#and the way they phrased it made it seem like he had to retire from the race and i was like 'ah typical mark L' | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

amakumos · 3 months

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enhypen as f1 fans - headcanons.

SYNOPSIS. enhypen as f1 fans this is literally just it

GENRE. probably just crack

AUTHOR'S NOTE. this is literally just for fun and i love lando norris. lmk what else you would want to add if u like f1 and enha... let me know what types of fans theyd be... not tagging taglist in this cuz its not that serious of a fic

LEE HEESEUNG. ★

favourite team: aston martin

favourite track: spa-francorchamps

favourite driver: fernando alonso / lewis hamilton

heeseung also gives me the vibe that he likes red bull as well! i think he definitely wouldn't be mad if a rb driver won, but would prefer drivers from his favourite team

he's definitely gone to races before. occasionally buys paddock passes.

had the time of his life in the first half of the 2023 season when aston was good... after the upgrades (more like downgrades) he's been going through it...

but i think he'd still have hope.

the kind of guy to quit watching the race if his favourite driver dnfs

buys merch like a crazy person

loves fernando’s tiktok account with a burning passion. probably uses them as reaction memes in the gc

will lose his shit when fernando or lewis retires.

has a soft spot for oscar

bashes his head against the wall when his fav driver has a slow pitstop

the kind of guy to yell at the tv when the result outcome is terrible

"i'm never watching formula 1 again" he says when his fav doesn't make it to the points... and then proceeds to turn the tv back on the next race week

probably has a selfie with his fav driver (and probably cried a little bit after)

uses that video of fernando's celebration dance as a way to get out of awkward conversations

the first guy to like fernando's new tiktoks whenever they r posted

JAY PARK. ★

favourite team: mercedes

favourite track: circuit of the americas

favourite driver: lewis hamilton / sebastian vettel

honestly i feel like everyone in enha loves lewis

lost his shit when seb retired

i think he also likes nico rosberg as well. seems like a brocedes guy (he sheds tears every time someone brings brocedes up tho)

would sacrifice his right lung for another lewis hamilton win

would gladly help seb build his bee hotels in suzuka

paddock passes every time when he goes and watches f1.

probably has selfies with every driver that he likes

hes just a mercedes guy through and through

he's loyal to his team! if ur a mercedes driver, jay loves u AUTOMATICALLY.

probably died a bit on the inside when george and lewis had contact on turn 1 in qatar 2023

not a red bull fan. im sorry

but he sometimes thinks about turning into a red bull fan because life as a red bull fan is much less depressing compared to being a merc fan

misses the merc domination era

probably on f1twt and is famous there

people know him for having selfies w the drivers and always buying paddock passes. he's a rich guy what can i say

another guy who yells at the screen during a race

whenever merc has disappointing strategies he just sighs and thinks: "i could do a better job"

JAKE SIM. ★

favourite team: ferrari

favourite track: monza / monaco

favourite driver: charles leclerc

SOMEBODY SAVE THIS MAN????

he goes through it every single weekend. every weekend he is constantly disappointed by ferrari and at this point he is considering to quit watching f1

only cares about charles. loves that man with his life

he also likes oscar and danny ric as well, because they're australian

you know how every italian man is in love with charles? they post stuff on their story like "met my husband😍" and it's a pic of them and charles? that's jake. he is him

jake reminds me of that one fan who made charles a pizza and gave it to him in person. like that’s lowkey some shit that he would do

picks up on phrases that charles says. mainly "it's like this" ...

prays every single weekend for charles to get good results (he is always disappointed)

wanted to die when he saw charles' slow pit stop at the dutch gp in 2023... they had NO TYRES and jake threw the remote control at the screen

has charles merch. definitely bought the monaco special edition hat. probably buys apm monaco for charles too

he's definitely gone to races before. probably bought paddock once but he will never do that again his wallet was crying

was 100% in the crowd during charles' 2019 monza win. also shed tears during that moment

"BURN THE SF23" is the most tweeted thing on his f1twt account of the 2023 season

argues with sunghoon all the time over f1 because sunghoon is a red bull fan... but secretly they're literally lecstappen

in general jake would sacrifice his entire life for charles leclerc and... he's so real for that

PARK SUNGHOON. ★

favourite team: red bull

favourite track: zandvoort / red bull ring

favourite driver: max verstappen

the only one enjoying the 2023 season

because his favourite driver always wins

the only one in enha whos NEVER disappointed whenever a race happens

yells rlly loud whenever max wins (so basically every race weekend) and the rest of the enha boys just look at him like 😒

probably has like 5 red bull shirts in his closet and sleeps in them

defends max with his life. probably has a twitter account w the user onlyverstappen and you'll see him bashing the shit out of max haters

prob bought a max mini helmet. almost bought the max verstappen christmas sweater (hes a dedicated fan what can i say)

big maxiel fan. would sacrifice everything for a max and daniel pairing again because he thinks they're funny together

likes max bc of his humour as well

watches youtube videos about f1 like "every f1 driver getting mad at nikita mazepin" or like "funny f1 driver radio moments"

the kind of guy to save every max edit into his camera roll (hes in love what can i say)

started drinking red bulls because of his love for the team… he says it’s his way of supporting them

fan of liam lawson too. needs him to get a seat and he does not care with what team. he just needs to see that man in a f1 car ASAP...

has been to f1 races, bought paddock once to go with jay. max won that race and he never shuts up about how he saw max verstappen win with his own two eyes

has the same passion towards f1 as jake except he lives in a constant state of happiness due to red bull's dominance while jake lives in a constant state of depression

KIM SUNOO. ★

favourite team: alphatauri / williams

favourite track: singapore

favourite driver: yuki tsunoda / alex albon

big yuki fan. thinks his radios are funny

he's not too invested in f1 but watches occasionally

loves alex bc of how he's somehow able to drag a williams into the points

he's pretty quiet when he's watching f1 i feel

feels like the kind of guy to just sit on the couch and be like "hmm. good job" or like "oh. maybe next time..."

mainly bc his fav drivers and teams arent fighting for podiums or championships... but he hopes that they'll be able to someday

he's that one rlly lucky fan that could just be walking around in the same city as his fav f1 driver and just bump into them on the street

doesn't hate any team and doesn't hate any driver. he's a pretty chill f1 fan

the ONE time sunoo probably got pissed was when yuki was on his formation lap and his engine broke down... meaning he didn't start

wanted to punch smth because How in the World

probably bought one of yuki's mini helmets bc he thinks its cute. "good room decor" - kim sunoo 2023

probably has a yuki or alex cap but that's as much merch as he'll buy tbh

likes the yuki / daniel combo for alphatauri but also thinks nyck should've been given a bit more time

probably hasn't been to an f1 race in person... if he went i don't think he'd buy paddock unless one of the other members bought it and brought him along

keeps up w f1 news from twitter or from jake bc he never stops talking about how ferrari’s fucking up charles' strategy again

YANG JUNGWON. ★

favourite team: mclaren

favourite track: silverstone

favourite driver: lando norris / oscar piastri

no, i’m not just saying jungwon is a lando enjoyer just because i am (maybe a little bc i’m biased BUT)

they’re both just adorable so what can i say really

depressed at the beginning of the season when the mclaren boys were driving a fucking TRACTOR for a car

landoscar enthusiast. i don’t make the rules… he and jake remind me of landoscar kinda… like jake would be a lando and jungwon would be an oscar

would do anything (I MEAN ANYTHING) for a lando win… me too

mclaren 1-2? YOU BEST BELIEVE HE'S YELLING LIKE A MANIAC

spends money on lando merch (HOODIES!) and prob wears it bc the designs r insanely cool

sits in silence in the corner when it’s a bad race week for his faves… like he’s crazily silent to the point where it’s scary. it's giving eye twitches vibes

gets hyped for race week tho he’s the kinda guy to have every race logged in his calendar

makes maeumi watch f1 with him. unfortunately maeumi is not a mclaren fan much to his disappointment

if you hate lando or oscar he will hate you. defends them with his life and trust and believe me he will win.

is on f1twt, pretty well known on there (he just tweets random shit and gets 1k likes and hes like... Wtf)

attends races whenever he can, prob not paddock cuz he thinks it’s not really worth it bc of how expensive they are

used to mclaren being good now compared to the start of the season so he’s devastated when they’re not top 5

NISHIMURA RIKI. ★

favourite team: mercedes (ferrari later tho...)

favourite track: suzuka

favourite driver: lewis hamilton / yuki tsunoda / kimi raikkonen

lewis fan because he’s the goat, yuki fan bc he thinks he’s funny and bc they’re both japanese, kimi fan because well... hes KIMI

riki’s prob been invested in f1 since he was a kid, definitely the most involved / passionate w motorsports

probably watches other motorsport series too! pretty sure he’s talked about formula e, and i could see him enjoying indycar and motogp

yk how lewis released that collab w fortnite? riki prob bought the skin and plays as lewis in fortnite😭

loves roscoe!!! would want bisco and roscoe to meet tbh

wants lewis to win again SOOOO badly

prob has a picture with yuki and the height difference would be hilarious (yuki is 159cm)

i think he's a big fan of schumacher, senna, prost too, definitely been watching this sport for a WHILE!

in a complete state of SHOCK when it was revealed lewis would be going to ferrari

started learning italian on duolingo after the big announcement

has definitely been to a few f1 races (suzuka, silverstone & singapore are probably the ones he's been to)

a BIG ACCOUNT ON F1TWT

probably gets invited as a guest of his favourite teams n shit it's crazy he's practically an influencer there

would start an f1 podcast for fun and it would go viral

201 notes · View notes

queenburd · 5 months

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Cross posted to ao3. Very mild formatting differences. Comments make me happy.

Hey, folks, this one is heavy, long, and full of repetitive text and phrases. While I know that's par for the course with this game, I bring it up because I know writing it made me feel weird at times, and it intentionally leans into its theme of deterioration. Take care of yourselves. We're dealing with the Figurines Ending, the Epilogue, and the Skip button.

If you like my writing, please consider tipping me. I also have commissions and a paypal donation button.

|.|.|.|

The first thing Stanley does, when the reset hits and he finds himself staring at his desk, is pick up the mug that sits on the corner and hurl it out the door of his office. It hits the wall beside the doorframe on the opposite side of the room, and shatters on impact.

“Stanley?! What in God’s name—“

He screams.

It’s a hoarse noise. It’s deep and it’s broken and it hurts to get out, but he screams because there’s something horrible inside him, something he needs to purge. The noise cuts out, and then begins again.

The chair is grabbed next—he hooks his arms around the backrest and lifts the thing to chest height before he flings it with all his strength. A wheel catches on the doorframe to his office and the chair crashes to the floor, hitting the wall with an almighty, horrendous crash and sliding partway across the hideous beige carpet.

“Stanley!”

His chest heaves with fierce, angry panting. His cheeks are wet. Another noise wrenches itself from his throat. Stanley turns to his desk and swipes his arm across everything on it, knocking pencils and papers and pens to the floor. He slams his fists on it. He turns and kicks one of the filing cabinets, turns and paces in the little room like a caged animal.

There is so much built up inside him that he doesn’t know what to do with. All he knows is that he’s going to rip this place apart with his bare hands.

It’s not just anger, you must understand. It’s much more complicated than that. You see, Stanley has just come from the Epilogue.

The sand blows around him. The wind is cold and fierce. The sun is unforgiving. The moon is a large lamp in the sky.

And Stanley is alone.

He walks for what feels like eternity. He walks for what seems like mere minutes. He walks towards nothing. He turns in every direction. He puts one foot in front of the other.

And Stanley is alone.

The fire doesn’t warm him. He can’t dislodge the chairs from the ground. There’s sand in his shoes and shirt and mouth. He wraps his arms around his chest and walks and walks.

And he is alone.

“Yes, I'm remembering something now. I remember before this whole story got started.

Back then, I was... I was different; I used to make big decisions, I was passionate! I was skeptical! I weighed each decision with profound thoughtfulness.

And then, somewhere along the way, I stopped making decisions.

I became lazy. And I came up with—well—I came up with a character named Stanley, to do my thinking for me. He would make the decisions, he would decide which way to go, I would cheer him on as he collected figurines for no reason.

Why did I invent Stanley? Was I lonely?

Yes, perhaps that's it. Perhaps I needed to imagine I had companionship. And Stanley really did make for a wonderful companion, even if he was a fiction.

But—ahh, I suppose it's grown old. I-I want to think for myself again. I want to go back to how it used to be.

Yes, I can be on my own again. I can do it! I'll be stronger this time. I'll take care of myself. I don't need Stanley anymore.

