug, she took a spoon from a tray to stir them.

She took another sip of the tea, and this time, she sank into the couch with a contented sigh.

“Wow. That is so good, especially with how warm it is! I feel like I’ve just been wrapped up in the most comfortable blanket ever.”

The trio shared a laugh, and Marinette sat up with another giggle herself, but to Felix’s disappointment, the smiles didn’t last.

Marinette set her mug on her lap and let out a sigh, a bashful smile replacing her giddy one. She kept her gaze on her cup as she said, “So, I guess… I should explain myself?”

The group exchanged glances, and Allegra frowned.

“What’s there to explain?” Allan was the first to ask.

Marinette looked up. “Well- Y-You know.. The reasons why Alya was so angry with me. How everything happened at my old school.”

“Again, what’s there to explain?” Claude said. “It’s obvious what happened. This ‘Lila’ person spread rumors about you around the school, and for some reason, your classmates were dumb enough to believe it. End of story.”

For once, Felix agreed with him.

“.. Not quite.” Marinette admitted, causing Felix to furrow his eyebrows. How much more to the story could there possibly be? Don’t tell him it got worse.

“I’d like to tell my side of the story, if you guys don’t mind.”

Allegra offered her a reassuring smile. “Of course not, but you don’t have to tell us anything if you don’t want to.”

“Yeah.” Allan agreed. “Your word is all we need.”

A grateful smile caught the corners of Marinette’s lips. “Thank you, but I want to do this. I’ll feel a lot better once you guys know the full truth.”

“Then we’re all ears.” Felix said, sincerely.

Marinette’s smile widened slightly as she glanced at him, but her expression fell serious again when she began her story.

“It started almost two years ago. The September before last, a girl named Lila joined our school- er -my old school, Dupont. She came in telling all of these different stories about meeting celebrities and arranging charity events or music concerts and being ‘best friends’ with Ladybug.”

The sheer disgust in her voice when she mentioned being best friends with Ladybug made Felix smirk, but he let her continue.

“With stories as crazy as that, I couldn’t believe that my fr- uh.. That my classmates were actually believing her. In one day, she had them following her around like dogs and carrying her stuff because she claimed to have hurt her wrist in an accident. I forget which excuse she used, but it ticked me off to no end. So I tried to tell everyone that she was lying.”

“It.. didn’t end well, unfortunately. She turned into an akuma and went on a rampage, and after Ladybug and Chat Noir fixed everything, she only gained more sympathy from everybody. That’s when the stories about me started.”

“Every time I tried to expose her, she would make up some elaborate lie that made me the bad guy, and everyone swallowed it hook, line, and sinker. I tried to tell the teachers about what was happening, and some of them helped keep us separated during class time. But other than that, I was kind of just.. left to handle it by myself.”

Felix held back a scoff. Typical. Teachers never bothered entering student squabbles if they thought it wasn’t law-suit worthy.

“Of course, since the teachers weren’t doing anything, the lies only got worse, and soon, Lila started lying about me unprovoked. She would say I stole her things or ripped up her homework or tripped her down the stairs. I almost got expelled over it twice.”

“Wait, seriously?” Claude said before Felix could actually scoff. “So you told the teacher that this ‘Lila’ was spreading lies around the school, but they still tried to expel you over the things she said?”

Marinette nodded. “They would have to if she hadn’t come back and made up some lies about having been mistaken. I’m still not sure why she did that.”

Felix shook his head, absolutely incredulous to what he was hearing. It appeared the students weren’t the only morons in that school. How has it stayed funded for this long?

“Maybe it was a power play.” Allan muttered with a frown. “She sounds like the type of person who would do that.”

Marinette shrugged. “Yeah, I guess she is.”

“Didn’t anyone believe you?” Allegra asked.

A wince overcame the ravenette’s features, and Felix reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose. He couldn’t wait to hear what she had to say about that question.

“Yes, someone did,” Marinette admitted, “but he wasn’t very helpful, to be honest. Actually, he tried to get me to stop going against Lila in case she got akumatized again. His reasoning was that her lies would eventually be found out on their own, but.. as you know.. They never were.”

Claude scoffed and put a hand to his chest, seeming to be offended by the very notion. “Are you for real? He just wanted you to let it go?”

“Did he even say anything while you were in the process of being expelled?” Allan asked.

Marinette’s face said plenty, but she answered aloud anyway. “No, not that I know of. He never liked getting in the middle of confrontations.”

Now it was Felix’s turn to scoff. He tipped his drink up to his lips, downing half the mug to avoid interrupting her story further. Felix scoffed, taking a sip of his tea to avoid interrupting her story further. Did no one want to stand up for Marinette? Did no one in that forsaken school have any sense of loyalty or gratitude? That dumb redhead at the park even admitted that Marinette had done numerous things for them as favors. How can they look at themselves in the mirror each morning when they treat people so horribly?

“So what happened after you almost got expelled?” Allegra prompted.

“Well, if you’re asking me what changed, then nothing, really.” Marinette replied. “Lila continued to lie, and I continued to take the fall for it, except now people were actually doing things to me. Before, they only talked about me behind my back or glared at me from the front, but after another one of Lila’s crying fits, they started ripping up my homework, stealing my things. I guess they thought they were playing the act of karma when they did it.”

“And I assume that guy who believed you stayed quiet the whole time?” Claude asked bitterly.

Marinette shrugged. “Basically. He tried to speak up on my behalf a few times, but he was always shut down too fast for it to matter.”

“Eventually, it got so bad that everyone started tripping me too, or running into me on purpose in the hallway. The last straw was when someone tripped down the front steps of the school, and I almost stumbled into a passing car. I was lucky I didn’t get hit.”

Felix’s grip tightened on his cup, and he thanked whatever was watching over her that day while simultaneously cursing the idiots she’d been forced to interact with. Did they even realize what they were doing? Or did they simply not care about almost murdering another classmate?

“Oh my gosh.” Allegra gasped, putting a hand to her mouth.

“That’s insane.” Allan said.

“Were they even sorry?!” Claude demanded, outraged. “Did they even look ashamed when you almost got hit?”

Marinette took another drink of her tea and shook her head. “No. My Maman tried to talk to the school about it, but since nothing actually happened besides me getting pushed, they could only offer her detention slips or suspension.”

She paused to look up at Felix, surprising him.

“That’s why I decided to transfer to Rosemary.” She said, and in that moment, it felt as though everything she had ever told him clicked into place. The reason the akuma attacks all seemed minor to her, why she never mentioned her old school, her becoming pale when Agreste first came around to Rosemary- it all made sense now, like he’d taken a million separate puzzle pieces and connected them to form a single picture.

Felix thought he would be pleased, that he would feel triumphant upon solving this brain teaser known as Marinette, but he didn’t feel pleased at all. Instead he felt.. Sympathy. And fury. This girl was not some puzzle for him to mess around with. She was a person, a friend, his friend, and to hear her be treated in such a way made his blood boil.

“We’re glad you did.” Allegra commented.

“Yeah, you’re clearly much better off here.” Claude agreed. “Those jerks don’t know what they lost.”

“So you guys aren’t.. Ya know.. mad at me or anything?”

“Mad at you?” Allan frowned. “Why would we be mad at you?”

“Well,” Marinette thumbed her mug for a moment, “I did kind of keep this a secret from all of you on purpose. I just didn’t want to drag my old problems to my new school. That and.. I didn’t want to risk you not believing me.. I’m sorry I didn’t have more faith in you guys.”

“You don’t have to be sorry.” Allegra said. “You went through something terrible. We don’t blame you for not wanting to bring it up again.”

“Besides, you transferred schools to escape from the rumors, right?” It only makes sense that you wouldn’t tell us about them when you got here.” Allan pointed out.

Felix nodded in agreement, and Marinette let out a sigh of relief.

“That’s good to hear. Thanks for hearing me out.”

“Of course.” Claude smiled. “You’re our friend, Marinette. A few dumb rumors would never drive us away. If it did, we wouldn’t even be friends with each other by now.”

Marinette gave him a curious look. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, we’ve all been lied about at some point.” The brunette stated nonchalantly. “I mean, we go to Rosemary, a school filled to the brim with rich, talented, and extremely spoiled kids who have nothing better to do than gossip about each other. I get accused of cheating at least once a semester. Allegra had rumors about her bribing the dance teacher when she was chosen for a leading role one year, and Felix has been rumored to actually not be rich at all.”

Felix rolled his eyes, but an incredulous laugh left Marinette’s lips.

“What?”

Allan snorted. “Oh, that one was pretty funny. Some people still think he actually lives in the school.”

“Seriously? Why?”

“Cause he wouldn’t invite people over to his house.” Allegra said with a wry smile. “And he practically wears the same outfit everyday.

Marinette hummed, looking Felix up and down. “They make a good point.. Felix, is there something you’d like to confess to?”

Felix gave a playful scoff, and the group laughed at his reaction.

“See?” Claude asked. “Your rumors were definitely worse than ours, but we’re not inexperienced. People will always try to bring you down in the lamest way possible.”

Marinette chuckled. “Yeah.. I guess they will. Thanks, guys.”

“Anytime.” Allegra smiled, pulling Marinette into a small hug.

“We’re always here for you.” Allan added sincerely.

Marinette smiled as well. “I know.”

“And if any of those jerks come around you again, you just let us know,” Claude said, punching his fist into his palm, “especially if it’s that guy who tried to tell you to ‘ignore’ Lila.”

A nervous laugh came from Marinette, and she reached up to mess with her pigtails as she said, “I appreciate that.”

Felix, satisfied with how the conversation ended, tilted his cup up to his lips, only to realize it was empty. He pulled his cup down and scanned the table, noting that Allegra and Claude’s cups were empty as well.

“Why don’t I get us some more tea?” He offered, moving to grab the tray.

“Oh!” Marinette perked up, quickly downing the rest of her tea in one gulp. “I’ll come too.”

Felix blinked. “Uh.. that’s not necessary. I can carry it all in one sitting. If you’d rather sit-”

“No, it’s alright.” She said, standing up to take Claude’s cup from him. “I want to stretch my legs anyway.”

The trio exchanged glances again, but Felix was too busy eyeing Marinette to notice. ‘Stretch her legs’? She’s only been sitting for- what? Thirty minutes? Forty-five? How restless could her legs be?

“We’ll wait in here.” Allegra remarked, referring to herself and the other boys.

Felix nodded and picked up the tray, not bothering to argue with Marinette. If she wanted to walk with him into the kitchen, she certainly had the right to do so. And who knows? Maybe she wanted a moment to herself and didn’t know how to tell them.

They strode into the kitchen together, and Felix set the tray on the counter while Marinette handed him her mugs.

“Thank you for helping me. You know you didn’t need to.” He said as he refilled the mugs.

“I know,” Marinette said, leaning against the counter while she waited, “but I actually wanted to speak with you privately, so this works for me.”

Felix raised a questioning eyebrow at her. She wanted to speak with him privately?

“What did you need?”

Marinette glanced up at him, then seemed to think better of it as her gaze flicked back down to the ground. “I wanted to apologize to you too.. You remember last week when you asked me if something was wrong and I told you I didn’t want to talk about it? Well, the reason I was upset was because Adrien came to the bakery that day and begged me to speak with him. I didn’t really feel comfortable with it, but I felt guilty not giving him a second chance when he seemed so sorry about how he’d acted with Lila. So I agreed to have lunch with him after the Valentine’s Day party, which was where I ran off to while you guys were cleaning up. I guess Lila took a picture of us there, and I didn’t realize it..”

Felix frowned. Her reasons for visiting Agreste again were troubling to hear, but..

“Why do you need to apologize to me?”

Marinette’s gaze snapped to his again, her eyes wide with surprise. “Because I didn’t tell you. I knew after everything you’d heard about him that you wouldn’t want me going to see him, but instead of hearing your opinion, I just didn’t say anything. I should have talked to you about it. Maybe then Lila wouldn’t have found me and taken the picture..”

Felix stared at her for a moment, astounded by her logic. She thought she had to ask him before going to see Adrien? Sure, Felix would have advised against it immediately, but that didn’t mean she had to ask his permission.

“Marinette, you don’t owe me anything.” He told her. “Your life is your life. If you want to go have lunch with Adrien Agreste, that’s your decision. And while I would have advised against it, I still would have supported your decision nonetheless. I am your friend, not your boss or guardian. Do you understand?”

Marinette nodded, a grateful smile crossing her lips. He was happy to see it.

“More importantly, you don’t owe Agreste anything either. Just because he finally wisened up to his mistakes doesn’t mean you have to give him a second chance, especially if you don’t feel comfortable doing so.”

Felix paused, thinking over what he’d just said.

“Although, I am curious.. What did he apologize for? He wasn’t one of the people who assaulted you, was he?”

“Oh, no, no.” Marinette hastily answered. “He, uhm.. He was actually the one who didn’t believe Lila.”

Felix tensed, using all of his self-discipline to avoid screaming ‘Are you kidding me?!’. Because really, out of all the people that had to convince Marinette to let Lila go, why did it have to be him? Actually, now that he thought about it, of course it was him! Who else would Marinette have been willing to listen to? Who else would have had the gall, the audacity, to act as though enabling a spoiled brat was some noble sacrifice? Wow, that guy just managed to keep climbing up the ranks on Felix’s ‘most hated’ list, didn’t he?

“I see.” Felix managed to mumble. “Are you going to tell the others?”

Marinette bit her lip, which was most likely a ‘no’.