Oh, but he truly was so much fun to play with!

You know what? Since we're in the Memory Zone, how about one more good memory?

Let's go back, just once, and give Stanley one more run of the office! And then, I'll retire him for good. I did enjoy telling his story—so very much.

Okay, here we go.

This is the story of a man named Stanley.”

The Memory Zone is flooded with sand. The bucket does little to comfort Stanley, even as he holds it to his chest. He follows the power cord deeper into the deserted building, feeling numb.

[ Narrator? ]

[ Narrator, what are you talking about? ]

[ Can’t you see me? Hey! Hey! Narrator! ]

[ Why won’t you answer me? Answer me, please! ]

[ Narrator! ]

“I’ll take care of myself. I don’t need Stanley anymore.”

“Jim.”

The buttons glow softly. He presses them mindlessly.

“Jim.”

What once was a source of amusement leaves an ashy taste in his mouth. The bastard never tried, in the end, to make these buttons work. Like everything else, he half-assed it, then abandoned it when something else caught his interest. Left it to collect dust. Left it to be forgotten, with the rest of the oh-so-precious memories.

With Stanley.

Hurt blooms in his chest. It’s been minutes—it’s been years. Time doesn’t mean anything at all in this stupid game. Nothing means anything. The thousand thousand runs they’ve played don’t mean anything. The conversations they had don’t mean anything. Their friendship doesn’t mean anything.

He doesn’t mean anything.

“Jim.”

“Stanley.”

“Stop sniggering, Stanley, you’re ruining my take! Oh, it’s no use, we’ll have to start from the top.”

Stanley giggles around the hand he has pressed firmly to his mouth. He wants to be apologetic, and he’s glad the Narrator is involving him in this new promotion for the upcoming update, but the delight in him keeps bubbling over. It’s so rare to see the fellow direct that old familiar vitriol at someone other than Stanley himself. After so long knowing him, hearing him attempt to be menacing and nasty is outright silly.

“Wh—Silly?! You impetuous—Stanley, stop laughing!!”

Sorry, he’s sorry! A little off-balance from his own laughter, Stanley climbs onto the set and adds another tally to the whiteboard there.

“Unbelievable,” the voice mutters while he climbs back off the set and makes sure the camera is still centered on the tripod. “Here I am, trying to make a serious critique of game developer habits, and you demand to be included so I include you, and what do I get? Mockery. Absolutely ridiculous.”

Comments like these do little to dampen Stanley’s spirits, but he does attempt to sober himself. He does, after all, appreciate that the fellow has gone through all the effort to include him in brainstorming this one and setting it up. It was his idea to include the clocks and the tally board, and he really does think the shot is improved for it.

He sits back into the metal folding chair quietly. No more laughing. Promise. He’ll manage it this time.

The Narrator clears his throat. “Right. Let me review the script again.”

Stanley nods. His eyes flick around the small office set, then back to the computer monitor.

Man, has it really been almost nine years? It feels like they’ve been doing this for much longer.

“Well, really it’s only a little more than eight years, if I’m being honest. The original HD game released in October of 2013, so depending on when Ultra Deluxe drops in 2022, it may only be a couple months past the eighth anniversary.”

That’s being a bit generous to the developers, Stanley thinks. Does the Narrator really think it will drop in January?

“Oh, I don’t know, Stanley! I’m guessing, same as you.”

Still. Over eight years. Why does it feel like they’ve been here for much longer?

“Well,” the voice sniffs, “it could be for a number of reasons. Time is relative in the Parable, after all. Then of course there’s the fact you rarely sleep, since you don’t need to, so you get a lot more time than most proper humans would, since the usual human circadian rhythm makes them lose at least eight hours in a day. That’s fifty-six extra hours a week you have over most. Multiply by fifty-two, and then again by eight, and that’s not an insubstantial amount of time, I would say.”

That's fair. That's... shoot, Stanley isn't fantastic with numbers. That's... Fifty by fifty is twenty-five hundred, then six and and two is twelve—

“Twenty-three thousand, two hundred ninety-six hours. Divided by twenty-four, it's an additional 970.6 days, which means over two and a half additional years.”

Did he just pull up a calculator?

“Didn't.”

He totally did. Stanley heard the tapping of old clunky buttons.

There's a derisive sniff. “Yes, I suppose you would be the expert on buttons, and not maths.”

Also, is that two and a half years extra per year, or altogether?

“....I don't know.”

This is gonna give him a headache.

Quite without their meaning to, the both of them begin to chuckle at the same time. It's ridiculous, honestly. They're bickering over math, over time and takes and it's all just so ridiculous.

Eight years, give or take two or possibly twenty. That's how long it's been since Stanley started wandering these halls with little more than a voice for a companion. That's... that's a lot of time together. It's a lot of time for things to change. He kind of likes how things have changed.

And, as the fellow said before, time is relative here. They can and have experienced things on a different scale from how an experience would play out in the real world. Their own individual experiences are different even from each other's, with lost time, pauses between death sequences, loading screens—it's all subjective. Guess Einstein was on to something there. Bet he never imagined it in this kind of context, though.

Still. It's a long time with one other person. The universe spins on, and they have each other.

There's the tapping of keys again, a little soft muttering. He smiles.

He's double-checking the numbers, isn't he?

“No! No, I'm not, thank you!” The defensive tone in the Narrator's words confirm that yes, he is. It's made further obvious by the following deflection. “Now, that's enough of a break, let's get back to work. And no giggling this time, Stanley!”

He clears his throat, and the lights dim on the set. Stanley settles back in the metal chair with a grin, arms crossed.

“What does it mean to be a video game developer?” The voice begins. “It means lying, boldly and brazenly to your audience; promising them release dates that are wildly outside the realm of reality...”

“Stanley.”

Why is he still pressing it? Why can't he stop? Why is Stanley shaking, fingers pressing down on the plastic again and again?

“Stanley.”

When did the Narrator make this? When did he—and why is it here, with the rest of the discarded buttons? Why would he go through the effort to make something, just to leave it behind?

The button doesn't answer him. He presses it, and presses it, and it says his name until the word loses all meaning.

“Stanley.”

Every time you restart the game, we’ll advance the number of the sequel by 1, and then we’ll pick a new subtitle. That way, The Stanley Parable will never end! And nothing in the game itself will change when you do this, either. Adding more content sounds like work, no need to do that. It’ll just be the same content, recycled again and again and again, with a new title screen! What do you say? Should we go forward with this plan? I like it, but I want you to have a say as well. [Let’s do it] [Don’t do it]

He stares at the dark screen, but he doesn't really see it.

Stanley feels cored out. There's an emptiness in him that he can't truly comprehend. It hurts, he thinks, but he feels it in a detached sort of way.

The Narrator is gone. Stanley is alone. Yet, even now, he faces choices that are designed around traps for one or both of them. How is that fair?

How is it fair to ask him if he wants to go back to the office, to go back to companionship, when the companion in question has apparently abandoned him? How is it fair to ask him if he wants to drag that person back into hell, when they've supposedly freed themselves from it after years?

“How they wish to destroy one another. How they wish to control one another.

How they both wish to be free.”

He doesn't want to be alone, in this wasteland. He knows in the end what he's going to choose, and he hates that he does.

He's selfish. He's so, so selfish. His loneliness is more important than the Narrator's happiness, that's what this decision says. It says that he would rather force them both to live through the Parable, again and again, forever, than have the Narrator leave him.

And then, here's the kicker! Is this even Stanley's own choice? Is he coming to the conclusion himself, or is there another force at play, a Player, influencing his decision? He can't know! He only ever knows the Player's presence in the godforsaken Real-Person ending, they only ever fully yank the control from him there. Can he even trust his own mind?

Does... Does it matter?

[Let’s do it]

Stanley is not a good person.

So. As I said before, reader. Stanley's emotions are a complicated tangle of hurt, anger, despair, and uncertainty. It's almost impossible to tell where to begin when it comes to unraveling it all.

Still, one must do one's best.

For as long as the Parable has existed, it has spun around conflict. Taijitu, or yin-yang, is a circle made up of two teardrops, one black and one white, circling each other endlessly. A wheel that turns forever. Opposing forces that will never overtake the other. Always equal, always opposite.

But you recall this, don't you? This isn't new information. We've been here before.

Stanley and the Narrator are equal and opposing forces, circling each other. Stanley makes a choice, and the Narrator responds. Stanley moves forward, and the Narrator tries to pull him back. A battle for control—one only ever responds to the other. Neither of them can claim to want this, but if they didn't want different things, then there would be no game to play.

Time and again, the Parable tests the bond that has been crafted through time and care. Memories are taken. Time is stretched thin as it can go, like a rubber band. Stanley makes a choice, and it brings the Narrator joy or suffering. If he stops, the Narrator will be at peace, but then there will be silence, and silence cannot be tolerated. Silence is the equivalent of inaction.

At the risk of sounding like a broken record, this is a game about control, and the lack of it. If you could find happiness through a single choice, but it would bring another person pain, would you do it?

How they both wish to be free.

But these two have turned a battle into a dance. There will always be a drop of yin in the teardrop half of yang, and vice-versa.

So how do they fight back? How do they choose to progress, when the wheel turns ever back? Or are they doomed to repeat the cycle forever?

When Stanley has had enough of his pacing, when the silence has become too oppressive for him to take, he turns on his heel and sharply faces the open door.

Well? Nothing to say? Nothing at all?

“Well,” comes the bitter retort, slower than expected, “I would ask what you expect this tantrum of yours to accomplish, but that isn't exactly the most constructive comment, is it?”

A hiss escapes through Stanley's bared teeth. That's it?

“What do you want from me?!”

It's desperate. It's hurt. It's confused.

“What have I done, Stanley? I can't make sense of you right now, your mind isn't making any sense!”

Of course he doesn't remember. Of course it's Stanley's job to be the one who remembers, who chooses, who deals with the consequences of both their actions. That's how it's always been, that's—

“Stanley, I know our situation has never been balanced fairly in your favor, but I—“

Stanley storms out of his office and kicks his chair out of the way. He grabs a cardboard filing box off the floor and lifts it over his head before flinging it hard. It hits the cubicle wall by the copy machine and the lid flies off, papers scattering across the floor and box bouncing off the top of the copy machine to fall harmlessly to the floor.

“What has gotten into you?!”

Stanley snarls again, at the open air, the ceiling, wherever he thinks the Narrator might be perceiving him. Never been balanced fairly?! Understatement of the millennia! Speaking of millennia, did the Narrator enjoy his little vacay away from Stanley? Was it fun, “thinking for himself”? Leaving Stanley in the sand with the rest of his discarded little game, his figurines and buttons?

“I—“

Did he come up with new stories? New protagonists? Was he stronger? Was he happier without him?

Did Stanley drag him back to hell?

The silence this time feels distinctly more shocked and hurt. Stanley lets out another noise, pacing across the carpet and then turning to door 429. He lifts his fist and slams hard on it, face twisted up into an amalgamate of pain and anger. He beats his fist on the door again, desperate and despairing.

Say something! Say anything! Fight him! Argue with him! Be angry! Be angry that Stanley was so selfish, that Stanley decided to get revenge for being abandoned, please just—

“I'm sorry.”

He flinches.

“I don't—I don't know what I did, but I think it must have been something terrible. I just can't stop, can I? Even when I'm trying to, to be careful, I can't stop being cruel to you. You're angry with me, I can see that, and you don't—you don't like to be angry, so I—“

The voice trembles. It sounds on the verge of tears. Stanley hits the door again, because it hurts to hear, and that's not fair.

Damn him. Damn his own empathy.

“I'm sorry,” it says again. “Whatever I did, I'm sorry, I'll make it up to you somehow. Do, do you want more endings? I'll make new endings, I'll find a way. I'll find more for you to do, I'll come up with something, please just let me fix it. I'm sorry I don't remember, but I'll fix it.”

Stanley screams hoarsely again. His legs give out and he drops, leaning against the bottom of the door with his fist pressed to it. His chest heaves, shaking sobs that wrack his frame, though there's barely any tears. It's just so hard to breathe.

Stop, stop. Stop. Stop apologizing. Stanley is the one in the wrong here. Stanley turned the wheel back. Stanley tore him from his happy ending.

Didn't he?

“I didn't go anywhere,” the voice responds, distraught. “I never left.”

Then what was that?

“I don't know,” it pleads. “Even if I could go, I wouldn't. I wouldn't leave you behind, you're my best friend. I thought you knew that, Stanley.”

He thought he did, too. But then the voice had called him a fiction again, something dreamed up for companionship, and had decided it didn't need him anymore.

The Narrator is quiet at this, and then he says, very carefully and in a voice terribly controlled, “I only ever thought that when you were frozen with the Skip button.”

The Narrator waited, but he was not stagnant. At some point, while Stanley was in a small concrete room, lit with only the glow of a yellow button on a pedestal, the Narrator decided to pass the time by making something new. Surely, when all this was over, when they were back in the office, they would put this behind them and pass the time as before.

For all that the new content for Ultra Deluxe had been a disappointment, hidden in the download were folders and folders of unused assets. It seemed that the developers had had countless ideas, and yet had done little to expand on those ideas, choosing instead to box them away. Well, the Narrator would show them what new content was supposed to look like! Who cared about Ultra Deluxe? No, he would really knock the reviewers' socks off. He was going to make a sequel! Stanley would love it!

When he came back.

If he came back.

No, of course he would come back!

And so time passed, and that was fine. More time meant a chance to perfect his work, to work out his new features and to even perhaps address some of the complaints people had had about the original game. And more time passed and he thought he might make a button that says the name of the player, wouldn't that be rewarding and engaging? Stanley would love that! A button of his own to say his name, wouldn't that just be delightful?

And Stanley stared unseeing at the Skip button, and the Narrator thought to himself, perhaps not. Perhaps Stanley wouldn't care at all.

But that was fine, because there were plenty of new features for him to explore! He'd love the Bucket, surely. All the silly secret Easter eggs, the little references to lore that went nowhere, he'd get a kick out of it for sure! And the figurines! There wouldn't be anything special about them, of course, but the fact they were Stanley! His silly face! Oh, the Narrator would be so excited to see Stanley get them all, and of course Stanley would, because he would do everything. He would find every single one.

And, and the Narrator was so excited for that! Maybe he didn't know how Stanley would react, maybe Stanley would think it all silly, but the sheer fact he would find each one, it would delight the voice to no end. It would say “you found one of them! One of the figurines!”

It would be so much fun! Wouldn't it, Stanley?

Stanley?

Ah. Still frozen. Of course. Not a problem. The Narrator would be here when he got back. The sequel would be here. The figurines would be here.

He would just get everything ready in the meantime.

Wouldn't it be wonderful, when Stanley was here, and able to play? There would be so much for him to explore! He would love the Bucket and finding its secrets, and oh, the figurines! He'd find them all, surely he must. And the Narrator would say “you found one of them!”

And one of them would be by the red and blue doors, and Stanley would probably get that one last, but there was no guarantee, he did like to keep the fellow on his toes, but when he did collect the last one, the Narrator would say “and now the first number equals the last number!” And it would be so exciting! Even though there was nothing special about them, just the experience itself, doing something for the sake of it, was so special, and he'd think about it always.

“It was such a wonderful fantasy. And so in his head he relived it again, and then again, and again, over and over, wishing beyond hope that it would never end. That he might always feel this free. Surely there's an answer down some new path, mustn't there be? Perhaps if he played just one more time.”

And the Narrator would say, “yes, another Stanlurine under your belt!”

“But there is no answer. How could there possibly be? In reality, all he's doing is pushing the same buttons he always has. Nothing has changed. The longer he spends here, the more invested he gets, the more he forgets which life is the real one.”

And the Narrator would say, “I haven't stopped thinking about them since you nabbed every last one.”

And the Narrator would say, “science tells us that it's impossible to forget your third time doing anything.”

And the Narrator would say, “No, no I'm not ready to move on! Stop the loading screen!”

“And I'm trying to tell him this. That in this world he can never be anything but an observer. That as long as he remains here, he's slowly killing himself. But he won't listen to me. He won't stop.”

And the Narrator would say, “We'll do the Memory Zone again from the opposite direction! See how that feels!”

And the Narrator would say, “I want to keep going! What else is there? What came before this?”

And the Narrator would say, “And before everything else, there was your office.”

And he would pause, and then wonder aloud, to nobody in particular, because nobody would be there, “Was there anything else?”

There must have been. He was sure of it. He was sure there was something, or perhaps someone. But that couldn't have been right, you see, because if there was someone, then he wouldn't be alone. He wouldn't be talking to himself, someone would be listening to him. Someone would hear him. That's what—that's what Stanley was for!

But Stanley wasn't doing that. Stanley had not done that for a long time. Had he imagined Stanley? He must have. He imagined many things, after all. Yes, he must have made Stanley up, to listen to him, to have a companion. It's terribly lonely, after all, being a voice without an ear.

Maybe he should move on. Try something else. Maybe that would be for the best. But—oh, but Stanley made him so terribly happy. Just like those wonderful figurines. He loved to think about Stanley's adventures, he loved telling his story so much. Just like the figurines, he'd have to indulge himself.

Just one more time.

And the end was never the end. Was never the end. Was never the end.

Can you see? Can you see how much they need one another?

“I'm sorry, Stanley,” the Narrator says again, sorrowful. “When the game reset, everything was saved. The sequel content, but also the things I found myself saying during the interim. It's all here, somewhere. It's all my fault.”

So he never left?

“Never.”

And Stanley hadn't dragged him from his happy ending?

“No.”

He slumps further against the door. A hand absently lifts and scrubs at his face. So he's just stupid.

“No, I don't think so,” the fellow says generously. “I think you're hurting, understandably so. I think the Parable seeks out ways for us to try to make the other miserable, so that we will keep trying to control each other. You know the song and dance.”

Where it cannot find conflict, it will manifest it.

“Yes. We've been here before, haven't we?”

They have.

I asked you, before, how they overcome it. I told you they'd made a battle into a dance instead. How do they do it? How do they choose to progress when the wheel turns ever back?

But you already know the answer. You've already seen it. Don't you remember?

We've been here before.

“Stanley, I'm not going to hurt you.”

He didn’t want Stanley to be scared of him.

“Whatever it is, we can figure it out together.”

[ New path, new story. Just me and Stanley. ]

If Stanley gave him context, he could get to the memory himself?

“I—I can’t recall if I’ve said it before, how grateful I am to you, Stanley.”

This time, by the time the hold music has kicked on, Stanley is on the floor, laughing so hard his sides hurt.

[ Don't ever. Call yourself DADDY. Again. ]

Did he just pull up a calculator?

He’s listening. He’s listening, and listening, letting his friend know that they exist, together, the space between them closing again, and for as long as he can he won’t let the narrator be alone in the void.

The unwavering strength in his voice feels like an untapped well of passion. Like he’s working to fuel them both through this damnable path, letting Stanley know that yes, yes, they are moving towards something, he has not abandoned him.

“Please listen. This is important to me, alright? It’s not your fault.”

Stanley's fist has loosened and relaxed against the door. Now it rests there, gently curled, as he thinks.

They have been here a long time, in this game, and he is tired.

So now what?

“Well, now I think I'll close the figurines exhibit, so something like this doesn't happen again.”

The Narrator's voice is rather cool and detached. It lacks distress. It's professional. Words stated in the same way as a script, memorized by heart. Stanley doesn't like it.

He presses his hand flat to the door and rests his temple against it. It's cool against his face.

And after that?

“That's up to you, isn't it?”

Quite without meaning to, Stanley flinches again. The Narrator nearly speaks, before he cuts himself off, seeming to think better of it.

It's hard on the spirit, to be the one who has to make choices. Thinking of what they might mean, what the consequences could mean for others. Certainly, there's power in making decisions, but with that power comes the burden of responsibility. Include the added ordeal of being the one who remembers every consequence, every outcome, and one is left with the distinct feeling that they are being punished. There is no winning here. There is no gaining the upper hand.

He is so tired of making choices.

“Then, perhaps I could convince you to listen to me, and follow direction, for a few minutes.”

Something prickles in the back of Stanley's head in old familiar irritability. He doesn't want to do the story. He doesn't think he can get up.

“I didn't say anything about doing the story, now, did I, Stanley? Close your eyes.”

An innocent enough direction. He obeys, adjusting his position against the door to lean his back against it, hands in his lap.

“Good. Very good, Stanley.”

Still all professionalism. Still lacking familiarity, or anything more than casual approval.

“Now. Take a deep breath. Good. Now let it out, slowly. There you are. Again.”

His breathing steadies and his heart slows. Tiredness gives way to calm.

“Excellent. Now. I'm going to speak, and you're going to listen. That's it. No choices, no paths. Just my voice, and your ear.”

That's not a game.

“No, it isn't. It's a story, and you're my audience. Now. Quiet your mind, there's a good lad.

This is a story about my very good friend Stanley.”

“Stanley's had a rough go of it in his life. He likes simple things, like pushing buttons, and drinking coffee completely black. This isn't to say Stanley is a simple-minded fellow, oh no, not at all. In fact, Stanley is one of the most intelligent and compassionate people I know.

The problem is that, for all that Stanley prefers simplicity, he's been put into an impossible position. He's a protagonist of a story.

Now, everyone knows that the best stories aren't the ones where things just happen to a protagonist, but instead the ones where the protagonist plays an active role in progressing the plot. Making choices that result in changing the direction of a story, towards its climax and resolution. It's all well and good that Hansel and Gretel have been left in the middle of the forest, but they choose to be clever and leave a trail of pebbles behind them, before being forced to resort to breadcrumbs—and then of course the choice to use breadcrumbs changes the trajectory of their tale.

The truth is that being a protagonist is anything but simple. Quite without his permission, Stanley has become inundated with responsibility. It isn't an easy life, and it can quite honestly be an unfair lot to give to the fellow.

But if you ask me, there's nobody better suited to the job.

Now, perhaps this is unfair of me to say. After all, I'm not the one who has to make the decisions. All I have to do is tell his story, as a passive observer. Look at him, look at how he struggles, doesn't this make for an incredible tale of overcoming odds? I of course will never have to shoulder the burden he does, so I can say what I please without any regard to his own well-being. Oh, don't give me that look, Stanley, you and I both know it's true. I wouldn't want to be in your shoes if I were paid to do it.

Yet I've been watching Stanley for quite frankly a ridiculous amount of time, so long one might call me an absolute creep. It's true! And so I feel I am at liberty to say that, for all that it's an unfair position to be put in, and a terrible burden to carry, there's nobody who carries it like Stanley does.

You see, he makes every choice to the best of his ability. He thinks about its ramifications to the best of his knowledge, and does his best to consider what his decision might mean in the long run. Take this recent choice, for example. He's decided to listen to me, for a few minutes, even though it's in his very nature to take action and to disagree, because he knows that I asked him to. He's chosen to compromise, despite the fact I could press an advantage.

He's done so, because he knows in his heart and in his mind that I care about him. I want him to be happy. He knows, based off prior knowledge and based on his own gut feeling, that listening to me will make him feel better, because he matters to me.

And this is a simple choice, deceptively so, but in its simplicity it is a perfect example of what I'm trying to convey—

That Stanley does everything to the best of his ability, with all the care he can muster, and that no one could ever judge him poorly for doing the best he can.”

Stanley doesn't know when he started crying again, body wracked with the force of it. It's quiet, at least. When the Narrator stops speaking, he still feels him all around, comfort on every side.

Does he mean it? Does he really—?

“Of course I mean it,” the voice huffs, faux offense warm in his ear. “Don't you know by now that I mean what I say? Don't you—“ it wavers a little, before pushing on, a touch shakier. “Don't you know how much you mean to me?”

He cries. The sigh is fond, and gentle.

“You're alright, darling. It's alright.”

Taijitu. Balance between black and white. The symbol didn't always have the two dots, you know. In the original concept, yin and yang symbolized stillness and activeness of all things in the universe, respectively. The substance of the universe moves as an active force, until it reaches its limit and becomes still; and yet even that stillness reaches a limit, and becomes active again. The dots, added during the Ming Dynasty, have since their inception been a portrayal of how one will always be the source of the other, and so both will always exist. There will always be an interconnected, interwoven, powerful bond between these two forces in flux.

Which doesn't mean much, to those of us who don't study Taoist philosophy or history. Most of us just appreciate the duality of opposites, who cannot help but have a grain of commonality. One does not and cannot overtake the other. Round and round they go, an endless chase.

Or, one might note, a dance between partners. Momentum carried through. Weight supported. Stepping in sync.

The wheel turns, as do the dancers. This is how they succeed. When one slips back, the other grabs them by the hand and guides them forward with the grace that's only gained through years of practice and familiarity. The wheel turns without catching, and neither are caught under its grind, because they're standing on its face, using it as the platform on which they perform only for each other.

Stanley dries his eyes and wipes his nose. He's sorry for causing such a mess.