“Not yet-” bingo “-I don’t want him getting a bad reputation. He did apologize, after all.”

Felix drew in a deep breath, letting the frustration towards that answer melt out of him. This was Marinette’s decision. She has trusted him with it, and he is going to respect it, no matter how much he hates it. That’s why he simply heaved a heavy sigh and put a hand on her shoulder as he said, “Marinette, you are truly too kind for this world.”

A blush bloomed across her cheeks, and she let out a small laugh. “O-Oh.. thanks.”

Felix turned back to the tray and picked it up, offering her a polite smile as he did. He didn’t agree with her method of handling things, but he did trust her to know what she was doing. Marinette was Marinette, after all, and she was much more capable than he was in most areas. If she thought this was the best way to go, he wouldn’t dispute it.

“So,” he began as he gestured for her to start moving towards the living room, “if I just put sugar in Claude’s mug instead of tea, do you think he would know the difference?”

Marinette snorted. “Oh~, that’s a tough one. Maybe we should test it to find out.”

“Alright, but you have to give him the cup. If I do, he’ll assume I’ve poisoned it.”

Marinette giggled and walked into the living room, and Felix followed behind her with a smile. He knew he couldn’t march up to the Agreste mansion and rip Adrien apart like he preferred- he probably couldn’t get any revenge on him whatsoever -but Felix would be darned if he just let this go the way Marinette wanted him to. Actions such as this needed to be punished, not forgiven and forgotten because of some half-hearted apology. If she wanted to toss the whole ordeal over her shoulder, that was fine, but Felix was going to hold a grudge against Dupont that was strong enough for the both of them.

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(Devotion: Alright guys! We’ve talked about the message of God’s wonderful salvation- which you should totally go back and read if you haven’t accepted Christ as your savior. It’s extremely important. -we’ve talked about how the Bible says people will react to the word of God, which has been proven to be true time and again; We have talked about Hell and why it exists; and in the last message, we talked about God’s compassion and faithfulness to His people. The last devotion wasn’t exactly in line with the others as far as the salvation theme, but today’s devotion will be! We’re going to talk about Jesus Christ and what exactly He went through on the cross to become the perfect sacrifice for our sins. This one’s probably going to be a bit long, and it is going to be gruesome. So what I’m going to do is bolden the main points of what He went through, then I’m going to describe them in detail. That way, people who can’t stomach gore or painful descriptions can still see a semblance of what He did, and people who can stomach it will get to understand the full extent of which Jesus loves us. Alright? Everyone got it? Great! Let’s get going then!

We start in the garden of Gethsemane. Jesus comes here only a few hours or less before He is arrested to be tried for crucifixion. He knows He is about to be arrested; He knows that this is the only way to save us from our sins, but that doesn’t stop Him from crying out to God and begging Him for a last way out. He says, “O my Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me: nevertheless not as I will, but as thou wilt”, and the Bible says that He was under so much stress during this prayer, He actually began sweating drops of blood. Blood! More so, the Bible also tells us that Jesus had to have an actual angel fly down and keep His heart from rupturing, lest He die prematurely. That means that Jesus was so stressed He almost died before He could even be crucified! Jesus was scared! He was terrified of going through with what God was asking of Him, and wouldn’t we all be! Nobody likes pain, and Jesus was about to go through one of the greatest pains we could ever face. Not only that, there were going to be a few other add-ons to the physical pain He was about to receive.

See, Jesus is supposed to be the perfect lamb, the perfect sacrifice to atone for all of our sins, but to do that, Jesus not only needs to be punished for the sins we have committed, He also has to become the thing He’s being punished for. You cannot punish something that is innocent. It would be unjust. Jesus is aware of this, and that’s another reason He’s as stressed as He is in this moment of prayer. Although Jesus is manifested in human form at the moment, He is still very much God and part of the Holy Trinity, and as such, He still hates sin with a burning passion. He is disgusted by the very thought of it, the very idea. So imagine His dismay when He figures out that He has to become sin! That it has to be woven and meshed into His entire being! That would be like, for me, looking at all of the disgusting food water that’s in the sink before doing dishes and having to bathe myself in it without soap. (even bathing in it with soap would be bad, but you know) And for you guys! Think of the most disgusting thing on earth and then imagine being drench in it! Having it smeared on your skin and shoved in your mouth and caked all over your body- That’s what becoming our sin was going to be like for Jesus, and He hated every bit of it!...

But He loved us. So He went on with it anyway, the pain of crucifixion and the atrocity of becoming all of the sins of the world at once.

As soon as He was done with prayer, Judas- one of the former twelve disciples -betrayed Jesus and handed Him over to the chief priests as well as a crowd of people and soldiers. Jesus went willingly with them and did not fight. In fact, when Peter- another one of the twelve -leapt forward to protect Him by cutting off one of the High Priest’s ears, Jesus actually rebuked him and proceeded to put the High Priest’s ear back on his head. He was healing one of the very people who were about to kill Him! And the disciples were so confused and so panicked by this mob and Jesus’ “strange” behavior, that they all fled. Every single one of them. (This was done to fulfill scripture, so we shouldn’t judge them too harshly, but it is extremely sad for Jesus’ case.)

So the High Priests take Jesus away to Caiaphas, another High priest, and they put Him on trial. The High Priests and Elders tried to put false witnesses up on the stand, but none of their stories were adding up. They couldn’t share the same details that the other was, and almost no two stories were the same. Therefore, the High Priests got frustrated and started taunting Jesus directly, saying, “Answerest thou nothing? What is it which these witness against thee?” But Jesus refused to say anything. He just sat there, silent. This angered the High Priest, so he finally just yelled at Him- or at least, I imagine he yelled -and said, “I adjure thee by the name of the living God, that thou tell us whether thou be the Christ, the Son of God.” And here, we have one of the instances that Jesus openly admits, plain and blunt, that He is the Christ. He tells the High Priest that He is the Son of God, and that after this, He will be sitting on the right hand of power, and coming in the clouds of Heaven.

The High Priest rents his clothes (which means to tear them. It used to be a sign of grieving) and says that Jesus has committed blasphemy, and unfortunately, the rest of the council agree and sentence Him to death. This is where the beginning of the crucifixion process begins. They still had to get a governor’s approval for the death sentence, but that didn’t stop them from taking Jesus and blindfolding Him and beating him while He was blindfolded. They would laugh and spit in His face during this and taunt Him, saying “Prophesy unto us, though Christ, who is he that smote thee?” It was an incredibly humiliating experience for our Lord to go through, but it was about to get much much worse.

The next morning, they take Jesus to Pontius Pilate, a governor, and demand that Jesus be crucified. Pilate, I would assume, reviews the case, because we see him ask Jesus if He is the King of the Jews a few verses later. Jesus simply answers with a “thou sayest” then refuses to speak again for the rest of the time. Despite that, though, Pilate knew the people were only delivering Jesus there because they were jealous of Him. So he gave the angry mob a choice: “Whom will ye that I release unto you? Barabbas, or Jesus which is called Christ?”

so understand this choice, it is important to know that there was a certain feast going on at that time, and at the feast, Pontius likes to release a prisoner of the people’s choice. Barabbas was a current prisoner, known for being a murderer and a thief, and I’m sure Pilate was hoping that by presenting a very unjust man compared to Jesus for release, the people would concede and choose Jesus to release. That’s not what happened, though. The people were so angry and so swayed by the High Priest’s influence that they decided to let the thief and murderer loose, as opposed to a completely innocent man. Pontius Pilate is flabbergasted and asks them, “What shall I do then with Jesus which is called Christ?”

The response was.. unanimous.

“Let him be crucified.”

“Why? What evil hath he done?” Pilate persisted, but the people only cried out louder for Jesus to be crucified. So Pilate, seeing that he couldn’t change their minds, washed his hands in a bowl of water and said, “I am innocent of the blood of this just person: see ye to it.”

Thus, Jesus was sent off to be Scourged, the first part of the crucifixion process. Scourging is a devious, calculated type of torture that uses a cat of nine tails to rip the flesh off of its victims. A cat of nine tails is basically a leather handle that has nine different whips attached to the same end, and on the end of those whips were hooks created from shattered glass or twisted metal or any other kind of sharp thing you can think of. The romans would throw the whip across their victim’s skin, and the jagged pieces laced into the whip would latch onto the skin. Then, the Romans would yank across the whip, causing the jagged pieces to tear through the flesh. The pain that would come from that is excruciating, and during this scourging, Jesus was stripped of his garments and whipped with a cat of nine tails thirty nine times. To put that in perspective, it takes 40 times of being whipped with that thing to be killed. This means that Jesus was whipped to the point of near death. His skin is in tatters. There is blood all over his skin. His teeth have probably cracked from having to grit them so much, and Jesus is in pain. He’s in so much pain already.

But it’s not over yet.

The next thing the Romans decide to do is place a purple garment around him, and weave a crowd of thorns together. These aren’t just regular thorns, either. These thorns are about two inches long and pointed, and by the time the Romans got a thick circle of thorns together, I’d imagine you could hardly hold it in your hands without getting hurt. They took those thorns and pushed all 70 or so of them into Jesus’ skull. THEN they grabbed a rod and beat the thorns into His head!! The thorns punctured Jesus’ head so deeply, that the thorns actually touched his skull, curved from hitting it, then poked back out of His skin somewhere else. The way the Romans put this crown on His head, Jesus physically couldn’t take it off. And after all of that, the Romans bowed down in front of Jesus and mocked Him again, saying, “Hail! King of the Jews!” and beat Him with their bare hands, even though they had already whipped Him to the point of near death.

Pilate took Jesus to the Jews and again begged them to reconsider and let Jesus go, but the Jews refused to do so. They screamed for Jesus’ death all the more, so Pilate reluctantly gave it to them. This leads us to the beginning of the end, when they make Jesus carry His own cross. Part of the crucifixion was having the crucified carry their own cross to Golgotha, or Skull. It was kind of like an extra burden and humiliation attempt, and it worked well. Think of it like a murderer being forced to make his own death shot and give it to the nurses who were going to insert it in him. Jesus had to walk through the city, or at least on some sort of road, where crowds of people were lined up on both sides, all of them cheering for His death, and He had to do this while He could barely stand up straight. The Bible tells us that, because of His injuries, Jesus actually didn’t get to carry His cross all the way to Golgotha. He collapsed somewhere along the way, and a man named Simon had to help Him carry it the rest of the way, but sadly, they did get it there.

Once Jesus and the cross were on the mount, the Romans laid the cross down, laid Jesus on the cross, and used these huge nails to nail Jesus’ hands and feet to the cross. This was done through careful puncture wounds between the wrist bones and foot bones. It kept Jesus in place, while aggravating his nerves to make his feet and hands go crazy with pain. The Romans then raised the cross up for all to see, and for the next six hours Jesus hung on that cross. Something to note about this is that Jesus’ cross was not smooth. It had splinters and jagged edges all over the place, and the way the nails were pierced into His feet and hands caused Him caused His lungs to push heavily on His diaphragm. Because of this, breathing became a bit of a problem. His lungs could take in air, but He couldn’t breathe out. To do that, He would have to pull up on the nails in His wrists and push up on the nails in His feet and exhale. Pushing up, though, would cause Him to push His scraped, slashed, and bruised back against the splinters or possibly even into them. And let me remind you: He hung on that cross for six hours. Six. Correct me if I’m wrong, but you would do a lot of breathing in six hours.

And yet, despite all of that pain and suffering, the worst was still yet to come.

Jesus said seven different phrases while on the cross. Seven times He pulled Himself up on the cross, enduring extreme forms of agony, to speak with us. Would you like to know the first thing He said?

“Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do.”

Jesus asked God to have mercy on us and forgive us. We’ve rejected Him and cursed His name time and time again, we’ve insisted on turning to Him with malice and hatred, and now we’ve put Him through some of the worst, most excruciating pain imaginable.. But He asked God to forgive us anyway. This, Jesus’ incredible love and mercy and grace towards us, is the baseline of Christianity. His love is what keeps this world turning on its very axis, and it’s why we have no qualms shouting His name to the rooftops. His name deserves to be shouted and praised after all of the things He went through just to allow us to be with Him and talk with Him.

The second phrase He said was to a thief who was hanging on the cross with Him. In the Bible, we are told that Jesus wasn’t the only one being crucified that night. Two thieves were also being crucified along with Him, and they were placed on the mount to His left and to His right. The thief on the right was spitting on Him and mocking Him as well, but the thief on the left rebuked the first thief, saying, “Dost not thou fear God, seeing thou art in the same condemnation? And we indeed justly; for we receive the due reward of our deeds: but this man hath done nothing amiss.” And the second thief turned to Jesus and added, “Lord, remember me when thou comest into thy kingdom.”

This is when Jesus speaks the second time, as He, I imagine, turns to the thief as best He can to reply, “Verily I say unto thee, To day shalt thou be with me in paradise.” This conversation right here is a wonderful example of salvation and how simple it truly is. This thief was dying. He’d lived a bad life full of mischief and wickedness, and he had no way of making that right. But because he believed that Jesus was the Son of God, he was still able to go to Heaven. Salvation isn’t about works or what we can try to give back to Christ (although, we should try to give back to Christ as much as we can after being saved), it’s about the free gift that Jesus gave us. Heaven and Salvation is a gift. All we have to do is accept it.