“Please, I've seen you do worse and we both know it. Remember the time you threw every chair and box out the window to see if you could make a ladder back up into the office?”

He laughs weakly. Not one of his brightest moments, admittedly. The Narrator had threatened to navlock every last item in the office down if he tried it again, after.

“Which, of course, only motivated you to try again.”

Yeah. Because he's a bastard.

“That you are, Stanley.” The Narrator chuckles. “Now, up you get. Up, up!” he reinforces, while Stanley sluggishly gets to his feet. “I have a surprise for you!”

Oh boy. That can only be good, he's sure.

He's led through the office to the TSP 2 Expo sign, which has returned to take the place of door 416 for good, it seems. When the Narrator guides him through the display environment, he takes care not to rush Stanley, since the thin monitors and patterned carpet delight him more than he ever thought possible, but it's also clear the fellow is eager to get a move on, to show Stanley something he's sure will knock his socks off.

So when Stanley gets to the Jump circle, displaying twenty-one jumps left, he's distinctly unimpressed.

“Just trust me,” the Narrator says, with nothing but earnestness.

And so he does. He steps into the circle.

“Jump!”

With a barely-there smile, and a roll of his eyes, Stanley jumps.

And then the game resets.

THEENDISNEVERTHEENDISNEVERTHEENDISLOADING

Stanley blinks, looking at his computer monitor, then up. Uh... What?

“Stanley,” the voice says slyly, “when have I ever given you reason to doubt me?”

“Now. Jump.”

Stanley's eyes widen. He blinks.

And then he jumps.

He jumps again.

And again.

And then Stanley begins to laugh, utterly befuddled and delighted and surprised and joyful, and the Narrator begins to laugh as well, and the wheel spins on, and so do they.

#the stanley parable #tspud #may writes #the sparrow parable #tsp #idk why i am bothering to tag when the embedded links mean it wont show in the tag but #here we are.

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guilty-pleasures21 · 4 months

Text

Yooooooooouuuuuuuuuu!!!!!!! You SUCK!

Hope everyone managed to get a break this weekend. Just a few more days until the end if the year. You got this! 💪

0. The slow burn

Part 1 - the meet cute

Part 2 - the coffee mug

Part 3 - the spicy song

Part 4 - the absence

Part 5 - the watch/the sweet song

Part 6 - the backrub

Warnings: Some mentions of reader having dirty thoughts, but nothing explicit. Also, I've censored some words just because of personal preference 😅.

Forgot to add the song!!!

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He'd stopped celebrating the victories a while back. Of course it had been exciting at first, being a superhero - hopping from dimension to dimension and showing up other heroes with his knowledge and powers. But ever since … ever since that first failure, when he'd destroyed an entire world for his own selfish means, it had become a duty - a repentance of sorts. Because even if he'd lost his little girl in that world, he had to believe that she still existed in other worlds, other versions of her going about their day, living life to the fullest. And she'd already had to give herself up for him - for that tiniest slice of happiness he'd stolen from her. So he'd give himself up too, every single day, for every version of her, even if she didn't know he existed.

He deactivated his mask as he walked into the control room, the darkness allowing him to finally let his senses relax. He strode towards the platform, catching a glimpse of X sitting in her chair, staring at the screen in front of her. She'd been guiding the mission this time, watching over them through the cameras he'd hacked into beforehand. It was always helpful to have someone able to see the bigger picture when a mission was going on. And she usually gave good guidance, coming up with strategies and ideas that had them catching even the most creative of anomalies. He'd normally bring her with him on the bigger missions though, the two of them communicating almost telepathically as they wrangled the worst villains of the bunch.

And then it was fun again, being a superhero, swinging around the city saving people. And, of course, the banter. He liked coming up with witty comments that only egged his opponents on even more - liked the way she'd always stop to laugh, her lips curling into that bright smile that had his own quirking at the ends. But, Dios, she had the humour of a retired librarian sometimes, coming up with horrible puns that made even their villains freeze in horror at her jokes. And that stupid phrase ‘Jinkies, Spiderman’. What the hell did that even mean?! She'd just whizzed through some explanation about another fictional superhero on her Earth - Batman, she'd said. And his sidekick too, some bird or another that she was obsessed with. She was so weird sometimes. But amusing, he allowed.

“Arañita,” he called out to her as he pulled himself up onto the platform. “Have you finished the mission report?”

He stood over her, hands on his hips as he waited. But she didn't respond. Just continued staring at the screen, chin on her palm as she hunched over the desk. He raised an eyebrow, confused, and looked over at the screen. She was watching the mission replay - there was him swinging across the frame before he tackled the Rhino - and seemed so completely absorbed by it that even her Spider senses had failed to alert her to his presence.

He leaned over her slightly, trying to get her to turn around and look at him, and that was when he heard it: the song playing through her earphones. And coño, it was dirty. So explicitly dirty that it had him clenching his fists and gritting his teeth against the heat rapidly building up under his collar. He inhaled slowly, trying to figure out how the absolute f*ck she could listen to something like that while … while watching him run across the screen. Ay, mierda, was she … was she thinking about him? While listening to those filthy lyrics? F*****ck. He reached forward and plucked one of her earphones out of her ear, startling her enough for her to finally swivel around to face him. He waited as she looked up at him, her lips parted in surprise, her eyes glazed over as they roved over him. She licked her lips as her gaze trailed over his torso, then swallowed hard when her eyes landed on his mouth. He clenched his jaw, trying to ignore the way his body seemed to heat up everywhere her eyes landed. Then, all of a sudden, she jumped out of her seat.

“Hooooolyyyyyy!” she whispered loudly, setting her other earphone down on the table. She peeked up at him from beneath her eyelashes nervously and he found himself clenching his fists again to stop from sucking in a breath. “Sorry! I was just … I just …”

She gestured between him and the screen, trying to come up with an excuse. Then, suddenly, she curled into herself, squeezing her legs together as she avoided his gaze. “I have to go to the toilet!”

F*******ck. That smell? Coming off of her? The sweet scent that had her clenching her thighs together in a futile attempt to hide it from him? He ran his fingers through his hair, gripping the strands tightly as he ground his teeth together.

“Miguel?” Lyla popped up in front of him, eyes wide with concern behind her heart-shaped glasses. “What's wrong? Your vitals are going through the roof!” ¡P*ta madre! What the f*ck was happening to him?! He set her earphone down on the table and leaned over the desk, taking a few deep breaths to calm himself down. He wasn't some teenager with raging hormones; he was a grown man who could get his emotions under control. He just needed to take a deep breath in, then a deep breath out. In, out.

“I'm fine,” he assured Lyla, not feeling very fine at all. “I, uh … It's nothing. I'm fine.” Lyla narrowed her eyes at him, unconvinced. Then she flickered over to the surface of the table, investigating the cause for his sudden spike in testosterone. A pair of earphones were laid on the table, the distinct lavender colour making them as X's. She looked up at the computer and sifted through the different tabs, her eyes lighting up with surprise when she found what she'd been looking for.

“Oh!” It was a song. A song that, judging by the subject matter, would have had any man's testosterone levels spiking. She twisted her head to glance over at Miguel, a cheeky smile plastered over her holographic face. Then she disappeared, only to materialise right by his head this time. She folded her arms across her chest and gave him a knowing look. She opened her mouth to tease him, but he stopped her before she could continue.

“Not a word,” he warned her, letting out a huff as he straightened up.

“But-”

“Lyla.”

She sighed, annoyed by his constant attempts to foil her entertainment. It was just such a rare sight, seeing her boss so flustered - and by the seemingly innocent little X as well! Plus, it was an exciting change from all the Peter's and their Gwen Stacey's and their Mary Jane's they were always going to end up with anyway.

“Fine,” she conceded reluctantly, seeming to let the subject go. But then she returned to the desk, her attention focused on the screen as she scrolled through the rest of X's playlist. She grinned and looked up at Miguel, a devious expression on her face. “But I think you'd like the next one just as much.”

His eyes flickered over to the screen and he tensed his muscles to stop himself from groaning in frustration at the title. He reached forward, about to swipe Lyla off the table, but then X returned, landing on the platform beside him.

“Miguel?” She fidgeted with her hands nervously as her gaze bounced between him and the floor. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear before speaking again. “How, um … How was your mission?”

“Uh, it was good,” he replied, casting around for something to say. He scratched the back of his head, his eyes landing on the unfinished mission report still open on her screen. “I can finish the mission report!” He moved to sit down, to take over and give his mind some other task to focus on, but she stopped him.

It was like his brain had stopped working as he looked down at her, so difficult was it to reconcile the shy and innocent X standing before him with the one who'd been undressing him with her eyes only moments earlier. What had she been thinking about, looking at him while listening to that song? Had she imagined his hands, gliding all over her as they lay in bed together? His name, falling from her lips as he pleased and pleasured her? His body, pressed up against hers, their bare skin siding against one another's as they- F*ck! He froze, horrified by the direction in which thoughts had been going. Ay, por Dios, he was so. F*cking. Screwed. His watch buzzed - again - letting him know that his heart rate had increased, the blood pounding through his veins in excitement at his thoughts. He hid his hands behind his back and took a step away from her, putting some distance between them.

“It's fine.” X waved him off and settled back into her seat. “I can finish it. I'm almost done anyway.” She was most definitely nowhere near being done. He'd just looked so good! Taking on the Rhino with his deliciously sculpted physique, the smart retorts rolling off his tongue as he battled with the wicked villain. Oh God, she was so screwed. There was just no way - no way in hell - that he could ever like her like that. No one else had ever liked her before, so how could she possibly think that someone like him - smart and strong and so painfully handsome - could ever fall for someone like her? She shoved her feelings down, typing up everything she remembered without running through the recording for what was probably the hundredth time that night.

She'd … changed, somehow. She didn't seem like the same person who'd been listening to the song earlier. She seemed deflated now, disappointed. And he didn't like the way his stomach curdled at her unexpected change in energy. He hesitated, wanting to cheer her up, to see that smile back on her face again. But it terrified him, the thought of teasing her; of flirting with her and flustering her so that she'd be forced to pull her gaze away from his, her almond-shaped eyes peeking up at him from beneath her curly lashes as she stammered out a response. He cleared his throat, trying to keep his tone neutral as he spoke. “You … sure you were concentrating, arañita?”

She froze at his response - at the slight note of teasing in his voice. Had he heard? Oh God. Had he heard the filthy song she'd been listening to, her eyes following his every movement across the screen as she'd practically drooled over him? She swallowed carefully, then muttered under her breath, “a little too much, if anything.”

He pressed his lips together, trying not to laugh at the retort. And trying to ignore the way his heart fluttered at the thought that she might have found him attractive. He nodded, satisfied by her seemingly lifted spirits, and took another step away from her. “Bien, I'll … I'll leave you to it, then. Let me know when you're done?”

She nodded, not even noticing the deviation from his usual response: ‘let me know when you're done?’ Not the careless: ‘let me know when it's done.’ “Hasta mañana, Miguel.”

His lips twitched at her consistent efforts to replicate his manner of speech, to show him how much she cared about all the little things that made him up. “Hasta mañana, arañita.”

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eternal-armin · 1 year

Text

ii. SO, HOW SHOULD i begin this?

part two woo. hopefully i'll be able to catch up on this and maybe publish some other stuff now that i'm home a lot more often (yay pain and mobility issues), maybe some arcane stuff since that would be fun, branching out into my last hyperfixation again lol. i've proofread so it should be good :>

pairing : five hargreeves x male/transmasc reader [he/him pronouns]

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where : after trying and sort of succeeding to get on the hargreeves' good side, five and [y/n] try rationalizing the situation and figuring out something, anything, to do about it.

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warnings : mentions of trauma, threats [of physical violence and murder], reader is still totally exhausted because how could he not be, depression, dissociation, pain, bits of shouting, not necessarily a warning but viktor is always viktor in the multiverse because the boy deserves it okay, existentialism, philosophical nihilism, family issues.

five adjusted his clothes in the mirror. although he wouldn't be able to have a proper retirement, he could look like a retired old man, couldn't he? who would've thought that someone could get so excited for beiges and tans. he got an amused look of subtle approval from you. beyond that, it wasn't very hard to look past your façade if he was being honest, you looked hesitant; though could he blame you? there were probably millions of worlds where his family fucked you over or just straight-up killed you. and yet, you also looked too tired to care. he couldn't blame you for that, either.

he touched your shoulder again. in a flit of light, which once again made you feel horribly nauseated and woozy, you were downstairs. surprised exclamations roused from his family.

"anyone know where vanya and allison are?" five asked, glancing with narrowed eyes across the lacking table.

"nope." and after that short reply diego went back to finishing off his meal—for someone who often scarfed his meals down, he seemed to be taking his sweet time. either that or your fun conversation with five had not taken as long as you'd thought; either possibility was equally likely at this point, really.

"nuh-uh... sorry."

"not a clue, unfortunately. something wrong, tiny dancer?" klaus asked.

"well, we have a new problem."

"who's this guy?" luther pointed at you wish his thumb, not caring to cover his mouth; your nausea was worsened to see someone talking whilst eating. diego looked at you then, and you hated how his glare bore straight through your soul. he really, really didn't seem to appreciate your presence. how both of them could so willingly ignore the phrase 'we have a problem,' especially from five, was unknown to you.

"this is [y/n]. he's one of the sparrows."

you waved once to everyone. whether the sluggishness of the motion, and the weak smile which accompanied it, was due to shyness or exhaustion was incredibly murky and unclear.

"so now we're getting all buddy-buddy with the enemy? do you know how stupid that is?"

"i'm sorry, diego, did you not hear me say that we have a problem?"

"well, you say that a lot, little brother!" klaus leaned forward to see you clearer, giving you a smile. it didn't really placate your anxieties or your strong desire to run, however it was appreciated. he waved, and you again waved back politely, still feeling very... guilty for your earlier flub. it wasn't a new thing, either, and that made you feel even worse. "hello, little enemy! how do you look so young? do you use those, like, '10 years younger' face creams? i didn't know they worked that well—"

"that is not a relevant question, klaus, now can someone please tell me where allison and vanya are?"

you cleared your throat slightly. "vanya is most likely getting a haircut. allison is trying to get to claire, but she's... not going to find her." it left a bitter taste in your mouth to refer to viktor in such a disrespectful way, but you couldn't take that from him. upon receiving suspicious stares from the younger hargreeves brothers, you mumbled a quiet "maybe."

"mind telling us what the hell is going on before i deck this mini-muffin across the lobby?"

"hey, hey, do not use mini-muffin as an insult! those are beautiful things, there's nothing better than mini-muffins when you're on a bender at, like, three in the morning!" klaus got a confused and heavily judgmental look in return for that... beautiful insight.

"[y/n] has the ability to see all other timelines, so he can usually find out the most probable events. okay? good. now i need to find allison, so can one of you fetch vanya, please?"

"no, not good, and no thanks! after all we've gone through, we deserve a proper explanation!" klaus objected. after a second or two of awkward silence, and a scowling glare from five, he gave in with a curt sigh. it sounded more like a groan. the brothers looked at you; klaus was the only one to seem patient, showing the approval of a parent understanding a kid's fear of giving a speech; luther stared at you with a puzzling mix of intrigue and subtle impatience; and diego stared at you with a raised eyebrow, leaning his head in slightly as if to say 'i'm waiting.' five's glare, although still quite characteristic, was a bit softer when aimed at you. you could never feel more put on the spot.

"you've gotta say something, little man, we can't read your mind," klaus encouraged.

"well, uh... i don't know exactly what it is yet, but something is wrong."

"aren't you omniscient or some shit? you can see literally every reality!"

the shouting scared you quite a bit and certainly made your headache worse. you put one of your hands to your head, mumbling, wishing you could just get some painkillers. if only five had given them back.

"don't shout, for fuck's sake," five grumbled, annoyed in his own right.

"i'm not omniscient. if no other worlds know something, then i can't, and... no other world knows yet. but something is wrong." your quiet voice was juxtaposed to diego's, still loud and stubborn like back in the academy. around 79.4 percent of every single alternate world which had diego in it found him like this, angry and short-tempered; it was very interesting. "you aren't supposed to be here. you guys, as you are, don't exist here. i don't think reality appreciates you showing up all of a sudden. and if versions of yourselves already exist in this world, then something will need to... iron out the wrinkles, i guess." you pursed your lips for a second. "not to be too brash or anything, but, to really, really dumb it down, you're a mis—you're mistakes."

"seriously? five, i thought you said that this timeline would be safe to stay in." luther looked like a scolded puppy. you felt bad. he was far too sweet—naive? yes, naive—for this kind of life.

"yes, that's what i thought, but second opinions are pretty valuable in my line of expertise. turns out it was sorely needed." his brows pricked up a few times while he spoke. "but, like you said before, it may be a problem we can solve."

diego remained, unsurprisingly, unswayed. "you better not be including this wad of chewed gum in that 'we,' five."

"what is with you and insulting him? he wants to help. jesus christ."

"last time i checked, his entire family just kicked our asses out of our own house, i have a right to be pissed, and he's lucky i'm in no killing mood."

"i don't agree that he should be killed," luther began in solidarity, "but we have a reason not to trust him, right?"

you took a little breath and exhaled it in a quiet sigh. "i know my family can be... extreme. and bad sometimes. trust me. and i totally understand how you can be angry with them and with me and think that i'm not honest. but i never hurt anyone, and i want to help you guys. you're eccentric yourselves, but usually you're good people. you're, like, an actual family," you added, trailing off, "not a group forced to stay together for monetary gain."

five squinted at you slightly. was that one of the reasons you chose not to grow up? you couldn't be associated with the sparrows if you were half their age. throw on a pair of sunglasses and nobody could recognize you.

jeez. didn't that sound nice.

"you guys really deserve a place to rest. a stable place to live, even. and if we can figure this out, then maybe you won't have to live in constant fear of coming into contact with your doppelganger or something. live, like, normal lives. as normal as they can be, anyway."

diego, much to your surprise, seemed to listen to what you were saying. sure, he still looked quite ticked-off and impatient, but you couldn't really ask for too much from him, could you?

"and you're sure that this is a problem we can actually solve? for good?"

"i'm not exactly sure what the problem even is yet. all i know is that something is wrong. but every problem has a solution, even if it seems impossible sometimes." there was a twinge of sage, melancholic hopelessness somewhere in there, some subtle disbelief. "five is quite the expert in timelines and time travel-related problems and paradoxes, and i'm an expert in alternate realities and manipulating reality itself. if anyone can figure it out, i'm sure we can. and i have no doubt that all of you will also play large parts."

luther's face was screwed into an expression of brazen confusion. "so... we're, like, completely blind, and need to fight an enemy we know absolutely nothing about."

"pretty much," you mumbled.

"surprisingly poetic way to put that, luther, i'm impressed," five mused rather sarcastically. "unfortunately, however, it seems we're gonna have to do something terrible and unprecedented." perhaps for dramatic effect, perhaps to quell his own annoyances, he paused and sighed out a breath. "we're going to have to work together." he did not need to specify the parties specified in 'together.'

"well, personally, i think this is a splendid idea. perfect opportunity for family bonding, i'd say! we're surrounded by decent chinese food and competent beds and cable television. decent music, too! and diego can finally figure out some self-discipline by not constantly threatening to kill [y/n]! marvelous idea little ones." admittedly, klaus's unique way of talking and gesturing was quite calming to you. you were very grateful for him. oddly enough—maybe you should've stopped saying that when it came to the umbrellas—klaus seemed to be that pillar of tranquility for you. viktor as well.

"calm down, calm down. you know that he won't turn against us or whatever? you're sure?"

the question was directed at five but you answered for him. "i'm not strong and i've never been in good health. even christopher, without his powers, would be better at fighting you than i would."

"the fucking cube?" you nodded. he plastered a grin over a pouting scowl. he sighed, giving into the plan. perhaps some remaining distrust still lingered, however, he could deal with it. "we've gotta clue allison and vanya in now. i'll go get vanya."

"finally," five huffed, shaking his head. "i'm going to find allison. you said she's going to try and find claire? i'll go to her old house." and then, the next second, he was gone. a few seconds of... incredibly awkward silence passed, where luther was staring at you whole-heartedly.

"go on and take a seat, young whipper-snapper. do you have any dietary restrictions? or allergies? we've probably got something here you can eat, if you want."

you had asked to walk back home with five.

"why with me?" "it's a little bit selfish, but i really don't want to be alone right now, and you're the number one person i trust right now." "flattering," he muttered. "then why walk?" "i think better when i walk."

admittedly, walking was taxing for you right now, so it may not have been your brightest idea, but after this entire day you needed a nice break; the picturesque city sunset was nice, the breeze was subtle and sweet, and it smelled like food out there on the streets. viktor had offered to talk with marcus and try to make a deal; you'd asked him to be very, very careful. "i don't know if purposely seeking out the anomaly would be more effective, or if allowing it to reveal itself would be better. maybe we should seek it out."

five nodded slightly. "allowing it to reveal itself could mean that it becomes too powerful to stop."

"that's kind of what i was thinking. we don't know how it would reveal itself. what if it destroys something, or changes something? what if it hurts people?" your voice was quieter with that last proposition. it was the worst possible option in your mind; buildings could be rebuilt. changes could be undone, with enough time and patience. but people could not be undamaged, and they could not be brought back to life.

well, not permanently, anyway.

five's pace slowed a bit and he peered at you, strangely, for a moment. you avoided his eyes.

"surprisingly enough, i don't think this is the... worst outcome." "forgive me but i don't really believe you. we've got jack all on either side. essentially, we're alone." "you're used to it, five." "hmph. and you aren't?" "not in this way, i guess." there was more he wanted to say but you would not give him the opportunity to dig too deep. "there are worlds where your family is on board. trusts me, even, after some convincing. and there are also some where we narrow the options down. i'd love to be in one of those. but at least we aren't at each other's throats again, or diego's choking me to death." your voice soured. if you got too close, you could feel that pain. there your mind went then, trying to save your other selves out of some ethereal desperation you could never claw yourself away from.

"ow!" you hissed, clapping a hand to your neck where it had stung, sharp and sudden. "what was that?"

"you were seriously so spaced out you didn't see me?" five asked, though it barely sounded like a question. he sounded just barely concerned. you had looked like a glove without a hand. "jeez," he scoffed, shaking his head. "did you see anything helpful, at least? anything at all?"

your mind was still seared and shattered across uncountable realities and he could see that struggle to ground in your eyes. hear it in your breath. you had little mental fortitude left to respond. "sorry? can you repeat that?"

five didn't roll his eyes. unfortunately, he knew dissociation. he carefully took your hands in his, rubbing your knuckles like he'd seen you do before, and that seemed to give you... some amount of usable energy. it was also sort of difficult not to notice him, of all people, doing it, even while he sported an expression of general distaste for the situation; you couldn't tell if it was falsified or not. slowly, you were returning to your body, and it felt heavier than ever before. "what did you see?" he repeated, just as you asked, meticulously annunciating each word and using a decent pace.

you nodded slightly. "i saw a few other timelines. less fortunate ones." you didn't need to elaborate for five to understand what you were referring to. the broad strokes, anyway. "nothing really useful, though," you added after a second in total defeat.

"shit. well, that's alright." and though it clearly wasn't, you didn't say anything.

"how long have we been standing here?"

"... a minute or two."

"oh, great," you mumbled, shaking your head to yourself. your record was around two hours, sure, but it still sucked. "the... we should seek it out."

"wow. you remembered."

"we were having the same conversation a whole lot. given i was still alive and actually grew to trust you." it was a half-joke but it succeeded in getting a bare grin out of five. "we can't risk hurting other people."

"or destroying something," five added.

"or destroying something," you agreed, then furrowing your brow slightly. a cafe nearby was playing pleasant music; that was something keeping you tethered to this world in particular, as if five wasn't enough, but even he was quiet sometimes. "the only problem is we don't know where it is."

"or what it looks like. if it even looks like something at all. it could very well be invisible or incomprehensible." he scowled for a second, though not out of irritation, thinking rather loudly to himself. "we should start where we appeared, i think." you nodded in agreement. "if your... 'family' decides to work with us, all of us, then we can search a whole lot more. but we should get the basics out of the way."

"the beginning is always the most logical place to start."

"quaint way to put it, did you write the sound of music in another universe?"

"what part about 'literally any possible, feasible universe' do you not understand?" you joked, managing a small smile of your own, and five would be lying if he said he didn't feel a little bit relieved to see you humoring yourself again.

"i deserve that." he paused for a second. "i know you said that walking helps you think, and you definitely need to do that more, but you look like a dead man standing right now. i'd rather just drop you off at the academy and get back to my own family. are you okay to teleport?" you did not respond at first, taking careful account of how you felt and how you may feel after. eventually, and rather subtly, you nodded.

"my room is klaus's old room back in your universe."