The third phrase Jesus says is to John, one of the disciples, and Mary, Jesus’ mother. The Bible says that Jesus sees them before He speaks, so I imagine they are near the cross and weeping. Again, He drags Himself up on the splintered cross, draws in a pain-staking breath, and utters, “Women, behold thy son!” to Mary, and to John He says, “Behold thy mother!”. So He was making sure that His mother was going to be taken care of before He passed away.

Around this time, as Jesus was hanging on the cross, the earth fell into total darkness. I’m talking the sky was black. And as soon as this happened, Jesus cried out into the sky, saying his fourth comment on the cross.

“Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani?” or “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?”

This.. is where we see the second add-on that made Jesus so terribly stressed during His prayer in the garden of Gethsemane. He is taking on the sins of the world. One can only imagine how many sins that would be, and in this moment, Jesus is taking every single one of them and forcing them into a single person, a single place to look upon. There was so much sin in Jesus at the very hour, that God had to do what He’s never done before in history and turn His back on a human being.

There are times when God’s grace leaves us, when His mercy runs out and we are instead faced with His judgement, but despite that judgement, God is still present in our lives and in the world around us. No matter how alone we’ve felt in the world, God has always been there next to us without us knowing. But not here. Here, God is actively turning His back on Jesus. He is completely forsaking Jesus because of the amount of sin that has poured into Jesus’ heart and soul as part of the sacrifice. That absence of God is something we are never going to know (unless you don’t get saved and go to hell, I suppose) but I can only imagine how empty it must be. How crushingly lonely it must feel, to know that now, Jesus truly is all alone in this world. The very God, the other part of Himself, that He’s been with since the beginning is now just.. Gone. That, I believe, was the worst part of this entire crucifixion for Jesus. He can face the physical pain; He can face the disgustingness of sin; He can face the humiliation of being God but also being mocked and treated like a life form lower than dirt because He knew He wasn’t facing any of that alone. He knew God was right by His side.

But now He wasn’t.

And Jesus was still there on the cross.

We see in the Bible that the darkness lasted for a full three hours, meaning Jesus has to go at least three more hours without God’s presence and comfort and light. In these last few hours, though, Jesus says three more phrases. His fifth phrase is, “I thirst.”

Another part of the Roman crucifixion costume was to get a sponge and soak it in vinegar mixed with gall. The combination created an extremely bitter taste that would supposedly distract the crucified from their pain every now and then, if only for a moment. So when Jesus said, “I thirst”, the Romans quickly got a sponge or even a cup ready and gave Him a sip of it. After He drank the cup, Jesus cried with a loud voice and said His final two phrases. Now in Luke and John, the last phrase that Jesus says is different when compared to each other, but the phrases are both so unique that I believe Jesus said both of them, one right after the other, and John and Luke simply wrote down different halves. So I’m going to write the last two phrases together.

“Father, into thy hands I commend my spirit. It is finished.”

After this phrase, Jesus gives up the ghost, or in other words, allowed Himself to die. This is another crucial point of Christianity because it shows Jesus’ power over life and death itself. He isn’t killed by blood loss or exhaustion or by a heart attack or anything like that. He simply dies because He wanted to at that moment. I think that’s kind of comforting actually. A God as powerful and loving as Jesus, who can control His own life and death as well as everyone else’s and was willing to give up His own life for us when we didn’t deserve it or even ask, is a God I most definitely want to serve.

Unfortunately, though, death was not quite the end of Jesus’ sacrifice. Not many people know this (or, at least, I didn’t know it for a long while), but after Jesus’ death, He went to hell for three straight days. Yes, you read that correctly. Actual Hell. If He’s going to take our punishment, He needs to take all of it, right? So don’t think God is just dishing out the punishments, but not taking any for Himself. He doesn’t need any, because He is a holy and perfect God, but He took some anyway so we didn’t have to, because He is also loving and merciful.

Hell was, thankfully, the last step of the sacrifice. After that, Jesus completed the ritual of becoming our free ticket to salvation by raising Himself from the dead! Have you ever heard of anyone who could raise themselves? I haven’t! And on top of that, the Bible says that Jesus’ resurrection was so powerful, that several other people around him were raised from the dead too! Just because He raised himself! Isn’t that crazy?

This is why rejecting Christ is such a big deal to God, and why people who claim there are other ways to Heaven are extremely blasphemous, because if there were any other possible way to Heaven, do you honestly think that God would have sent His only, begotten Son to die on the cross for us? Do you think God wanted to come down to suffer through all of this pain just to say “yeah, actually, you can also get in this other way”? No, of course not. Rejecting Christ’s sacrifice and salvation is basically telling Him that all of that pain and suffering didn’t matter, the same as spitting on Him like the other Jews as He hung on the cross.

He’s made the pathway to Heaven unbelievably simple. All we have to do is admit that we’re sinners, admit that we need saving from our sins, and accept Jesus Christ to be our savior by believing that He was the Son of God and that He died on the cross for us. If I was sure about anything in life, it is this. God is real. Heaven is real. Hell is real. Jesus is real, and He, along with God the Father and the Holy Spirit, is calling to you now. He is giving you another chance to accept Him as your savior before it’s too late. This could possibly even be your last chance. So please don’t put it off.

I love you guys very much and really really appreciate the people who have continued reading this. I’ll be praying for all of you to receive what I’ve told you, and for those who already have, I’ll be praying for you to keep growing in the Lord. Stay strong in the faith my friends! Keep telling the world about Jesus! He’s always right beside us! <3

Also, Here’s a link for a youtube video about Jesus’ death from a medical point of view. It’s a bit more detailed than I was, so please go watch it as well! https://youtu.be/0B3kgiLxybYOn that note, here’s a link I found recently that gives a bunch of videos and written materials from the author of “Cold Case Christianity”. He was someone who used to be an atheist until he started studying the four gospels with his skill of eye-witness-account-scrutiny. After studying the Bible for a few months, He realized that the Bible is, in fact, telling the truth, and ever since then he’s been racing to let the rest of the world know. Please check him out! www.coldcasechristianity.com/resources)

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#felinette #Marinette #Felix Culpa #Miraculous Ladybug #Quantic Kids #Rosemary AU #New Girl on the Block

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dankmemes-of-dantooine · 3 years

Note

Would you feel comfortable writing Obikin or nah?

Or a crack fic like a potluck picnic at the Jedi Temple? 🧐

🧺

So this started out as a little thing and turned into a slow burn multiple chapter monstrosity. 😅😬this first bit is mostly angsty and fluffy but I promise I will update with the second (maybe third parts?) tonight and hopefully tomorrow. This became a slow burn thats torturing ME LOL. I like a lot of lead up. You’ll learn to love this about me. I hope.

Shoulder Your Burden (part one)

It had been a particularly rotten day, even for war.

The 501st and the 212th had been deployed together to a Separatist stronghold though, which meant Obi-Wan and Anakin would be commanding alongside one another.

The council typically tried to avoid situations like this, not only because in the tragic and unlikely event that both units were wiped out, they would lose some of their best men and potentially two of their best generals, but also because anyone that had spent more than fifteen minutes in a room together with Obi-Wan and Anakin was readily privy to the fact that they tended attract chaos and misadventures.

The fact remained, however, that they were two of the Republic’s cleverest, and had navigated themselves out of dozens of ostensibly no-win scenarios in the past, suffering only minor casualties.

Not to mention that this mission had required a degree of ace flying that not many in the galaxy were capable of, and the two men had years of that under their belts.

Due to a miscalculation, or bit of bad information from and informant, they had found themselves in a Separatist ambush today.

And due to an honest mistake and misjudgment on Anakin’s part, they had lost a lot of men. This settled heavy in Anakins stomach like duracrete. The guilt seeped into every fiber of his being. He’d been foolish and now men were dead.

He had thought that splitting the units and having Obi-Wan’s men ambush from behind and drive the droids into a narrow canyon so they could be picked off easily would be the best move. What their informant hadn’t told them, was that there were already droids waiting in the valley to ambush THEM, and what he had effectively done was corner his men and send them into a slaughter. Their plan had been completely reversed on them, and now the canyon was an abattoir reeking of death, and it was his fault.

The battlefield was permeated with the stench of blood and ozone, and spent blaster fire, and Anakin was steadily becoming overwhelmed. The guilt settled in his stomach along with the heavy stench of death suffered due to his mistakes overcame him. He leaned against a large boulder and wretched, becoming sick.

He wiped his mouth, jumping and weaving over the bodies of fallen clones and droids, trying his best to make it through the narrow canyon alive.

He was steadily being swarmed by battle droids when he saw the transport coming in for a landing at about 80 yards out.

Naturally, once again, Obi-Wan was bailing him out.

He picked up pace, jumping over debris and bodies, scanning for survivors.

He spotted a clone struggling to get out from under a piece of ruined machinery, a tank he thought.

He stopped, ducking to avoid blaster fire, and attempted to force push it off the soldier.

A bolt grazed his hand, flames of pain immediately licking his palm all the way up to his shoulder.

He let a frustrated growl of pain, concentration broken momentarily.

“Leave me, sir! There’s too many.”

Anakin shook his head stubbornly, still trying to move the debris.

“No! You’re making it out of here with me.”

The clone shook his head, gesturing to his ruined legs pinned beneath the hunk of metal.

“No sir, I can’t walk. It’s been a pleasure serving, General Skywalker.”

“No, Dozer,” Anakin grit out through the pain.

Anakin felt Obi-Wan’s force signature tugging at his.

He deflected a rain of blaster bolts with his saber, still not willing to give up on Dozer.

Just then, a droid lobbed a grenade that landed squarely between the two of them. Anakin reeled back instinctively, placing enough distance between him and the explosive to avoid being filled with shrapnel.

“Dozer!”

Anakin felt himself then being pulled backwards into the transport, along with the meager few clones that had managed to survive the attack.

“No!” He thrashed, trying to dive out of the transport back into the battlefield.

Stop! Anakin we have to go.

He wrenched his arm free of whoever had a hold of him, and watched helpless as the transport doors closed. He took an unsteady breath watching from the view port, bringing a shaking hand up to wipe the blood and sweat from his brow. He stayed there for a moment, trying to push the nauseous guilt from his stomach and the vertigo from his head. His ears rung.

He felt the familiar warm hum of his masters force presence before he felt the hand on his shoulder.

“We received bad information,” Obi-Wan began, immediately absolving Anakin from any responsibility or guilt before he’d even appealed for it. It made him mad.

Anakin shook his head, not looking at his master.

“Rex and Hardcase make it out?” He asked darkly, arms crossed over his chest.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said quietly.

“Cody?”

“And Waxer, Boil, and Trapper. All accounted for.”

“At least some of them made it out,” he growled darkly, chewing the inside of his cheek,

“Where’s Ahsoka?”

“Medbay, but she’s fi-“

Anakin had already turned on his heel to stride towards Medical to check on his young padawan. She shouldn’t have even been on this mission, and because of him, she could’ve been killed. They could’ve all been killed.

He ignore the pain singing in his own hand, and pushed forward as he strode through the medbay doors that hissed open in front of him.

“Ahsoka?”

his voice was firmer than he intended, laced with the guilt and panic of having more casualties on his hands.

“Over here, Master,” the tired yet evergreenly cheerful voice of his student resounded from the far corner of the medbay where she was being worked on by a diligent medical droid.

“You’re hurt,” he said firmly, eyebrows knitting together as he sat next to her on the cot.

“I’m sorry,” he started, nodding to the injured hand the med droid was busy with.

“Just a couple of broken fingers, Master. I’ve had worse.”

His battle wearied padawan didn’t even acknowledge he blaster burns on her sides or the superficial cut above her brow. He cursed himself for setting a bad example and ignoring injury, and as he considered his, his own injuries thrummed warmly, reminding him he still needed to attend to his wounds.

“You’re staying at the temple until you’re healed,” he started, not meeting her eye until she issued a whine of protest.

“But Master-“

“Ahsoka,” he warned

She quieted, looking down at her wounds.

“And anyways,” he continued, “after today I imagine the whole 501st and 212th will be grounded for awhile. At least until we can heal, and figure out if we’ve got a bad informant or a turncoat on our hands. You need the rest anyways,” he said offering a dull smile, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

“Yes, Master,” she agreed, offering a similar weak smile.

Anakin stood and strode from the medbay, neglecting to mention his own injuries to the medical droid.

—————

Anakin found himself standing in front of the viewport, cradling his injured hand in his mechano-hand.

Since he had been foolish enough to neglect to seek attention from the med droids when they were on the Jedi Cruiser or the clone transport, he figured he would just grit through it and handle it himself when the city transport got them to the temple.

Anakin felt Obi-Wan tentatively approach to take a place next to him at the viewport. The two were quiet for a moment, content to merely be in one another’s presence. Their force bond hummed like a live wire between them. Anakin knew that Obi-Wan could feel how taut and raw his nerves were, and it made him squirm. He hated feeling weak and emotionally compromised.

“You’re injured,” Obi-Wan stated after a time.

“I’m alright,” Anakin grit through his teeth.

Obi-Wan drew nearer, half expecting Anakin to hiss at him like a feral Loth-cat.

“Let me see.”

“No.”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan sighed, exasperated, already going for the med kit.

“I’m fine, Master.”

“Sit still,” Obi-Wan huffed, dragging the med kit out.

Pain pulsed through Anakin’s hand, making the ends of his fingertips sing with a dull throbbing each time his heartbeat roared in his chest. The gash in his palm was deep, but not enough to need stitches, he thought. It was ugly and singed around the edges, and it would scar.

Obi-Wan took his hand gingerly, and Anakin gasped at the contact.