"wow, that... makes it easier. safer, probably." that was the closest you were going to get to 'thank you' so you took it. you shut your eyes tight and breathed deep through that half-second nausea-bomb. you were happy to see your room when you opened your eyes; smelling like home, looking like home, feeling like pure comfort. five glanced about your room. somehow it looked exactly like what he expected from you, which was a compliment. it was cozy. well-lived—especially the bed. there were many blankets and pillows and a few stuffed animals, unmade, probably because you barely left it. he couldn't blame you, either.

looking at you, you seemed totally relieved and excited to be back home.

"are you going to let go of my hands now?"

five stiffened for a second, mumbling a hushed apology before letting go, shoving his hands in his pockets. you couldn't help but grin a little, tiredly, and he scoffed when he saw it. "don't look at me like that. i was helping you ground, since you evidently can't do it yourself sometimes." not that he could blame you, really. he couldn't imagine what it would be like to be... you.

you ignored the jab. "i'm surprised you're willing to wait to take care of this," you mumbled, hanging up your scarf and sweater, lazily rifling through your dresser to find something decently comfortable to pass out in. "you always insisted on getting things done quick. if not immediately."

"i'm desperate for one damn moment of peace. the world isn't being decimated just yet. i just want to sleep decently for once."

you smiled slightly. no one could work while exhausted, especially not when it came to your quandary. "go on and sleep then. i'll meet you at the obsidian again tomorrow."

"yeah. oh, uh, just remembered something. close your eyes for a few seconds."

"why?"

"just do it."

you scoffed, though without any sort of animosity or annoyance, shutting your eyes tight like he told you to. you heard the familiar sound of his blinking once, twice. "alright. you can look. here." he held out to you your bottle of painkillers. "nearly forgot to give them back."

"oh, sh—thank you." the relief on your face was quite plain and sort of comforting as well. he mustered a slight hum in response.

"good night."

"night, five. sleep well."

"hmph. we'll see."

#number five #five x you #five hargreeves x you #five hargreeves x reader #five hargreaves x reader #five hargreeves #five x y/n #five x male reader #tua x reader #tua x male reader #tua x y/n #tua x you #the umbrella academy s3 #the umbrella academy x reader #the umbrella academy x male reader #the umbrella academy #tua fanfic #tua netflix

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detectiveruebennett · 3 months

Text

set me free | sam wilson

summary: it is said that your skin will regenerate itself approximately every 27 days. although, that may be true... it's been two years. why doesn't it feel like it?

pairing(s): sam wilson x teen!black!reader [ minor natasha romanoff x teen!black!reader as well ]

warning(s): talks of sexual assault, panic attack

genre: angst, hurt/comfort words: 2,278

authors note: IF THE TOPIC OF SEXUAL ASSAULT IS TRIGGERING PLEASE DO NOT READ!!! the parts that are in italics are flashbacks to reader's nightmare. the flashback doesn't go into detail of the reader's SA, only Sam comforting them about the nightmare. this is a vent fic is based on my experience as a SA survivor. i use writing as a way of coping and stuff. it's free therapy. i've been sitting on this fic for over a year debating on if i wanted to post it and finally finished it. the ending is kinda rushed tho.

Two years ago, you died. Well, not physically. You were still breathing and everything. But that was when your innocence had retired. You never told anyone when it first happened. You were too scared of the consequences. And, by the time you hadn't, it seemed too late to speak up, in your opinion. There was nothing anyone could do now. He already ruined you. So, you just let it be.

Eventually, you learned from Sam and Natasha that your uncle was arrested for multiple charges of sexual assault. You were immediately overwhelmed with tears at the announcement, for you finally felt free. You began to laugh as well. The pair were quite confused as they watched you laugh and cry. A weight lifted off your shoulders that day as you finally could admit what he did to you. Sam suggested speaking up, but you were still very fearful of even being in the same room as him. It didn't matter that you'd be protected during the trials; the thought of it made you sick.

You still get nightmares from time to time. Sometimes, they were manageable. Other times, they were not. Last night, it seemed like luck was not on your side. You didn't get much sleep due to how bad this one was.

It felt too real as if he was watching in the shadows of your room. FRIDAY alerted Sam due to the spike in your vitals. You'd awakened in a state of panic. You sat in a pool of sweat as your heart pounded in your head.

Sam busted through the door in a frenzy. He hadn't noticed his mistake until you frantically hurried out of bed toward the widow bites on the desk. You trembled in the corner of the room as you pointed the weapon toward him. Sam lifted his hands as he attempted to persuade you to put the weapon down. "It's okay. You aren't there anymore. You're safe," he assured. "You can drop it. It's okay." He stayed in that spot, repeating those phrases until you lowered the weapon.

Finally, the widow bites hit the ground. You drop down along with it. Slowly, Sam takes a couple of steps toward you. Knowing you were still startled, he squatted down to your level to make himself less of a threat. He kept some distance between you, instructing FRIDAY to turn on the lights. "You're safe. I'm here. It's okay." You quivered in fear. Although you saw Sam before you, you only heard your uncle's voice -- the monster who took advantage of you. Your mind was playing tricks on you. "Breathe with me, yeah? Ready? One, two, three, four…." You obeyed his instructions.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Soon enough, your breathing went back to normal. Your sobs shift to hiccups and periodic sniffling. Sam waited for you to settle more before questioning, "Is it okay if I move closer?" He didn't want to set you off again.

You nod.

"Are you sure?"

You swallowed. "Yes," you whispered with a croaky voice.

Carefully, Sam scoots to sit beside you. He makes a point of keeping some space between you. You sit in silence for a while. He wants you to take control of the situation. He doesn't want you to feel pressured to talk. You recognized the silent act and appreciated him dearly.

"I… I thought I saw him." You glanced up at Sam; your voice was low, shaky. You pointed to the corner adjacent to you. "H-He was right there." Sam doesn't speak. He held out his hand as a silent invitation of reassurance. His eyes and the expression on his face held sympathy. You clutch his hand like your lifeline.

"He can't reach you anymore." Those five words caused a loud sob to escape. Sam pulled you onto his lap and nestled you as you let it all out. He couldn't prevent the tears from falling. Sam hated that this happened to you. No one deserves to feel manipulated and violated.

"God, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

You sat there for who knows how long. Waves of grief and pain danced throughout the room as both of you cried. Sam grieved with you as you wept over the loss of who you once were. Truthfully, he felt responsible for what happened to you. The man wished that he was there to protect you that night.

He hadn't noticed that you'd fallen asleep until he heard the sound of soft snores. Guessing that you wouldn't want to sleep in your bedroom for the rest of the night, Sam slowly maneuvered himself to carry you to his room instead. Sam spotted your teddy bear in his peripheral vision as he approached the door and grabbed it before walking down the corridors. Thankfully, he didn't have to worry about waking anyone else in the Compound because only You, Sam, and Natasha lived on this floor. As far as Sam knew, Natasha was still visiting her sister, Yelena, in Ohio.

Once he settled you in his bed, Sam made himself a makeshift bed on the floor at the end of the bed. Sam knew you'd end up scolding him in the morning for doing so, but he didn't care. He checked his phone for the time and noticed a message.

Message from Nat:

Hey. Friday alerted me that [Name] had a nightmare again. My flight isn't for another hour, but I'll be there before she wakes up. I know you've got them, so I'm not too worried. Update me tomorrow :)

Delivered at 2:35 a.m.

I finally got her back to bed. This one seemed much worse. I'll tell you more in the morning. Have a safe flight, Nat

Delivered at 3:56 a.m.

Sam checked up on you again before allowing himself to fall back asleep. "Sweet dreams, [Name]."

As you wake up, the scent of lavender and pine trees greets you. From beneath you, you can hear Sam snoring. Usually, you'd scold him for the potential back pain he'd experience later. But you were too exhausted today to do so. Despite your body's protests, your brain determines you are better off continuing your education. Some of you believe that connecting with friends will lift your mood. So you try not to wake up Sam and sneak back to your room to prepare for the day.

You were better off staying at home.

The school hours are a blur. You lack self-control. You are not present mentally. You've detached yourself from everything. You were tired of your peers and those who didn't know you well. You wrote your exhaustion off as pulling an all nighter, which wasn’t too much of a lie in your eyes. That was your explanation when confronted with your unusual behavior. Most people bought it. It took more sway from Peter, Ned, and Michelle. They stopped bothering you after you assured them you were okay, though you still occasionally felt some concern. When the day is done, you are overwhelmed by the amount of skin you would brush up against while walking through the hallways to your next destination. You're quick to pack your belongings and rush out of the building. You don't bother to say goodbye to your friends.

A black Corvette Stingray awaits you just outside the school's main entrance. "Hey, Solnishko," Natasha says as you enter the car. When you questioned Natasha one day during your training session, she explained that it meant "little sun." She described you as having a bright and fiery essence, similar to the sun. And you became her little sun from then on. However, her little sun isn't shining as bright as usual today.

The term endearment makes you smile but doesn't reach your eyes. Natasha doesn't comment on your gloomy disposition.

"Hi," you reply. "How was your trip?" The upbeat tone you desire does not come through. As Natasha drives away, you concentrate on the blurry scenery outside the window. You cringe internally at your lack of enthusiasm. Even though small talk is the last thing you want to do right now, you last saw Natasha a while ago. You were missing her presence.

"It was great. Later, I'll fill you in on everything." Only a murmur is returned, so the redhead ends the conversation there. The only sound on the return trip home is the radio playing at a low volume.

Natasha knows that you're not yourself. Your body language reeks of detachment. She doesn't take offense to the lack of expression you offer her. Sam gave her the run-down of last night's events once you left for school. She sees herself in you, and it pains her. The same drained look in her eyes after the memory of the past that Natasha pleaded to any god who would listen to escape. She knows how it feels to have her body controlled in such a terrible way - Innocence that was snatched away without any consent. It upset her terribly, but the most she can do is comfort you in any way she can.

Once you enter the Compound, she guides you to her room, knowing that you usually find solace in her bed compared to your own. "Do you want to talk about it?" You still stand at the edge of her bed, arms crossed against your chest as comfort. She sits with her back against the headboard, waiting for you to make a move yourself. She waits patiently for you as you ponder whether you want to relive the nightmare again. You crawl over to the opposite side of the bed and lie so your head rests in her lap. "You know, I was talking with Bruce the other day, and he told me our skin regenerates itself every 27 days," you say as she caresses your cheek. "It's been two years, Tasha; why can I still feel him?" Your voice cracks as the tears you've been fighting away resurface.

Natasha's throat runs dry at your words. She wants nothing more than to harm the man that hurt you. Of course, there isn't a time limit when it comes to healing from trauma, but she hates that this still affects you so profoundly to this day. "I don't know, Solnishko," she whispers. She's at a loss for words. She knows nothing she says will immediately take away the pain you experience. "I'm sorry I can't take the grief away, sweetheart. If I could, I'd do it in a heartbeat."

"I know. But your presence is enough for me." You bask in each other's comfort for a while. "Is Sam still home?"

"Yeah, did you want to see him?" she asks, and you nod in response.

"Okay. Hey Friday?" she calls to the Artificial Intelligence. "Can you tell Sam to come to my room, please?"

"Of course, Ms. Romanoff," the AI replies after a beat.

After a few minutes, a knock sounds at her door. Granting the man entrance, Natasha gestures to the teen in her lap, who has their eyes closed. "Hi, honey," Sam greets them as he nears the edge of the bed. Slightly opening your eyes at the sound of his voice, you grin. "Hi, Sammy," you whisper.

"How are you feeling now?" He asks you. Observing your face, he can see signs of exhaustion in your eyes.

"Very drained," you admit. "But a little better now that both of you are here." As much as you love everyone on the team and have a strong connection with them, you've always been more connected to Sam and Natasha for some reason. And the two of them love you like their own. They both smile softly at that.

"How about we all take a nap, yeah? And then we can go out for dinner later?" Natasha suggests, looking at Sam for his thoughts on the suggestion.

He nods. "Sounds good to me. Is that okay with you?" He asks you for confirmation.

You nod in agreement. With a yawn from you, you all situate yourselves on Natasha's bed. Sam and Natasha lay on opposite ends, with you in the middle. They wait until your breath evens out before speaking quietly. "I might call the school tomorrow to excuse her. She needs a day for herself." Sam tells the redhead.

"Yeah, she needs it. Maybe we could plan an outing with the team for her." She kisses your forehead, brushing your braids out of your face. "Or just with us, depending on how she's feeling in the morning."