Obi-Wan’s brow furrowed in concern, guilt dancing darkly in his eyes as he brushed an unspoken apology against their force bond.

Anakin resisted, maintaining a tight clamp on his mental walls. His Master couldn’t know the gasp was simply in response to be handled so gently by him. Anakin had scarcely felt touch that wasn’t hand to hand combat or a rough grip on the shoulder from one of the clones in months. He was a man starved, and he ached.

“Sorry, dear one, I know-“

A sharp hiss through his teeth that was in response to his pain echoed through the ship as Obi-Wan started with cleaning and dressing the wound.

He would flick his eyes up to meet Anakin’s every so often, trying to gauge for pain, but Anakin was looking at the floor, the ceiling, out the viewports, anywhere but the deep empathetic pools of Obi-Wan’s eyes.

Obi-Wan worked diligently and delicately, putting concerted effort into causing the younger man as little pain as was possible when addressing a wound like this. It wasn’t as bad as either of them had originally feared. It would hurt for several days, but Anakin had had worse, and he figured he’d have forgotten he even hurt it within three or four weeks. It would scar, though.

He tapped his thigh, busying his mind with charts, timelines for healing, anything to keep his mind and eyes off of the way his masters eyes pierced into the very core of his being.

They were too deep, and too kind, and they made him feel like he was suffocating. He didn’t deserve the worry and care the man handled him with. It nearly made him angry. He absolutely couldn’t look at him now though, not with the way the concern and guilt and worry washed over him through their force bond. It made him feel safe, but it also made him feel small, like a child. He could handle himself. He wasn’t some clumsy youngling who needed all his little wounds dressed.

He tried to push back cheap reassurances, but Obi-Wan’s energy was so overpowering.

“I’m fine, Master,” he finally managed, his voice thankfully more steadfast and sturdy than he thought he would be able to manage.

“Something troubles you,” he posited softly, finishing work on bandaging his hand.

Anakin shook his head.

Obi-Wan sighed, and Anakin felt a tinge of sadness seep into their force bond before his master clamped down on his emotions.

Obi-Wan patted the newly bandaged hand, letting his hand linger just a moment, a gentle gesture that made Anakin’s stomach flutter.

“All fixed up, dear one. Do try not to lose this hand too.” Half a smile tugged at Obi-Wans tired face.

I’m only teasing.

Anakin rolled his eyes, allowing himself a small smile.

I know.

They weren’t so much words as, impressions of feelings that...felt like words. It was hard to explain to a non force user, but Anakin imagined it was much like how animals communicated. With impressions rather than words.

Obi-Wan’s eyes lingered on Anakin for a moment, hoping he would air whatever ailed him.

Anakin looked at the floor, chewing his cheek.

“Men died today, Master. Because of me.”

Obi-Wan sighed, stroking his beard contemplatively.

“Men died today, because we are at war, Anakin.”

“But ultimately I made the decision. I’m responsible for my men and today-“

he grit his teeth, jaw working against the overdue tears pooling in his eyes. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying desperately to block out the tirade of his feelings crashing over him.

Obi-Wan’s presence brushed against his mind, caressing him warmly like he had since he was a child. It was gold, and warm, and gentle.

Stop.

Anakin pleaded. The kindness overwhelmed him, and crying right now would be mortifying.

Obi-Wan placed a hand on Anakin’s shoulder.

“You cannot let the burden of horrors of a whole war you did not start rest on your shoulders, padawan,”

Obi-Wan hummed softly, his thumb gently and subtly rubbing reassuring circles Anakin’s shoulder. It felt like a hot poker, in the best way.

Electricity zipped through his body at the touch, but he grit his teeth against it. Anakin fought the urge to nuzzle into his hand.

“I’m not your padawan-“ he spat.

“Still you call me Master,” Obi-Wan retorted, eyes dancing with hopefulness that Anakin would let his shields down, even for a moment.

Anakin chewed his cheek, finally turning to meet his former master’s eye for what felt like the first time all day.

Obi-Wan was radiant. It felt like Anakin could see the warmth he produced rolling off him in waves. He was long suffering, so patient. He was beautiful. Why did he continue to be so patient with him, Anakin wondered.

I’m here.

The phrase sang against their force bond as Anakin placed his forehead on the older man’s shoulder, allowing Obi-Wan to pull him in for a brief embrace.

Energy thrummed between them, and Anakin felt pinpricks of electricity everywhere their skin touched.

Why did he feel like this? He was sure he hadn’t always. He’d spent long years alongside Obi-Wan, sometimes having no other companions. So why now did he suddenly feel exhilarated each time their skin touched?

Thinking back on it actually, he had always harbored a deep affection for the older man that he assumed all padawans had for their masters. That or, it was his damn tendency to be over emotional. He could never tell if his emotions were bigger and heavier than other Jedi, or if he was just exceptionally bad at controlling them.

Obi-Wan seemed so steadfast, not even radiating with the tremendous grief Anakin knew he must have felt after he lost his master and was immediately stuck with Anakin. Anakin had wept, and he’d only known Qui-Gon a short time. Master Kenobi had remained with a stiff upper lip in those days, serious but not broken, and he certainly didn’t let on that he was hurting. Anakin remembered how it had made him mad, that Obi-Wan could be so unfeeling and unperturbed by death. But he grew to envy that trait over the years.

These thoughts zapped through his mind at light speed, neurons firing and firing again, grasping at missed cogs like a broken droid, as he tried to sort out what exactly hummed in his stomach. If only he could tinker on his brain the way he could tinker on speeders and droids.

“You’re going to the medbay and getting pain pills and antibiotics when we land.” Obi-Wan’s voice seemed to pull him back into his body, grounding him, as it always did.

Anakin groaned, rolling his eyes, pulling away to gather his things and prepare for landing.

“And bacta spray!” Obi-Wan called after him.

———————-

Anakin settled himself into his quarters at the Temple. As he had predicted, the council had grounded both their units for three weeks until they could get to the bottom of what was going on with their informant. Ahsoka, had been granted a full week off. Anakin had found out later that she had been solely responsible for making sure Rex made it out alive, and he figured she deserved the full THREE weeks off. But the council insisted she upkeep her training. Sometimes it felt as though Ahsoka ought to be training him.

Anakin had been expecting a verbal thrashing from the council. He loathed going to council meetings. It made him feel so examined, so naked.

They had sort of thrashed him, but not worse than he was used to. So he was his regular level of sour and displeased upon returning to his quarters. He felt like he’d been sent to his room to think about what he’d done. And think about it, he did. It was all he could think about.

Obi-Wan had offered to swing by and split some Ruby Bliels with him later, and after mulling it over for a moment, he’d decided to oblige.

Anakin knew that Obi-Wan knew they were his favorite, and only offered when he knew Anakin was in his head and really suffering. It made Anakin feel naked and embarrassed to know his old master had such a good read on him, but from time to time he obliged the older Jedi and allowed him to extend the kind gesture.

Still, Anakin was nearly surprised when the soft knocks resounded on his door. He couldn’t be bothered to get up from his spot on the floor where he was meditating, so he flicked his wrist and let the force do the work of opening the door.

———

Sorry to leave on a cliff hanger! Tumblr is so mad at me for posting this much text 😂 there’s a lot more. Stay tuned!

Tagging: @haydens-moles @chokemeanakin @anakinswhore @fistmebuckyskywalker

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

#star wars #star wars fanfiction #anakin skywalker #obi wan and anakin #obikin #obi wan kenobi #the clone wars #I know this is a lot of lead up #bear with me plz lol #there’s so much more fic lol #this ficc is thicc and tumblr hates me for it

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angellissy · 4 years

Text

bets & brothers

Based on this request: maybe some cute fluffy between siblings with rafe? like her boyfriend broke up with her and he comforts the reader?:)

A/N: Important disclaimer!! This is not murderer and psycho Rafe! We don’t like him lol. I am however starting to fall in love with Drew Starkey, so I don’t mind writing Rafe. I hope you guys enjoy this one! I am actually pretty proud of it, I think it turned out cute and fluffy. Feel free to request, either from this list or just share any ideas that you might have! <3 love you all to the moon and back.

Rafe Cameron x Sister!Reader, also a bit of the pogues x reader and sarah x reader

Salty tears were streaming down your rosy cheeks, it didn’t matter how many times you tried to wipe them away. Your breath was uneven, both from the way you had sprinted over half the town but also from the aching pain in your body. Your hands were on your thighs, giving yourself a small break. It wasn’t like he was chasing you, he had been clear on that front.

“Listen I know it might sound mean or whatever, but I don’t really like you anymore.” Your lips fell apart at his words, the shock rippling through your body caused you to wrap your hands around your phone so hard it ached.

“But you told me yesterday that you had never felt like this before.” You sounded pathetic, if your parents would have heard you now, they would have been most disappointed.

“Look, this is a little embarissing.-” The boy in front of you stopped for a couple of seconds, pulling his hand through his dark brown hair as a light chuckle escaped his lips. “Well, I better just say it right?” You looked at him through furrowed eyebrows and then violently waved your hand for him to continue.

“My friends and I made a bet, we wanted to see if I could actually get the y/n Cameron, and I actually did.” You blinked several times, testing to see if this was some stupid dream. But the boy you had fallen in love with during these past months was still standing in front of you.

“How.-” You paused, unsure of what to say. It was obvious that all of this had been fake, and surely there was nothing you could say that would change that. “You’re a piece of shit Bobby.” That, you could say. You tried to stop shaking enough so that you could flip him off without giving him the satisfaction of knowing he’d hurt you.

The second you disappeared from his view, that’s when the tears started to run down your face. In sheer desperation you had started to run home, hoping it would make the pain go away faster, it didn’t.

A sigh escaped your chapped lips as you took in the sight that was on full display just a couple of yards away. Your backyard was packed with people, drunk and high people at that. Your parents were in the Bahamas and had taken your little sister with them, therefore it was not that surprising that your older brother had decided to throw a party. Lately, it seemed like all he was doing was either partying or annoying you and your sisters.

“Well, this is gonna be easy.” You muttered to yourself, wiping the remnants of tears off your face as you eyed the house. Trying to find a way in without alerting your siblings that you were home. The last thing you had told them was “I’m probably gonna sleep at Bobby’s, bye I love you.” and then you had sprinted before your older siblings even had the chance to stop you. Neither had liked your now ex-boyfriend, although you had thought of them as silly and overbearing, you wished you had listened to them. Tears were threatening to spill over once again, so you started to make your way towards the house, careful to avoid anyone you recognized as a friend of your siblings.

You almost made it, you were so very close to getting in unnoticed. However, that changed when your sister’s boyfriend yelled your name from where he was standing, forcing you too turn around and look at him. You thought to give him a small smile and awkward hand wave would be enough, apparently, it wasn’t. John B dramatically waved his hands, indicating for you to come to him and his friends. You glanced around you, searching for a way out of talking to him. There was none, so with heavy steps, you walked over to him. It wasn’t that you didn’t like John B, it was just that right now you would rather lie in your bed and cry over the shattered pieces of your heart.

“y/n, I didn’t know that you were home tonight.” Before you could say hi to the rest of the crew, he pulled you into a warm hug and you swallowed hard, trying not to cry.

“I wasn’t supposed to, change of plans I guess.” He grinned widely at you when he let go, nodding his head at your words. “Hi Kie, Pope and JJ, didn’t think you guys liked hanging out here.” Kie gave you a big smile, but it faltered a bit when she looked at you as if she could sense that something was wrong.

“Normally we don’t, but John B really wanted to give Sarah that John D so we.-” The blonde surfer boy was quickly interrupted by Kie “JJ shut up, she is fifteen.-” JJ interrupted her before she could scold him any more “Yeah and? that’s like two years younger than us.”You couldn’t help the small giggle that escaped your lips at their banter, but it died down when you remembered all of the previous events.

“Hey, you okay?” Pope asked when he noticed your glossy eyes, always the observant one. You bit your lip and shook your head, quickly turning around and sprinting into the house. No longer caring if your siblings became aware of your arrival, you only wanted your bed and that bag of candy your parents had given you before they left.

A couple of minutes later you were all curled up under your blankets, holding a teddy bear close to your chest as you silently cried. A small whimper left your lips as you remembered how satisfied he had looked when he told you it was all a bet, like breaking your heart was something he took pride in. You didn’t hear the door to your room open, so when your sister touched your shoulder you let out a loud scream.

“Oh my god Sarah, you can’t just creep up like that.” Your sister smiled a little at your words, but her expression soon turned into a serious on as she noticed the stains of tears on your cheeks.

“What happened?” She threw herself down on the bed next to you, wrapping your arms around your trembling body. You were just about to tell her when the door swung open once again, revealing your brother.

“Why the fuck did I hear screaming? And what the fuck are you doing home?” He wore an expression of confusion on his face, clueless to all that was happening. “Rafe for once in your life, shut up.” Your sister exclaimed, leaving him even more confused.

“Did something happen?” He asked, sitting down at the end of the bed. “What do you think, you idiot?” Your sister muttered from beside you, making him throw his hands up in exasperation. “How the fuck am I supposed to know Sarah? Please do tell me.”

“It was all a bet.” You said before the two of them continued their bickering. Rafe crawled up on the bed so that he was lying on the other side of you. “What did you say?” Sarah inquired, not entirely sure to what you were referring to.

“Bobby, he said that he and his friends.-” You swallowed hard, trying to make the lump in your throat disappear. “They had made a bet that he couldn’t get the y/n Cameron to fall in love with him, but he was obviously wrong.” Your siblings stayed quiet for a little while, the only thing that could be heard was your sobs.