Sam nods at the idea and closes his eyes; Natasha follows suit. And for a while, it's quiet until he says, "You know, you'd make an incredible mother, Nat." The statement causes Natasha to open her eyes again and look at Sam. He knows the subject of motherhood is a touchy one, given her background, but he can't help but admit it. He honestly does believe his friend would be the best parent. "Thank you. You know, you wouldn't make too bad of a father yourself, Wilson. You already have the terrible dad jokes downpacked," she says with a light chuckle.

He sucks his teeth. "They not that bad."

She smirked lazily as the jet lag from the mission caught up to her. "Everyone else begs to differ."

"You think they'll be okay?" Sam asks as he stares at the sleeping teen between them.

"They always do. They have us in their corner to guide them," she reminds him, and he nods in agreement. If you were anything like either of them, you wouldn't let this throw you off track forever. You always bounce back from whatever obstacles life throws at you. With that, they fall asleep with a heaviness in their hearts for you, but they know you'll be alright.

#sa trigger warning #sam wilson #sam wilson x you #sam wilson x black!reader #black reader #spotfiy #ofblckwriters #marvel mcu #avengers #mcu #marvel imagine #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x black!reader #Spotify

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gyuluttony · 6 months

Text

guess who's writing something because I decided to put things off by thinking of seokgyu gaining. this one is literally being written on halloween and the deadline is going to be before midnight on my time so let's see how i do!

Trick or Treat or Tempt

This is a feederism fic and features weight gain, magical weight gain, mutual gain, breaking of clothes and furniture, and smut. Don't like, don't read.

Considering they lived in an apartment, there was no reason for two grown men to properly decorate their little apartment door for Halloween. But, both Seokmin and Mingyu were just suckers for the season in general. Their door was done from top to bottom with tons of decorations that fit the scene and Mingyu couldn't help but be rather proud of his handiwork.

They both enjoyed the season differently. Seokmin was a firm enjoyer of the trick part of the age old saying. Pulling pranks was something that was never quite out of his ball park and Mingyu was a good hearted victim that didn't take anything personally. It was a good compromise and considering he could usually just giggle off the scare, Seokmin kept them rather lighthearted.

It balanced out how Mingyu focused on the treat part of the phrase. This was practically the trial run for Christmas baking season but it could have more fun decorations. Sugar cookies that were dressed like spider webs, cupcakes that looked like witch's hats were staples in their place but they never lasted all that long. It was a month long event in their apartment and it certainly made itself clear.

Mingyu looked at his beginner belly in the mirror after putting on his Spiderman costume and felt himself flush. It was not this tight when he first got it. Pulling it at the leg to stop it from digging into his much more plump ass, he couldn't help but examine the damage all the treats had done. He still worked out regularly so it wasn't as bad as it could have been but given the skintight nature of his costume, it wasn't doing any favours in shielding how much of the gain he had. He was too busy studying the chest that seemed to inflate without him realizing before Seokmin snuck up behind him placing his hands on Mingyu's belly.

"Woah, Mingyu. I didn't realize this was a Peter B. Parker costume. I thought you were trying to be the buffer one." Seokmin giggled as Mingyu flushed and tried to shoo him away. "Might want to put the sweatpants on now." There was a swift slap on Mingyu's ass that made him yelp and a little excited as he realized how much it jiggled from the touch.

"Shut up! I'm just bloated from the spider web pancakes I made earlier." Looking up and down his friend's figure as he raised an eyebrow, "Besides, I think you're looking more like a cop who retired five years ago." He pinched Seokmin's belly and it was his turn to flush.

"Hey! Cops love donuts so this is just part of the costume!" The slap to his belly struck something to Mingyu's core. He felt his mouth drying up before Seokmin asked, "Oh, can you get some more candy? Some of the parents in the apartment said their kids were bringing lots of friends to come to our door tonight. I think they, like, planned a whole route."

For so long, Mingyu wanted to be the cool house that gave boatloads of candy so he saluted playfully, "Yes, sir!" The pair giggled before Seokmin excused himself to approve of the decorations they had in the kitchen, which was code for him eating other snacks Mingyu had prepared for any kids that came today.

Slipping on the sweatpants, Mingyu looked at the way his gut protruded slightly in the mirror and flushed. There was something about this that was sitting incredibly right with him but he needed to focus on getting that candy first.

He stepped out of the apartment and was ready to head on his way but he saw their neighbour struggling to get into his apartment. There were a large amount of bags being held and the way the tall man was carrying some of them was just an accident waiting to happen. People often told Mingyu he was too nice for all that he did but that just meant he was helping people often and he didn't really see a problem with that.

It wasn't long before he was beside his neighbour's side, holding some bags. It felt a little awkward because his name slipped his mind but he knew Seokmin was friends with him. The boy with glasses looked surprised at the help but offered a small smile, "Thanks." His voice was rather deep and he dug into his pocket to get his key and unlock the door. Mingyu simply grinned like usual as he held the bags dutifully while the apartment door opened.

If he thought his apartment was decked out, his neighbour's dark almost-lair was enough to put it to shame. Mingyu's eyes sparkled as he stepped in the dark setting, nearly everything dark and even seeing something bubbling in the corner. The other man rushed over and closed a curtain on it as he smiled awkwardly, "Just... cooking something." The two had a small staredown before he said, "Ah, you can just put them in the kitchen. I think our apartment is laid out the same."

Placing the bags on the counter, Mingyu sighs as he stretches his back. He doesn't really notice the eyes lingering on him before he hears a quiet "Oh!" He notices his neighbour disappearing into a room before coming out with a container. "Here, this is something that Seokmin bought from me, could you give it to him?"

Mingyu took the test tube and looked at it confused, "Do... you sell Halloween perfumes?" He couldn't exactly tell what was going on here but it was a bright green and sealed with a cork. He really committed to aesthetics in that case, which meant Mingyu looked forward to it.

"No." The answer was plain and simple and the awkwardness filled the air after before he explained, "It's just... a mix-in for drinks. He said you'd like it." Mingyu's eyes widened. This was something for a prank. He could not believe he bought something from their neighbour to get him on Halloween... but this was the perfect opportunity to get him back. It was probably something crazy in the test tube like spicy or sour to mess with his taste buds.

"Thanks...." Mingyu hovered around the name before a deep chuckle came from the man.

"Wonwoo." They matched each other's smiles before Wonwoo added, "Oh, take this too."

Mingyu quirked an eyebrow. "Did he get something else?"

"No, this is just... a hangover cure because he told me you like to drink." Mingyu felt his heart get a little mushy considering Seokmin didn't even mention how Mingyu was notoriously someone who never got hungover. Maybe he should get to know Wonwoo a little better.

"Ah! Thanks, Wonwoo hyung! If you feel like having some candy tonight, feel free to stop by after all the kids come, we'll probably have a lot leftover." It didn't help that he was going to buy more after all but Wonwoo waved as the excited man went to the store like he originally intended, plan brewing on his mind like the cauldron decoration in Wonwoo's apartment.

Turning on a scary movie was enough to spend the night because they had reached the point where most of their friends were busy with work or other things to have a party. Seokmin was taking his seat hugging a pillow to protect him from any incoming jumpscares while Mingyu was in the kitchen.

He had seen plenty of Pinterest boards that gave him lots of different opinions for cocktails but more importantly, it gave him the perfect cover up since Mingyu had been making them plenty of cocktails before tonight. Taking out the green vial that Wonwoo had given him earlier, it smelled rather sweet as he blinked a couple of times. Almost nauseatingly sweet.

Originally, he was going to pour just a little bit but at that moment, someone knocked on the door and it was Seokmin's turn to give candy which made Mingyu panic and dump the whole thing in his friend's glass. Mingyu looked panicked at the test tube while he heard his friend greeting the trick-or-treaters and complimenting their costumes. Throwing away the vial in a panic, Mingyu brings the drinks into the living room and settles down, sipping his own while eyeing Seokmin's on the coffee table.

Two hands press down on his shoulders with a growl as Mingyu practically jumps out of his skin before hearing Seokmin's laugh as he settles down on the couch next to his friend. "Ah, Mingyu, you can't keep getting scared of me when this movie is supposed to be like twenty times worse!"

Mingyu eyes the screen anxiously, "It shouldn't be that bad, right?" He hides his smile with his own pillow as Seokmin takes his drink and practically drinks all of it right away. A perk of knowing his roommate always drinks beer is that he drinks all the cocktails Mingyu has been making without hesitation and today was no different.

He's practically bubbling with anticipation as he watches Seokmin for any reaction. He sees the way his eyes glaze over and he's now staring straight forward in a trance. Reaching over to his shoulder, Mingyu is trying not to be outright alarmed as he asks, "Hey, Seokmin... are you okay?"

Although, his worry quickly fades when he hears the large growl of his friend's stomach, "Aish, is that all? We just ate but there should be plenty of leftovers." Mingyu moves to get up but blinks a couple of times when his back is against the couch after being pushed. Seokmin moves wordlessly to the kitchen as he hears rustling and containers being opened.

When Mingyu follows after his daze wears off, he's shocked by the sight. Seokmin is stuffing his mouth with whatever he can get his hands on. The fried rice that they ate for dinner was being pushed into his mouth greedily and without any concern. He was drinking the sodas that they were going to bring to the friend's place next weekend, whole two liter bottles disappearing into his friend's gullet. With a loud belch, it was only then he realized that the vessel holding everything wasn't the only thing growing.

With each loud crunch or belch, Seokmin's body was bloating out in fat. The tight cop costume that he wore was already starting to creak with how much he was expanding. His gut was hanging low each time he peeked into the fridge to see what else he could stuff in his mouth and Mingyu's mouth felt dry as he looked at the other man's ass filling out his pants. He hadn't been a stranger to how nice his legs usually looked but right now, Mingyu was unable to keep himself from enjoying just how plump his thighs were becoming. Placing his hands on Seokmin's ample ass, he smacked it curiously, watching how it wobbled even as his friend continued to shove food down his mouth.

Soon enough, the kitchen was cleared of anything edible and Seokmin's gut rested on the counter heavily as he scanned the area. He didn't look at Mingyu long before he brushed passed him, Mingyu getting flustered at how turned on he was from the other man's gut moving him like nothing when he had considered himself pretty large this morning.

Mingyu watched as Seokmin tore into various boxes of candy that they had. He would have stopped him but they were already winding down at that point and any more trick-or-treaters would be sated with what they had at the door so he couldn't help but admire Seokmin's growing figure. The vest he had worn completely blew up as his body expanded with fat and the seams of his pants could no longer contain the sheer mass that he was putting on.

Moving behind his friend, Mingyu's finger snaked into the waistband, noting how the flab seemed to surge into his touch and ignite his senses as he let it snap back onto its fat owner. He should... probably fix this. He fiddled around with his pockets until he found the other vial that Wonwoo had given him.

The first thought was that if Wonwoo had given Seokmin this, he would have been in this situation and the thought only made him feel a little more hot and he should probably directly ask what Wonwoo did for a living but the second thought was that he would have given Seokmin a way to solve this.

Taking him to the couch, Seokmin looked angry when he couldn't have more to eat and looked at Mingyu who held the vial. The couch creaked as they sat down. "If you drink this, you can have more food." The fat man snatched it and drank it obediently as a large burp left him and focus returned to his eyes.

"Mingyu? What ha-" Another belch left him as his hands reached the sides of his belly that he could actually hold now. "Wha- When did this?" Mingyu couldn't help his laughter as he looked at his friend now that he was conscious and no longer a mindless eating machine.

"Oh! I got you so good this time! My trick outdoes any of yours! I was a little scared at first but now that you're fine, I can enjoy it!" He watched as Seokmin played with his fat, trying to process how much he had put on.

"You picked up my prank from Wonwoo hyung!" Mingyu shrugged playfully before there was an eerie pause. "Did he tell you what the other vial does?"

Mingyu looked simply at Seokmin as he shook his head before he heard a snap. Almost instantly the fat seemed to melt off of Seokmin and Mingyu pouted before a burp bubbled up in his mouth. Rubbing his stomach, he realized what was happening as he felt it expanding and spilling in his grip.

"It lets me transfer the weight anywhere I want! I was going to give to you in case you wanted revenge since you're always a good sport but I think this time, you deserve it more than ever." Mingyu was distracted with his expanding girth, stretching his spider man suit so far that it was near transparent where it tried to cover his massive gut. His tits had grown so plump that they needed to rest on his gut for support as the couch creaked as the weigh that disappeared was suddenly coming back.

He was getting excited and his erection was pushing up underneath his gut as he whimpered. "What's wrong, Mingyu? This is just what happens when you keep treating yourself." A slap to his belly made it wobble as he continued to whimper. Looking at Seokmin showed him that his friend was in a similar state as he started to fondle whatever fat part of Mingyu he could reach. "Your tits don't even fit in my hands, Mingyu." His fingers played with his nipples as he squeezed the body part as Mingyu continued to grow to the size Seokmin was just at.