Rafe threw himself off the bed and started making way to the door. “Where do you think you are going?” Sarah asked, propping herself up on her elbows while she gave him a stern look.

“I’m going to find that piece of shit and kill him.” Your sisters rolled her eyes at his words, mumbling something about him being a drama queen. “So what Sarah, you’re just gonna sit back and relax while boys go around breaking our little sister’s heart?” Rafe exclaimed.

“Of course not, we’ll deal with him later. But right now our little sister needs us.” She said, nodding to your trembling body. Rafe let out a small sigh and laid down next to you again, pulling you into his chest. You buried your face in his chest, ignoring the smell of alcohol and weed. Sarah hugged you from behind, gently stroking your hair.

“We can stay here and watch a movie if you want?” She said after a couple of minutes. “But what about the party and John B?” You whispered, making your brother let out a small huff. “Fuck the party and definitely fuck John B.” He muttered, causing you to let out a small giggle while Sarah just sighed at him.

“I’ll go down and send everyone home, John B was actually the one that told me that I needed to find you.” You smiled a little at that, making a mental note to thank him when you saw him next time.

You could hear Sarah yelling at everybody to go home, she wasn’t very subtle. Your eyes moved up to look at Rafe’s face, he was looking down at you, a concerned expression clouded his features.

“You know I love you right? Even if you are annoying as fuck. I would hunt Bobby down if you asked me.” He said, and you didn’t doubt him for a second. “I love you too, I’ve missed hanging out with you. All you ever do is party now.” You mumbled into his chest.

“I know and I’m sorry, things are just complicated. But I promise we will hang out more, you are my little sister after all.” You nodded at him, a feeling of happiness spread through you at his words.

You were his little sister after all, and Rafe Cameron would do anything for the people he loved.

#outer banks imagine #outer banks #rafe cameron #rafe #jj maybank #john b obx #kiara carrera #pope heyward #sarah cameron

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parrishh · 3 years

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Pynch and "I adore you" any thoughts? XD I Need some FLUFF right now ugh

okay but like, honestly, i don't think this happens too often. i think "i saved your life because i love you" was such a big deal because maybe neither one of them hears it as much as they'd like. but, at the same time, i think they both know when the other really needs to hear it. i was trying to think of an example of when that might happen, and i ended up just writing it. i know that's not what you were asking for but i haven't felt ~inspired~ to write for a while so i had to roll with it lol. here you go, a super quick "i adore you" one shot, audience of one:

It was common knowledge that Ronan Lynch was a shit.

Everyone and their mother knew it. If Adam opened the Aglionby yearbook to a random page, closed his eyes, and pointed, there was about a ninety-five percent chance the person he landed on would have some story to share in which Ronan Lynch was, in fact, being a shit. The night-shift clerk at the Singer’s Falls Sunoco, the one where Ronan bought his Slim Jims and tiny bottles of 5-Hour Energy, would have several stories. Even Ronan’s dentist would likely have stories, assuming Ronan ever listened when Declan told him his It’s time for your annual cleaning! postcard had arrived and he had to go soon, please. He had great teeth, so probably.

But the thing about Ronan being a shit was that there were levels to it. There wasn’t just Shit, period. There was I actively dislike you and want you to know it Shit. There was I secretly don’t dislike you and don’t want you to know it Shit, I don’t even know you but I’m having a bad day Shit, and If I don’t hurt you first, you’ll hurt me Shit. There was even a unique brand of Shit reserved solely for Declan.

Being close with Ronan meant either being the recipient of or personally witnessing most of these types of Shit at some point or another, but with that came the ability to differentiate between them. Adam, who knew Ronan better than anyone knew Ronan and was also sometimes pretty shitty himself, was intimately familiar with the varying degrees of Shit. He also knew that Ronan had been through more terrible crap in his eighteen years of life than most people would go through, ever, so even though the point of the Shit was to push people away, Adam pushed back. He talked to Ronan. He asked questions, or he listened, or he accepted, without argument, the times that Ronan didn’t want to talk at all, and all of those things meant that he had learned, or was at least in the process of learning, what Ronan needed and when he needed it.

Which is why, when they got back to the Barns one night and Ronan kicked the boots off his feet with a little too much force before stomping into the living room, alone, Adam thought about the news Gansey had shared in the booth at Nino’s and knew, right away, what kind of Shit this was.

Ronan had responded to the revelation of Gansey’s year-long road trip by shoving an entire slice of pizza in his mouth, so that by the time he’d finished chewing, the awkward silence would make Blue too antsy and she’d start excitedly chattering about the way redwoods seemed to stretch up forever if you stood at the foot of them, or so she’d read. So that when Gansey hesitantly slid glossy pamphlets and itineraries across the table, Ronan could shrug and waggle his grease-soaked fingers in the air, forcing Gansey to take the papers back and stack them, protectively, in his lap. It all worked. Ronan made everyone so uncomfortable that he didn’t have to say or do anything at all, and he didn’t. No snarky remarks or rude jokes all night. Just tense shoulders and silence.

This was bad, Adam knew. He sighed, slipping out of his sneakers and leaving them neatly by the door. He retrieved Ronan’s shoes from halfway down the hallway and stacked them next to his own, his heart heavy in his chest. This was Everyone I love leaves me Shit, and it was bad. It was really, really bad.

“Ronan?” he called, socked feet soft against the wood floor as he rounded the corner into the living room.

The back of Ronan’s head was visible over the top of the couch he was slumped on. He had turned the TV on but left the volume too low to hear. The Simpsons flickered across the screen, technicolor mouths moving silently, no subtitles. Ronan was staring at the screen intently, trying to read animated lips or making up his own dialogue or else maybe, likely, looking at the moving pictures without taking anything in at all.

“Hey,” Adam said softly. There wasn’t really enough space for a whole other person to squeeze between Ronan and the arm of the couch, but he did anyway, not bothering to wait for a response. He drew his knees up, Ronan’s hip digging painfully into his own, and wiggled his left foot under Ronan’s calf. Ronan was warm against his side and Adam leaned into him even though there wasn’t any room to.

For a few minutes, neither of them moved or spoke or did anything. Adam ignored the uncomfortable way his shoulder blade jabbed into the couch and watched Bart Simpson emphatically say nothing and tried very hard not to peek at Ronan out of the corner of his eye. Ronan was still quietly absorbed in Ronan-thoughts, but he didn’t move away. They were pressed so tightly together Adam could feel each one of Ronan’s too-quick breaths in the rise and fall of Ronan’s upper arm against his own.

Adam knew Ronan. He knew that Ronan hadn’t said anything at Nino’s because he loved Gansey, and he knew that Ronan hadn’t shied away because he loved Adam, and he knew that both of those things combined meant Ronan would talk. That Ronan wanted to talk, so long as he got a minute to sort through the minefield of his feelings. So Adam, his heart a little lighter, was patient. He watched Bart write lines on a chalkboard and he hated the Simpsons and he didn’t say a word.

“We can turn it up, you know,” Ronan muttered, finally, but he didn’t so much as twitch a finger towards the remote he’d haphazardly tossed onto the other side of the sofa.

Adam’s chest fluttered. “I have just about zero interest in actively watching The Simpsons.” He twisted his head. Ronan was still staring pointedly at the TV, Marge’s tall, electric blue hair reflected brightly in the cornflower blue of his eyes. “I think the fact that I can’t hear it might actually be making it better.”

This got a brief flash of a smile out of Ronan, but then he grimaced, wriggling his hips away from Adam. “Your bony ass fucking hurts, man-” he kept wriggling some more “-and don’t talk shit about The Simpsons.” His fingers lingered at the hem of Adam’s flannel shirt, and he didn’t move the leg that Adam’s foot was still wedged under, and Adam loved him so much it hurt, which was why he pushed him. Why he was always going to push him.

“He’s not leaving forever,” Adam whispered, trailing a knuckle across Ronan’s cheek.

Ronan looped his finger through Adam’s and brought them both to his lips, his long exhale slow and warm. His voice, when he spoke, was low and uncharacteristically quiet. “I know I was being a dick. I know that.” He closed his eyes and opened them again, let Adam’s hand drop, fidgeted in his seat. “But everything I wanted to say wasn’t nice, so I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t do that to him. He looked too...too happy, and, and-”

“Alive?” Adam offered, getting it. Really getting it, more than Ronan could guess. It had been months since Gansey had died and come back, and Adam still, every time he looked at him, saw the way he’d crumpled to the asphalt. It was etched into the back of his eyelids like a lithograph, or maybe more like some sort of old, 1920s-style animation. Like Steamboat Willie. A tragic short film, admit one.

Or two. Ronan looked up sharply and nodded once, quick. He looked as though he was about to say something, but he stopped, ground his teeth, and said, instead, “So, yeah, if he wants to go all Where’s Waldo with Sargent and Henry fucking Cheng, he should do that.”

“Ronan-”

“You’ll be in Boston. Matthew and Declan will be in D.C. Gansey will be in Timbuk-fuckin’-tu, but it’s great. It’s swell. I’ll be here every Friday night playing goddamn Scrabble with Opal. Five points for L-O-S-E-R.”

“Ronan,” Adam repeated. “Not one of us is planning on being away from you for like, the rest of time. We’re just...doing things. Because people do things, Ronan, but we’re all going to come back. And we’ll all be calling you, all the time, probably.” He pulled on Ronan’s earlobe, fingers curled against Ronan’s jaw. “You’ll be picking up collect from Timbuk-fuckin’-tu. Gansey will see a dung beetle or some shit and he’ll want to tell you all about it.”

“Yeah, but-” Ronan paused to gnaw on his wristbands, avoiding Adam’s gaze and staring at the TV again. There was some sort of pharmaceutical commercial on. A mom and her two-and-a-half kids and a golden retriever were all running jolly circles around a rainbow sprinkler while adverse side-effects ticked against the sky. “You guys will see and do exciting new shit every day. I’ll just be watching the cows sleep and telling Opal not to eat laundry detergent.”

“You could literally stare at a blank wall twenty-four hours a day and we’d still be happy just to hear your voice,” Adam told him and meant it. He leaned across Ronan, fumbled for the remote, and hit the power button. Now the only light in the room was the faint, dusky moonlight through the tall windows, and it splattered purple across Ronan’s forehead. They blinked at each other, the house somehow quieter even though the TV had been muted anyway.

“The Simpsons,” Ronan protested weakly, just to be difficult, and Adam clutched at his hand.

“Fuck the Simpsons,” he said solemnly. “Ronan, Gansey adores you. I adore you. You’re stuck with us, I promise.”

Ronan continued to stare, his eyes unnaturally wide in the dark, then tilted forward, burying his face in the side of Adam’s neck. “Okay,” he whispered there, muffled against Adam’s skin.

Okay didn’t sound fully convinced, but it didn’t sound like a fight either, so Adam just looped his arms around Ronan and hummed “I love you” into his ear. Ronan lifted his head and kissed him, long but sweet, chaste but searing, and, even though he was a shit, Adam loved him so much it hurt, and it was good. It was really, really good.

#answered #w writes things #pynch #trc #anon

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worldwidemochiguy · 4 years

Text

the man in the moon (Yandere! Yoongi)

Summary: You can’t help but gaze at the stars and he can’t help but gaze back at you.

Word Count: 1.7K

Masterlist

Warnings: Yandere, Kidnapping, (kind of) Stockholm syndrome, Dissociation, bad writing.

Authors note: I got the idea and then made this and tbh it’s kind of shitty which makes me sad bc it could have been a cool concept but ah well lol.

The man in the moon is my man

He never say nothing so I know he understands

He’ll never break my heart

I know he’s here to stay

Tell all the other boys to go away

I’ll take the man in the moon

- Man in the Moon, by Voice of the Beehive

Yoongi had a fairly repetitive schedule. He would wake up and then… well. That was basically it. He preferred not to go outside, deeming the bouncing gait he had to adopt to travel around as ‘undignified’, even if there was no one else around to see it. He spent his days in his meticulously shuttered compound. Covering the windows was necessary, given that the moon was far slower at rotating than its orbital partner, Yoongi thought with contempt.

Rather than having a cycle of darkness and light over 24 hours, it took his planet almost a month to complete a ‘day’. Even Yoongi was incapable of sleeping when the sun’s full glare was seeping through the thick window panes, and after enduring a week and a half of the torture, he went around with a hammer, an armful of boards, and a budding vendetta against the sun.

Eons later, Yoongi’s skin was infinitely paler, his eyes were infinitely piercing, and his life was infinitely dull. Yoongi sometimes dabbled in casting his gaze onto the Earth, the ugly planet he was stuck forever facing towards. Normally, what he found was severely lacking. Stupidity, and greed, and petty squabbles seemed to be all the human race knew how to do. But, for lack of a better option, he kept on looking. And then he found you.

From the moment he saw you, he knew you were different. He almost thought you were a fallen star, stuck in a place you didn’t belong just like he was. You were clearly brighter than any other filthy human marring the Earth, and you only became increasingly so as you aged.

Yoongi’s eyes followed you everywhere, he saw when you learned how to ride a bike, when you got your high school diploma, when you got your first promotion. He resented every second of the hours you were woefully hidden from view. It was ridiculous; he could peer through hundreds of thousands of kilometres of space and locate you with ease, but as soon as you disappeared behind the curve of the Earth, you were out of sight?

Yoongi couldn’t bear it when he couldn’t see you, even if he knew you were going to bed in that time and therefore had less of a chance of getting hurt. He was very protective of you. How could he not be, he reasoned, when he had saw you grow up before his very eyes. Of course, he had previously watched billions of souls come into existence and age and wither and die, all without sparing a thought. But he could never let that happen to you. He could not let you be another distant creature, always in his sight but never in his reach.

It was difficult for Yoongi to watch you living your life without him. The first time you kissed another man, he felt an anger that had never before reared its head rip itself out of him. It raged along the shorelines of the Earth, coaxing in fearsome waves from the deep. It ripped along the streets, blowing with the force of a thousand gales. The moon almost tilted off its axis, turning its back on the Earth for far longer than it should have done.

Yoongi saw the devastation his rage resulted in. The loss of thousands of lives. The destruction of property built by the hands of men. He only felt a flicker of satisfaction. It didn’t matter, it wasn’t enough, he would never be able to harm those around you (those who wanted to hurt you) without also hurting you in the process. You were too far, the only way he could touch you was with a broad wave of violence. And that is how Yoongi came to his conclusion.

He could not harm those around you without harming you. You were stuck down there among danger. The solution was simple: he needed to draw you to his side.

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

“He’ll never break my heart, I know he’s here to stay,” You sang, or — more accurately — shouted, using your deodorant stick as a makeshift-microphone since your friend had already snatched the hair brush. “Tell all the other boys to go away!” You screamed the lyrics together, dancing around your cramped living room.

“Mina!” You called, pointing the stick at your friend, “Solo!”

She cackled and then sung along with the song blasting on the radio, laughing so hard she could barely get the lyrics out. When she pointed at you again to finish the song off, you did so with flair.

“I’ll take the man in the moon.” You crooned. You both paused dramatically as the bassline faded out, before collapsing into giggles on the carpeted floor. Mina had come over to try and cheer you up after your boyfriend had forgotten to show at your anniversary date, again, and she had obviously succeeded.

“Y’know,” you started, once the laughter had died down, and Mina hummed in acknowledgement. “My parents would always tell me about the man in the moon.”

“Tell you what?” Mina asked, rolling over onto her stomach and resting her chin on her forearms.

“Well… they would tell me stories about him.”

“Such as…?” Mina prompted, and then burst into giggles as you chucked a pillow at her for her impatience.

“Such as… that he existed. Like, he was sent there as a punishment.”

“Punishment? For what?”

“I don’t know,” you floundered, “For, like, being weird or something. Anyways, the point is-” you stressed, “I’ve always felt like there was someone watching me. From up there.”

Mina’s immaculately groomed eyebrows flicked up.

“So you seriously believe there’s a man on the moon?” You flushed and sat up, shrugging your shoulders slightly.

“I don’t know, it’s just… weird, I guess.”

“It’s not weird, you’re weird.”

Mina was expecting the pillow being swung at her face that time, and fought back valiantly with a throw cushion.

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

Your body cast a shadow along your moonlight-bathed room as you leaned your forehead against the window. Up there in the sky, the moon continued to shine as it always had done, your eternal silent companion. It was a full moon that night. You noticed that as you brushed a finger against the glass separating you and the night sky. It was difficult to believe the moon was so far away, it almost felt like, if you only opened your window and leaned out, you could cup it in your hands.

It was almost a compulsion that led you to lift the latch. Like the pull of the tide, you leaned away to twist the handle and then drew back to breathe in the night air. You couldn’t trust your eyes, as it almost looked like the moon had swollen, now bigger, brighter, closer. It became blurred, hidden as your breath formed translucent clouds which eddied on the cool night breeze, swirling faster and faster. You pitched your body further out of the window, taking one arm away from its steadying position on the windowsill to reach out. To brush the moon, as it started to take on an almost unnatural glow.

Like a moth to its burning cold flame, you were drawn in, your eyes wide, your face gleaming white as you approached the moon. A pair of eyes were stretching across space, fixed on you unerringly, coaxing you out. You felt a hand enclose around your outstretched palm. It tugged you forwards slightly, and you lost your balance, tipping into the open arms of the night.

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

“Come on, sweetheart. Wake up. Can you wake up for me?” The kind, almost intimate words were uttered by a voice that sounded like it hadn’t been used for some time. The hoarse, gravelly tones echoed in your head as your eyelashes fluttered. Immediately, there was a cold hand cradling your head, and another beneath your back, helping you to a sitting position as you squinted, still unable to take in your surroundings.

Slowly, your vision cleared. A man was bent over you, his striking dark eyes swimming with concern. His skin was… so white it almost hurt your eyes to look at. The paleness seemed to have even leached the colour out of his hair, leaving him as an almost wraithlike figure.

“W-where am I?” You croaked, your own voice rough as if it had been a long time since it was last used. You glanced around the room, trying to find an indicator of the time, or of where you were. You could find none.

His lips quirked slightly, and he guided your body back down to the bed.

“You’re safe.” He told you. “That’s all that matters. Now sleep.” As he commanded it, your eyes shut and everything went dark again.

The man brought you strange things, food that was not food, gifts that felt almost unnatural — a doll that followed you around the room with its eyes, an hourglass that never ran out of sand. You couldn’t seem to break out of the limbo you sunk into when you fell out of your bedroom window and into this strange place. There were no windows, and when you asked the man — Yoongi, he told you to call him — what time it was, he simply smiled and told you he didn’t know either, and didn’t care to find out.

Sometimes you woke up and felt those eyes on you, and he would be watching you. He would always smooth your hair back — which was starting to grey, or was it just paling, like his? — and tell you not to worry. He never told you what he wanted from you, and after a time (you don’t know how long) you stopped caring. You passed through many rooms, all of them the same, all of them lacking windows, until you found an exit.

You went outside and saw Yoongi, standing sentinel on a rocky outcrop. You climbed over to join him, and turned your gaze to see what he was looking at. There stood the Earth, small and inconsequential from your standing. By now, you could hardly remember what it had been like to live there. Yoongi turned to look at your blank face, skin as pale and glowing as the moon, and he smiled. He was alone no longer.

#yandere bts #yandere fic #yandere bangtan #yandere yoongi #yandere suga #yandere yoongi x reader #yandere bts x reader #bts x reader #bts fanfic #bts fic #bts fanfiction #bts imagines #bts suga #bts yoongi #bts Yoongi x reader

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blue-lions-baby · 4 years

Text

Operation Confession (Dimitri x Reader) [Ch. 1]

hi!! so sorry for the inactivity! i’ve been super busy preparing for college n stuff, so i didn’t really have time to write anything... but like i also didn’t want to go *another* week of not posting anything so lol

i’ve been working on this fic for almost a month now and as i was approaching the 5000 words mark, i figured it would probably be best to chop it up into more.... manageable sections ^^’ please enjoy~

spoiler-free and pre-timeskip fluff!

~*~

Oh, this was perfect.

Sylvain watched in pure amusement at the scene playing out before his very eyes. Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, future king of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus, reduced to nothing more than a blushing schoolboy antsy with the love bugs and raging hormones. He weakly disguised his chuckle with a cough when he saw yet another quill snap in the blonde’s hand, most likely in reaction to that adorable pouting face you had put up. You had absolutely no idea what type of effect and the severity of said effect you had on the prince.

Which made it all the more entertaining.

You didn’t mean to-- in fact, you weren’t even aware of the raging feelings Dimitri held towards you.

But Sylvain knew.

And you could bet your ass he was gonna do everything in his power to help his longtime friend man up and confess to the girl of his dreams.

Dimitri’s cheeks, once dusted with only a faint pink, suddenly became a hodgepodge of every shade of red when he realized that was the third quill he broke in this hour alone. His mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, helplessly looking to his teacher for help.

“Your Highness... Have you broken another quill?” Dedue murmured beside him, concern eminent in his voice. Dimitri looked down at the large splinter running down its side and mentally banged his head against the desk.

“It appears so... I will request a replacement from the Professor.” He muttered back, silently rising to his feet and making his way to the desk up front. He was suddenly stopped on his 4-step journey when Byleth (with a crinkle in their nose and a sigh) redirected their frazzled student to a whole box of spare quills behind the blackboard. Dimitri-- very much aware that this box filled with ludicrous amounts of quills were entirely for him-- bowed deeply to the professor, picked up the feathery thing, and hurried back to his desk.

You looked up from your work to give your eyes a break from their swimming lessons and accidentally made eye contact with the returning prince. You both paused for a split second before you flashed him a heartfelt smile; a gentle warmth kissed the surface of your cheeks and you averted your eyes back to your studies.

A resounding snap reverberated throughout the quiet classroom.

“Dimitri?”

“Y-Yes, Professor?”

“See me after class.”

“Yes, Professor...”

♠ ♥ ♣ ----------------------------------------------------------- ♣ ♥ ♠

While the rest of the class huddled outside the door and watched their house leader write “I will not break another quill” line after line on the blackboard, Sylvain looped an arm around your waist and winked.

“Hey, (F/N). Mind if I steal you for a bit?”

“Um... Sure.” Wary of his skirt-chasing tendencies, you were reluctantly led away from your classmates and into a more secluded part of the monastery.

“This better not be one of your tricks again, Sylvain... I already told you, I don’t like you in that way.”

“Ouch. That hurt.” Sylvain’s lips formed into an exaggerated pout and you couldn’t help but laugh a little.

“Nah, this ain’t about me for once. It’s about a certain... someone.” He continued rather vaguely.

“A certain someone? Sylvain, are you sure this isn’t about you?”

“It’s really not, I swear.” He put his hands up in surrender and seeing him genuine for once, you decided to believe him.

“Well, before I continue, I just wanna know if you... y’know.” Sylvain’s eyebrows wriggled very suggestively and a teasing smirk splayed his features. Your heart thundered in your ear, already knowing where this was going.

“If I...?” You whispered, taut fingers knotting the fabric of your uniform.

“Like, like-like anyone?”

Sylvain wished with all his heart that he had some way to capture the look and flood of colors that quickly took hold of your face. He watched in silent amazement as your face shifted from a barely-there pink to strawberry red in a matter of seconds. Gotcha.

“W-Well, I mean--” You took a shaky step backwards and your jaw clenched so tightly you were certain you were gonna chip a tooth. “There is this guy... Wait, why am I telling you this?! It’s none of your business!”

You rammed past the tall male with enough force to almost knock him over as you promptly made your way back to where the rest of your classmates were.

Satisfied with the laughable drop in quality in Dimitri’s penmanship, Byleth finally let the poor male join his classmates outside. His fingers twitched in an unsightly fashion and his wrist throbbed and cricked with every motion he made. He let out a guttural groan, making small, crackling adjustments to his neck and shoulder. The only thing he had left to do today was train, but he’d probably just go ahead and retire to his bed, at least for a little while...

Past the sea of heads crowding around him, he saw a flash of (H/C) streak across his vision, followed shortly afterwards by a head of shaggy red. (F/N)...? What were you doing with Sylvain?

Crippling exhaustion transfigured into searing jealousy and his eyes narrowed at his childhood friend with cold suspicion. Sylvain could easily feel the scorned prince’s hard stare like a knife in the back.

Was he at all fazed? Not in the slightest.

In fact, thought Sylvain as he sidled right up next to you, he wanted to toy with Dimitri’s heart just a little bit more...

“Excuse me everyone, but I must speak to Sylvain immediately.” He emphasized the last word sharply, gently pushing his way through the crowd. While he brushed shoulders with Ashe and waltzed around Ingrid, he spun around and ended up face-to-face with... Oh Goddess, his legs were turning into jelly.

“Dimitri...? Is something wrong?” You breathed, fumbling with your clammy digits.

“O-Oh!” Said male rubbed the back of his neck and looked away. “Nothing, Belov-- (F/N). Please excuse me, but it is imperative that I have a little... talk, with Sylvain.”

He left you no room for response as he quickly latched onto the toothy-grinned noble and practically dragged him away on his heels.

“What seems to be the problem, Your Highness?”

“Let us discuss the issue in my quarters.”

“Your quarters? Oh ho ho.~”

“Stop it, Sylvain. ... We’re here now.”

Dimitri watched Sylvain plop on the edge of his bed, his lips upturned in a carefree fashion. Dimitri lowered himself on his uncomfortable desk chair, his hands anxiously squeezing his kneecaps.

“So what would you like to talk about, Your Highness?”

“It’s about (F/N).” Dimitri spoke resolutely. “Sylvain... I know this will sound nothing short of mad, but--”

“Let me guess. You like (F/N).”

Dimitri’s bodily organs ceased to function; every ounce of blood in his body mutated into sharp, prickling icicles that seized his heart in a snare of terror and dread.

“I-- Wait, how--?”

“Your Highness. No offense, but pretty much everyone knows how you feel about her. You’re not exactly... subtle.”

Dimitri? Not subtle? Even after the extraordinary lengths he went through to make sure you remained ignorant of his true feelings for you? His brain filed through each and every interaction he’s had with you, combing through each word and shaky glance and awkward blush exchanged between either of you. Well, sure, he’s no master of disguise, but he wasn’t that bad... right?

While Dimitri’s thoughts remained in utter chaos, Sylvain coolly continued.

“Hey, about that lil’ act earlier... I was just messin’ with you, Your Highness. (F/N)’s a serious cutie, but I’m really not after her. I swear.” Sylvain winked. “Plus, she doesn’t even like me. She actually told me she likes--”

“WHO?!” Before Sylvain even had time to process-- well, anything-- Dimitri was on his feet rattling the poor noble to and fro, completely forgetting the crippling strength his Crest bestowed him.

“Gah! Stop it! That hurts!” Sylvain cried, trying with all his might to pry Dimitri’s iron grip from his shoulders.

Coherency finally returning, Dimitri immediately unclasped his digits from Sylvain. An expression of apologetic horror shot through his eyes as he stumbled back, back, back against his desk. The chest of both men heaved violently; raspy and hasty apologies slipped out of Dimitri’s lips while pain-stricken groans and a few obscenities raced out of Sylvain’s.

“I’m so-... I’m so sorry, Sylvain, I-- I’m so, so sorry--”

“Augh, Goddess... You’ve got quite a grip there, Your Highness...” Sylvain chuckled weakly, feeling his skin swell and bruise.

“Allow me to fetch a healer for you!”

“N-No worries... Ugh... Just, I need to talk to you.”

“Sylvain--”

“Please. Seeing you skirt about this issue is far more painful than any bruise you could give me... But I’m not gonna lie, this one comes pretty close.”

Dimitri drew in a deep breath and settled in his desk chair, its wooden legs creaking slightly from his weight. He planted his elbows firmly by his kneecaps and rested his chin on folded hands.

“Lemme ask you a question, Your Highness. Do you truly love (F/N)?”

“Yes.” Dimitri answered unfazed, but suddenly realized the gravity of his response and drooped his eyes towards the floor.

“Then tell her!”

“I... I can’t. I’m afraid I lack the confidence to waltz up to a girl and profess my feelings to her. Especially with what happened to...” Dimitri shivered at the awkwardly painful memory and continued. “Sylvain, what if she doesn’t like me in that way? Then I’d have made a fool of myself in front of everybody. But most importantly, her...”

“Well, since she didn’t tell me exactly who she liked, there’s no surefire way to know...” Sylvain acquiesced. “But I’ve got a real good feeling about this. Trust me! If there’s one thing in the world that I can help you with, it would be something like this.”

“Well, I suppose you’re right...” Dimitri pondered, sighing in defeat. “But regardless of whether she likes me or not, I am unable to simply walk up to her and tell her my feelings. That’s...”

Dimitri trailed off, dejection glossing his pastel blues.

“I don’t deserve someone like her.” He breathed out just above a whisper. Poignancy took hold of Sylvain’s heart after hearing the sincerity in Dimitri’s voice. One look at the despondent royal was enough to tell him how much he believed those words-- how much Dimitri believed that he, a beast stained by blood and vengeance, could never have a beauty as tender and loving as you.

“Hey, come on Your Highness... It’s not fair on your part to be giving yourself so little credit.”

“Sylvain, look at me.” Dimitri cupped his throbbing head in his hands and he growled. “I am a monster. I can not drag someone as pure, lovely, and beautiful as (F/N) into...”

He paused, choosing his next words carefully.

“She deserves someone else-- someone who can bring her true happiness. Someone who’s... not me.”

Sylvain gritted his teeth from the dark and pulverizing atmosphere. Dimitri was spiraling. Further, faster into the void.

“Cheer up, Your Highness!” Sylvain bubbled half-heartedly, desperately trying to reel his friend from the abyss. “You’re a great guy! Hey. Remember when we went out to cull some bandits outta that one village? And some bad guy almost got (F/N)? You managed to swoop in just before that happened! You saved her, Deems. The look of pure adoration and gratitude in her eyes after the battle... It felt good, right?”

“I... suppose.”

“Oh! And remember when (F/N) was having a hard time grasping the concept of that battle formation the other day? Who came in, and spent the rest of their afternoon tutoring her until she could explain why you needed to send the flyers in first?”

“... I did.”

“Yup! And who’s the chivalrous, hard-working leader of the Blue Lions that everyone looks up to?”

“I am.”

“Atta boy, Your Highness! See? You’re a great guy! And the fact that you’re a prince doesn’t hurt your chances either.” Sylvain’s eyebrows danced smugly.

Dimitri’s chest rose and fell in laughter; Sylvain’s eyes lit up like a star. He managed to save him-- at least for now.

“Thank you, Sylvain. I really needed that encouragement. I... I apologize for--”

“No worries, Your Highness. ... I’m just glad I was able to help.” Sylvain clasped a hand on his friend’s shoulder and squeezed reassuringly.

“Um, Sylvain...”

“Hm?”

“How do I confess to her? Properly?”

Sylvain clapped his hands together and rubbed them gleefully.

“Don’t worry, Your Highness. I’ve got a plan.”

#fire emblem #dimitri fire emblem #dimitri alexandre blaiddyd #fe3h dimitri #dimitri x reader #x reader #x reader insert #x reader fanfiction #fire emblem three houses #fire emblem three houses fanfiction #part 2 coming soon!!#sylvain would make the best wingman ngl

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hookedonapirate · 4 years

Text

Accidentally On Purpose

Summary: They shared one incredible night together five months ago, and after she disappeared from his life without a trace, except for the intoxicating scent on her pillow, he never thought he'd see her again.

That is until his colleague, David, sets him up on a blind date with his sister.

When fate brings them together again, she's full of surprises. Two to be exact.

A/N: This is something I've been working on, but I have no idea what inspired me to write this, it's just a concept I've been wanting to write that popped into my head quite randomly. This will most likely be a 2 or 3 parter, depending on the muse. She holds the reins here, I just do what she tells me to do lol.

Thank you @onceuponaprincessworld for looking it over and for your feedback!!!

Catch up: pt 1

Also on: Ao3 I FF.N

Rated: M

Part 2

The sound of her name yanks Emma abruptly from her thoughts, and she shudders at the way the British accent slides through her like smooth silk. “That’s me,” she replies and scoots off the stool, grabbing her things. He sounds familiar; she would never forget a voice or an accent like that, but she can't seem to place the voice with a face. Until she turns around and sees who her date is.

Fuck.

Emma’s jaw slackens, her face drains of color and cold sweat beads across her forehead.

“You’re Emma?”

Unable to form words at the moment, she manages a nod.

“I’m Killian.”

Holy mother of—

“You’re Killian?” she asks dumbly, unwilling to believe it. But she knows very well it’s him. She’d never forget that face. That messy, black hair. Those impossibly blue eyes. Those lips. God, those lips were so firm and demanding and loving when he kissed every inch of her body. And the tongue she can detect as his mouth hangs open. That wicked, yet exquisitely soft tongue worked miracles on her.

He nods. “Well… this is awkward,” he chuckles lightly, scratching behind his ear.

He has no idea exactly how awkward it is. He hasn’t put together the pieces yet.

She scoffs. “Yeah, considering I'm much fatter than I was when we first saw each other.”

“You're not fat, you're carrying twins.” He offers her a rose and a smile. “You look stunning.”

Her cheeks flush and her heart flutters as she takes the rose, bringing it to her nose to draw in its scent. While the gesture is very sweet, it makes her realize she can't do this, just like she couldn't do this the last time when she woke up next to him.

She wants to take off running, something she's very good at, except for when she's pregnant. So even if she could move her feet, which now feel they've been super-glued to the floor, she wouldn't be able to run, at least not fast enough to outrun him if he chased her after her.

The maitre d’ gives them a moment of reprieve when she leads them to a table. A cozy, secluded table in the far corner of the restaurant. Falling behind Killian, Emma’s eyes shit to the emergency exit which isn’t very far from where she is. She could sneak over and dash through the door before Killian knows she’s gone, not without setting off the alarm though. But did she really want to risk missing an opportunity here? The father of her unborn children is directly in front of her. This is her chance to rectify the situation. Question is, did she really want to?

Placing a hand on her belly, she proceeds to the table. Things are different now. Every decision she makes affects her little ducklings, so she has to think about them and how her choices will ultimately affect them.

Yes, she’s doing this for them.

Killian pulls out a chair for her, and she sits down, thanking him with a faint smile. He claims the seat across from her as the maitre d’ leaves the table.

Part of her is hoping he won’t put the pieces together, because while she’s thinking of her children, she also has to think of him and how the truth might completely change and possibly ruin his life. And at least now, she’ll be able to tell her children their father’s name.

Ugh, she is so conflicted and confused.

~*~

Killian's not sure what to think when he discovers David’s sister is the same woman who ran out of the motel room and out of his life. The woman who left him with an empty side of the bed, her scent on the pillow, an empty feeling in his heart and fond memories of the previous night.

He hasn’t been able to stop thinking about that night, how good her legs felt wrapped around his waist, how good she tasted—her soft mouth when he kissed her, her lovely skin and warm nectar bursting on his tongue when he licked between her thighs. Even before they left for the motel, he couldn’t remember the last time he had so much fun. Probably never.

David was right; she’s definitely a feisty lass. Their banter and teasing jabs drew him in even more, but her laugh… God, her laugh was so enchanting he wanted to spend his entire life making her laugh just to hear that wonderful sound tumble from her lips over and over again. She's also beautiful and intoxicating, and her skin was so warm and silky that night as he brushed his knuckles over her cheek. She was so responsive to his touch. His mouth went dry, and he wanted to make her laugh again, he wanted to make her fall apart in his arms.

He rarely picked up women at the bar, nor did he hook up with women he barely knew in a motel room, but he was incredibly attracted to her the second she walked into the establishment. She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on, still is, and she appeared to be alone, so the decision to buy her a drink was an easy one. He sent it her way, and the rest was history.

Later on, he asked her if she wanted to get out of there. But he wouldn’t have been brave enough to ask if he hadn’t witnessed the want in her eyes, the way she flirted with him, if he hadn’t felt the way her warm palm found his thigh underneath the table, the way she stroked him so close to where he was already very excited and very hard. He’d never left a table so quickly when she agreed to meet him at a nearby motel. She had to use the ladies' room to freshen up or whatever lasses usually did in the restroom. Reckoning she’d be too stubborn to let him pay for the entire bill himself, he took the opportunity to leave for the motel to reserve a room while she was in the restroom.

He returned to the bar to walk her to the motel in the dark, and sure enough, she tried to reimburse him for half, but he refused. He invited her, so he could not in good conscience allow her to give him anything for the room. Well, she would give him something, just nothing of monetary value. She gave him many things that night; she gave herself to him; she gave him the best several orgasms he’s ever experienced, with her hand, her mouth and her very warm and very tight cunt wrapped gloriously around his cock. She gave him a night of passion and ecstasy; she gave him a night to remember.

They could barely contain themselves as they walked to the room. As soon as they were behind closed doors, their lips connected, they tore off each other's clothes and made love with raging-hot hunger, moans, heavy breaths mingling and filthy words filling the room. She buried her fingers in his hair as he buried himself inside her , and she tugged on his hair every time he filled her to the hilt. They were too far gone to savor and taste each other thoroughly the first time.

So once he caught his breath, once his desire and sweat had cooled, only slightly, he traced and kissed every dip and curve of her body with curiosity and fascination, worshipping her properly as she explored him with greedy fingers. When he settled between her thighs, parting them for easy access to her entrance, she reached for him, fisting locks of his hair as he licked up the sweet evidence of what he had done to her. What they had done to each other. They went three rounds before their bodies collapsed, before they were completely sapped, and sleep seeped into his bones as her head rested on his chest. She was so sexy, demanding and irresistible and they’d thoroughly worn each other out. When he woke the next morning, he'd been looking forward to a fourth round with the gorgeous blonde goddess who'd shifted his world off its axis in merely a night, so when he reached out for her, he was incredibly disappointed to find her gone.

Needless to say, it was an incredible night. In fact, it was probably the best night of his entire life.

Unfortunately, Emma doesn’t appear to feel the same. She doesn't seem too happy to see him. He guesses she might be a tad embarrassed because she ran out on him after that night. She could leave right now if she wanted to, but she’s not, so perhaps it’s a good sign. Or perhaps she’s only being polite.

She looks afraid for some reason as she peruses the menu, like she’d seen a ghost. Not afraid of him, but afraid of something. She’s biting her bottom lip as if she’s warring with herself about something. She did the same thing when he asked her to leave with him that night. Does she feel guilty about going on a date while she’s pregnant? Single mothers have needs too, so she shouldn’t feel bad or guilty. Just like she shouldn’t feel bad or guilty about the night they shared five months ago.

Five terrible months. Five months.

A thought suddenly slams into his brain, and his mouth goes dry. They were together five months ago. And Emma's five months pregnant.

Could he be…

His face pales and his throat closes up.

No, it’s not possible, is it?

Emma looks up, seeing the awestruck expression on his face. She senses he’s putting the pieces together.

Oh.

He is the father. That’s why she’s so conflicted. Isn’t it?

“So, uh…” he stumbles for words as he scratches behind his ear. “Do you… do you know who the…”

“Who the father is?”

“Aye.”

~*~

Emma’s not sure what to tell him. Should she tell him the truth? She takes a deep breath and sets down the menu, placing her hands in her lap as her eyes bore into his. She could, but she wants to gauge how he’ll react before she even decides whether to tell him or not. “No, you’re not.”

She thinks he’ll be relieved, but wait… is he disappointed? She can see the disappointment flicker in his eyes.

Fuck.

Now he probably thinks she's a slut who sleeps with random strangers all the time. Why can’t she just tell him? Why can’t she just break through the walls of fear preventing her from telling him? A big part of her wants to, but another part of her doesn't want to ruin tonight. Because once she tells him, the rest of the night will be weird and awkward and she’s not sure it’s the best time.

The best time?

She can just hear Mary Margaret screaming at her right now.

He’s the father of your children, Emma! Grow some balls and tell the man!

Or would her sister-in-law tell her to wait until the end of the night, until after she’s released some stress. But that would be so wrong—to get her fix first and then drop a huge, atomic bomb on him.

“So, um… can I ask what happened to the father?” he asks, scratching behind his ear again. “I was just curious… any man would be a fool to walk away from a woman like you and those babies.”

Emma’s cheeks warm as she gives him a weak smile.

Well shit.

“I just… um, I’d rather not talk about it,” Emma says firmly.

“As you wish, love.”

So they don’t discuss it. The server arrives to take their orders, and Emma thinks of other things to talk about, like the weather or their jobs, or anything else to avoid telling him he’s the father.

“Can I ask you something else, Emma?”

Crap.

She can tell by the tone in his voice and the look on his face, she’s not going to like his question.

But still, she nods and takes another sip of water.

“Do you not want to do this?”

The question takes her off guard a little. She sets down her glass, seeing the insecurities flashing in his eyes. He’s afraid she'll run again. “Do what?”

He gestures between them. “ This. Do you regret showing up, since it turns out I’m your date?”

“I… um,” she gulps, fumbling for the right words to say. She reaches over and takes his hands in hers. “Look, Killian… it’s not that I didn't enjoy our night together, because I did.” A small smile curves her lips. “In fact, I enjoyed it so much, I got scared. I was afraid if I stayed, I’d end up falling for you. I was afraid I’d end up getting my heart broken because it’s happened before. I’m kind of damaged goods.”

“Thanks for your honesty, Emma,” he says appreciatively as he pulls his hands away, “but you didn’t answer my question. Do you regret agreeing to this blind date?”

She shakes her head. “No, I don’t. Do you?”

He has a stoic expression on his face. “Aye.”

Emma’s heart drops. She feels like she's just been drop-kicked in the stomach. “Oh.”

He holds up his hand, his Adam's Apple bobbing as he speaks. “I spent the last five months wondering if I’d ever see you again, I spent five months thinking about the night we shared, I dreamed about you constantly, I wondered if we’d ever run into each other again or what I'd say to you if we did. I barely know you and yet you turned my entire world upside down. And now that you’re right in front of me, you’re… you’re pregnant with another man’s children and you…” his voice cracks, “you agreed to this date thinking you'd be going out with a man who wasn't me. You were willing to go to a restaurant, have a pleasant conversation over dinner with the possibility of something more, even though you’re five months pregnant. You were willing to endure something uncomfortable, something a bit awkward just so you could engage in more enjoyable activities later on.”

What the fuck?

Killian doesn't appear to be happy; his jaw tightens as he pulls out some cash from his wallet and throws it on the table. “You were able to endure all of this for some man you never met before, someone your sister-in-law and brother set you up with, and yet you weren't willing to endure an awkward morning-after with a man who already showed you, what I thought was a very good time. You didn't have the decency to at least wake me up with a kiss and say goodbye before you left.”

Oh wow, he really is pissed.

Killian stands up, tucking his wallet inside of his jacket pocket. “You were afraid of getting hurt, and yet you hurt me after only one night of being with me.” The look he regards her with makes her shiver. It makes her heart crack. “So yes, I regret going on a date with someone who wouldn't bother to stick around for even one morning after they had their fill.”

Emma never expected this, she never expected he would be the one to up and leave. As she watches him go in heated silence, she realizes she’s once again losing the opportunity to have this man be in her life. In her children’s lives. She’s letting him slip away from her fingers once again.

No, not this time.

~*~

Killian can't believe this. The amount of pain he feels is indescribable. Unbearable. Sure, he knew what he was signing up for when he took her—a woman whose name he didn’t know—to a motel room. He asked for her name but she responded by asking him, what fun would that be? He went along by saying they were just two ships passing in the night. So he wasn't stupid or naive, but still… he never thought she'd leave him high and dry the second she woke, nor did he think it would be so easy for her to move on with her life like he was nothing but a good lay. That's all he was to her. A good lay.

His blood bubbles as the reality of it all sinks in, and he can't breathe. His heart fucking hurts, and he can’t make it stop, as much as he wants it to. Reaching his car, he hauls the door open, desperate to leave and go home so he can drown his sorrows in a bottle of rum.

“Killian, wait!”

He freezes, his hand clenched around the door, his jaw tightening as he hears her heels click across the pavement.

He stands there, waiting for her to approach him, debating whether to leave. Whether to listen to what she has to say or try to forget about her.

Like that could ever happen.

“Killian,” she wheezes, out of breath when she reaches him. “You’re right, I’m an asshole, I should've stayed. I should’ve given us a chance, but I didn’t. And I can't take that back, all I can do is not let go of that opportunity again. All I can do is tell you the truth and make things right.”

“The truth about what?” he demands, turning around to face her.

Emma peers down as she fidgets with her fingers. “So um, what I’m about to tell you is um… well, I don’t want you to think I’m expecting anything from you at all, I just…” She looks up at him, and his breath catches when her stunning green eyes connect with his blue ones. “I want to make that perfectly clear.”

I'm the father, aren't I?

Killian’s heart feels like it’s about to explode. He's the father of the babies growing inside her. And suddenly the anger inside him turns into something else. Knowing he might be the father of these twins makes him hopeful.

Wait. Twins.

Reality slams into him, turning his face pale. “So um… I’m the…” he swallows the large lump in his throat.

She reaches for him, sensing his anxiety, and takes his hands in hers. “Yes, you’re the father, but as I said, I don’t expect anything from you. That’s why I didn't tell you at first. I didn't want to bombard you with any obligations. I didn’t want to wreck your life.”

“Right…” he murmurs, trying to process this as he releases her hands. “I’m sorry, I just need a minute to myself. I promise not to run away this time.”

She nods in understanding. “Take all the time you need.”

She heads back inside, leaving him at a loss for what to do. It was different when she told him he wasn’t the father, but now that he knows he is, he can't turn his back on her and the twins.

Bloody hell.

He’s a father. To twins.

Killian’s head is spinning as he drags his hands through his hair, sucking in the fresh air through his nostrils. She said she expected nothing from him, but he’s not about to abandon her or the babies. Those are his babies too. And he’s not about to let her raise them by herself with a monthly child support check as his only contribution. No, he can’t do that. He doesn’t even know Emma, but they can change that. If the night he met her was any indication, despite the fact she left him, then they could make this work. The chemistry was there, the attraction, the connection. And it wasn’t just physical. They had some great conversations and good laughs. Maybe he can give this a shot, maybe they can make this work. Or at least try. If things end up not working out between them, he can at least share custody with the twins, right? He has to let her know she’s not alone in this. No matter what happens between them.

Killian takes another deep breath, drawing in the courage to face her again before heading inside.

~*~

Emma’s not sure what to think. Did he leave, or is he considering what she told him? She doesn’t blame him either way. She’s had time to process this, she’s had a little over four months to figure out what to do, what steps to take.

When she saw the two pink lines, she was in tears. How in the world was she going to raise a baby? She was living in her brother's guestroom for crying out loud. And she was always chasing her next mark. But there was no way she was giving up her baby. Being a foster kid and bouncing around from one home to another until David’s family finally adopted her, she wasn’t about to put her baby through that. Then she found out she was having twins and even though it completely flipped her world upside down, she wasn’t about to change her mind. She was doing this, father or not; she would raise these babies and give them the love and home they needed, even if she had to do it at her brother’s place.

She didn’t want David and Mary Margaret to feel obligated to help her raise the twins, but they’d assured her they didn’t mind. They knew how to raise a child, and they weren’t about to send Emma off to live on the streets, especially with twin babies. She agreed, but not without promising them and herself she’d start looking for a place of her own once she saved enough money to afford it.

So she can understand having to take some time to think and process all of this.

Her question of whether or not he left, is finally answered when he returns to the table, completely wrecked and out of breath.

“Are you um… are you okay?” Stupid question because why would he be okay? She just dropped a bomb on him.

He reclaims his seat across from her, his eyes meeting hers. “I’m uh… I mean, I‘m just shocked, if you can imagine...”

Emma manages a small laugh. “Yes, I can definitely imagine.”

He takes a sip of the tea he tried to pay for but never touched. He thought it would be impolite to order alcohol and drink it in front of her since she couldn’t have any. Emma learned quickly he’s considerate like that.

She reaches into her purse for the cash he had left on the table. She hid it to save their table and told the waitress they’d be back, desperately hoping they would be. “Here.” She hands over the cash. “Dinner is on me… if you’ll still have dinner with me. It’s the least I can do after what I did to you.”

He puts up his hand, refusing it. “Nonsense, Emma, I’ll still have dinner with you, but I’ll foot the bill. It’s the least I can do for knocking you up.”

Her lips tip into a slight smirk as she lays the cash on the table. “If I recall, it was just as much my fault as it was yours.”

He blushes, his face finally cracking a smile. This is good. He’s able to smile despite how real this situation became for him.

“Would you like to see them?” she asks, still clutching onto her purse.

His brows furrow in confusion. “See what?”

She laughs. “The twins, silly.”

His eyes light up, excitement dancing over his handsome features. “You have the sonogram with you?”

She nods. “Yep.” She pulls it out of her purse and hands it to him. “This was at twelve weeks when I found out they’re fraternal.” She smirks. “Not only did your little swimmers get one of my eggs, they got two.”

A big smile takes over his face as he studies the picture in fascination. “What can I say, love, my little swimmers are overachievers.”

Emma snorts. “You can say that again.”

“Do you know the genders?”

She shakes her head. “I’ll find out during my next appointment. It’s on the 20th if you’d like to come.”

He looks up from the sonogram, still donning a smile. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

His features become serious again, and he takes a deep, shaky breath and reaches across the table, taking her hand in his free one. “Whatever you need me to do, I’ll do it. I’ll go with you to the doctor’s appointments and parenting classes, I’ll go out and buy you food when you’re having late-night cravings and I’ll give you foot and shoulder rubs when you’re achy. Whatever I can do to help you feel as comfortable as possible, I’ll do it. And I’ll be there when you’re in labor, I’ll bring you to the hospital and I’ll stay by your side the entire thing, okay? And after that, I want to be involved… as much as you’ll allow me to be. They’re my babies too, and I can’t just walk away to let you raise them by yourself.”

Emma’s kind of shocked, but she shouldn’t be. She knew Killian was a good man; she knew it the night she met him, but after he got so upset and told her he regretted this date, she thought he wouldn’t want anything to do with her, whether he was the father or not. “Really?”

He nods. “Really.”

Hope warms her heart as she gazes at Killian from across the table. This man was devastated when she left him and is now offering to do everything he can to help her and the babies. Their babies.

“We don’t have to discuss all the logistics right now, it’s only our first date after all,” he says with a smirk. “But I want you to know I’m committed to this. I want to be a part of the twins’ lives.”

“So, we’re doing this… together?”

He nods, his eyes twinkling with hope. “Aye, we’re doing this.”

Her eyes sting with tears, and she smiles, trying to fight them away, but one escapes, sliding down her cheek. The twins will have a daddy. A father who will love and cherish them.

Killian sets down the sonogram to brush his knuckles along her cheek, wiping the tear away with his thumb. Her breath catches, her heart fluttering as she closes her eyes, nuzzling her cheek into his touch. The same gentle touch she’d felt that night... before they left for the motel. She’s putty in his hands, just like she was then.

“Do you want to get out of here, love?”

Emma opens her eyes, taken aback by the question.

“We can have our dinners boxed up and take them to my place? I think you’ll find it’s more comfortable there. Besides, if we’re spending time together, don’t you think we should get to know each other a little first… you know just to make sure we got along.”

Emma smirks. “I don’t know, we got along pretty well five months ago. We got along so well in fact…” she sits back and places her hands on her belly, “this happened.”

He chuckles, a pink blush painting his cheeks. He’s so fucking adorable; she doesn’t understand how she walked away from this guy five months ago. What the hell was she thinking?

When the server approaches their table, Killian asks her to box up their meals, and she returns with a big sack. Killian pays for their dinner and rises, extending his hand to Emma. She smiles and grabs her rose and purse before slipping her hand in his.

Emma had a ton of doubts about tonight. A ton of insecurities and a laundry list of reasons why this date was a terrible idea. But now she has hope. So much hope. And Killian lets her know there are no expectations for tonight. And she’s glad because while she could really use a night to relieve some stress, while she’s still feeling a bit turned on even after the very serious and very real discussion they had, she wants to take things slow with Killian. She knows how ridiculous that sounds, considering they’ve already had sex and are having babies together, but she owes Killian a proper morning-after.

So after eating dinner on his comfortable sofa, after he gives her the shoulder and foot massages he’d promised, they slip into his bed together. But instead of making love, Killian wraps his arms around her and just holds her. And when he feels the twins kicking under his palms, he tells her it’s the most incredible feeling he’s ever experienced. And that’s saying something, considering the night they were together five months ago was the best night of his life. Until tonight. Now it’s a very close second considering they are reunited and having a baby together (which is scary, really scary, but at least Emma’s not doing this alone; she’s doing this with him). Nothing will compare to the birth of their twin babies though.

In the morning Emma wakes up before he does, but instead of running away (as if she could run anyway) she surprises him with a kiss on the forehead and a fresh cup of coffee.

And she smiles, knowing this is just the beginning of something good. Something really good.

#cs ff #cs smut #captain swan #accidentally on purpose #my fic

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