Leaning back onto the couch, Seokmin found himself on top of Mingyu's gut as he chuckled, "I had a feeling you liked how big you were getting so this was going to be a little thank you for how nice you've been during the month." Mingyu moaned when he felt Seokmin move his hips forward into his gut, his erection pressing into Mingyu's belly as he moved his hips up into his gut, trying to get himself off with the friction. "Do you know what else this potion can do since I didn't think you'd want all the weight to go?"

Mingyu's eyes nearly popped out of his head when Seokmin's body began to expand again, filling out just like it had moments ago. "I can just change weights whenever I want now and you seem to like when both of us are big." Pressing his gut into Mingyu's erection got a needy cry out of him as he begged, "Seokmin, please I want..."

"I know. You always want more." Mingyu made an effort to turn over, trying to control his breathing at how hot he felt from his gut hanging down while bending on all fours, his costume ripping for easy access for his friend. Seokmin had reached in the side table next to the couch for lube since neither of them were all that classy when it came to hookups with people they brought over but never each other... until now.

Coating his finger in lube, Mingyu moaned at the chubby digits that were stretching him out as he heard his costume tear more in a combination from how fat he was now and all the movement happening due to Seokmin's touch. Mingyu tried not to curl in on himself when he felt Seokmin enter and rest his gut on his back, panting as he caught his breath.

"Maneuvering all this is going to be hard..." Seokmin muttered to himself as his belly moved up and down Mingyu's back as he thrust into him with as much effort as he could. The couch groaned from the two fat men going at it as Mingyu felt his hanging gut wobble each time Seokmin's hips met his plump ass. Seokmin's gut weighed down heavily on his back and only helped provide more friction with his own gut and his erection.

They reached their climax as the couch reached its limit, completely collapsing. Seokmin was still inside of Mingyu while he finished and the combined weight of Seokmin on top of him and his own obese body was enough to make him finish. He felt himself recovering as Seokmin patted Mingyu's belly, making him twitch.

Seokmin rose to stand before the door opened as Wonwoo peeked his head in, "I take it the potions worked well?" He walked into the living room nonchalantly, admiring the broken furniture as he placed a hand on Seokmin's belly who proudly pushed it out before looking at Mingyu.

Mingyu looked dazed as he sat, hand resting on his belly as Wonwoo smiled, "Glad to see you enjoyed it. Let me know if you ever need any more potions, Mingyu."

Halloween was known as a spooky holiday but in this case, Mingyu wouldn't mind celebrating it more often if it ended like this.

#weight gain #chubby seokmin #chubby mingyu #gyuluttonous behaviour #weight gain fiction

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lovebillyhargrove · 9 months

Text

Slow burn. Season 1 Steve Harrington meets asshole Billy Hargrove. Fire on fire, leading to an explosion. First chapter of this whole idea where there are definitely gonna be casualties

On ao3 "Wake me up when July is around"

Chapter 1/?

***

Fuck this stupid fucking Hawkins. What in fucking hell has he done to deserve it? Who the fuck moves away from California to a shit hole like this??

No one, apparently, except for his dad.

There are a lot of things about Neil Hargrove he finds weird. But the strangest one? Neil never fucking cared about the ocean. Billy doesn't remember a single time when his dad actually went to the beach, with or without his son. How can you not go to the beach if it's right there, on your doorstep?

Fucking insane.

The only thing Neil has ever cared about is being a respectable member of the community. Don't stick your head up too high, or you might get it chopped off. Be like everyone else.

If that's what being an adult is, Billy would rather die young.

Fuck this shit. Fuck this lame town. Fuck his life.

His hands are itching to turn the ignition key and drive away without looking back right this fucking second, but Billy needs to finish school first. He also needs some money and to turn 18. He knows that, he's not a fool.

This year's gonna be such a drag.

His father is a mechanic, and a good one. They lived in the suburbs of San Diego, where his father worked for many years at the Marine Corps Air Station in Miramar. Billy isn't sure if he counted as military or not, maybe he was just a mechanic who worked on a military base on a contract. But it seems that they paid him a good amount of dough when he quit. Or when he was made redundant, his dad didn't bother to fill Billy in on the details.

Parents never tell their kids anything, they never fucking explain. Like kids are so dumb, they won't understand adult stuff anyways. But then they go and demand from children to be mature at the age of fucking four. Be a man, his dad always says. Billy has been listening to this phrase ever since he got out of diapers. He's pretty sure he heard it before as well, it just didn't register on his level of understanding. Be a man. Respect and responsibility alright, but, somehow, it's supposed to go only one way. Kids don't have to be respected.

What a bunch of crap.

We're moving, son, that's it. Whether you like it or not, whether you want it or not. Us adults make decisions, and you just have to swallow everything down, not have your own opinion, go pack your bag and help Susan. Put all the furniture in the van, come on, chop the fucking chop.

Billy remembers how his father took him to the Miramar base when he was little. Billy, of course, was impressed. Huge planes and helicopters, he'd even dreamt of becoming a pilot one day. He'd fly away, and find his mom, and they'd live on a deserted beach without the bad people.

As he grew older, he realized how naive and childish his dream was. He also understood quite quickly that he did not like anything connected with the army and the military. Always live by someone's orders? His whole fucking life, until retirement? No thank you, sir. He had enough of this coming from his dad. Billy was actually more interested in traveling to different places once he grew up, he craved the sense of freedom. Of going anywhere. Around the States, he's always wanted to drive to the Atlantic. Or Mexico, where, they say, the beaches are fucking brilliant. Or South America. The world is fucking huge, so why the hell not?

Not to Hawkins, Indiana, obviously, but here he is. Stuck in cow shit. Waiting for his stepsister to come out of the house so that he can drive them both to school.

Billy wasn't impressed with the military stuff, but he himself was good with his hands. Must've taken after his father. He enjoyed it too. Which was surprising because initially it was Neil who taught him a lot about mechanics. Very quickly, this father-and-son time has become a burden for Billy, a suffocating chore he didn't want to do anymore. Because it was constant pressure. It was constant dissatisfaction, even contempt. His dad was never happy, even about little things, like tightening a loose screw. It's not like that. You did it wrong there. You could have done a better job, do you hear me, son? The son himself could've turned out much better generally as well, Billy already got the basic idea.

Sorry, dad. For being the way I am.

Billy has been hanging out at this garage near his house since he was little. Learned a lot there too. When he was fourteen, he brought a crashed blue 1979 Chevrolet Camaro Z28, which he found at a junkyard, to that same repair shop. He remembered almost losing his mind when he saw that beauty, just standing there, waiting to be towed away for scrap, to be crushed, sent into non-existence. Irreparable damages. Fuck no. It was his car now. The guys at the garage were kinda taken away by the determination of a 14-year-old. They helped, a lot. Billy spent all his savings on that car, working on it practically every day for months. It was a lot of work, and Billy enjoyed every bit of it. He also tried applying for a driver's license at 14, claiming he had no other option of getting to school, of course it was such transparent bull, his application got rejected at first. He then begged Neil to help him. His dad did, used his military connections. At 15 and a half Billy was already behind the wheel of his super dope car.

As soon as Billy got his own car, Max was handed over to him, hanging like a concrete slab around his neck. Take her there and there, pick her up, wait for her. Be very careful when you drive. Do not ever exceed the speed limit. Personal chauffeur, damn it. No complaints allowed.

Billy put two and two together and figured out pretty quickly why his dad had been so eager to help with getting that license.

Max? She has always been the privileged one since the day she appeared in his life. Max became and still was his unwanted responsibility. He was doing fine, being an only child, and then one day, he got a fucking sister he never asked for.

His father married this colourless shadow of a woman, Susan, four years ago, and then, when Neil's job was over, they decided to move to the ass of the world, a nowhere town called Hawkins, cause Susan is from Indiana, and some of her relatives still live around here somewhere. Apparently, Susan had fallen in love a long time ago, moved to California, had this red-haired misunderstanding, then something had gone wrong, as with most marriages. But with Neil, it actually went right. Four years and counting, of this mind-numbing righteousness. The jury is still out on that though, but these two seem to fit together, both so boring and ceremonious, and with baggage in the form of children from previous relationships. It's hard to find a match with a kid hanging around your neck. Susan and Neil are trying. To build a fucking family.

So after Susan's brainwashing, Neil found some work here, in this joke of a town, on a farm or something, and off the whole family joyfully went.

Billy is taking a long drag of his Marlboro. It's a bit chilly this morning but, he must admit, it's not unpleasant. Although he already misses the sun like crazy.

Where the fuck is Max? They are fucking gonna be late for school on their first fucking day, for fuck's sake.

Billy suspected it wasn't that easy with Max's dad. Maybe she missed him. Maybe he was an asshole to Susan, just like his dad was to his mom. Divorce is never easy, and it hits kids the hardest. But Billy was jealous. Susan took Max with her. Unlike Billy's mom who bailed and left him with Neil. Why, Mom? Billy wasn't little anymore, he understood why.

But like a fucking toddler, he was jealous, of Max. His mother didn't want him.

They still don't know the whole truth about this idiotic move. Billy bets Max thinks it's because Neil wants his son to be as far from California as possible. It's stupid. His mom left without a trace, why resurface after so many years? That's not a threat. Billy's money on the opposite idea - Max's father could be involved in that shit. Maybe Susan wanted to tear all strings with that man.

Maybe not. Billy really doesn't give a flying fuck.

One year, that's it, then Billy can leave wherever his eyes take him. University on scholarship, very possible. Has to study hard, of course, and he can when he wants it... Maybe a gap year. Maybe just a job, in that same garage in San Diego, why not, really?

He just needs to fucking leave. He doesn't owe anyone shit. Well, we do owe, as his father always tells him. Life is full of responsibilities, that's real.

Mom left him. She didn't and doesn't owe anything to anyone. She probably had this in mind when she ran.

If Billy is really honest, it's all crap. We do owe, if we love someone. Or if someone is just close to you. He hates to agree with Neil, but sometimes he does.

Mom. Mom is his pain, and only his. No one cares about this, and no one needs to. No-one has to know. Everything is clear as the brightest daylight. Only this voiceless Susan wouldn't run away from Neil. Billy noticed that Susan's eyes are always cast down when Neil's at it with him. She avoids looking, like if she doesn't look, she doesn't have to deal with it, that's not her problem. She doesn't see the problem.

Maybe that's her secret. Cause living with Neil is truly unbearable. All brains will be thoroughly fucked by his dull moral teachings. With Billy's mom? It sure didn't work out. She tried though, for eight fucking years. It couldn't have worked out between Neil and her.

Billy remembers, Neil was so angry and jealous too. She must've found somebody else.

Billy understands it. It's just that, why have a child, a question for all of you responsible fucking adults? Was it really necessary to have him? They shouldn't have had him. What the fuck for? Only to quit? To abandon your kid? Leave him all alone in the house with Neil fucking Hargrove?

Yeah, Neil didn't quit on him. Thanks for that, I guess, Dad. I'd really appreciate it if you were less of an asshole, but that's probably on me. Uh-oh, the son turned out completely wrong.

Billy would, truly appreciate the fact that Neil hadn't abandoned him, if his father hadn't drained Billy's whole soul during all these years.

It was a fucking dick move to bring Billy into the world, like, no-one benefitted from it. Fucking useless.

Billy knows he won't have children. Well, maybe, but only in the distant, faraway future. Kids are actually cool, and Billy always pities them with his whole turned-out-not-the-way-we-wanted heart. Adults generally don't give a shit what the kids think or feel. They just use them, for... literally for anything. Own ambitions, exaggerated expectations, an outlet for frustration and aggression. Money. The sense of being in power. Dump it all on the kids, they are resilient. They'll adapt, everything is fine. They'll manage.

If Billy ever, ever, gets a little creature to raise, then he will definitely never leave them. Maybe he won't marry at all. If everything goes well, he might take a kid from an orphanage when he's like... 40 or something. He can be a single father, why not? Relationships are overrated. Marriage is overrated. Love is mostly bullshit, people fuck and have kids, then they run from their children like from the plague. Very few actually care about kids. In these seldom cases, the little motherfuckers have hit the jackpot.

Billy has always liked kids. Little ones, not the obnoxious teens like Max. The worst age, for fuck’s sake. No, the little kids who look at the world with wide open eyes and say the most honest shit there is. Still unbroken. Still happy, even if they've already seen that life's fucking unfair. Even if the world has shown them its ugly face, but they still somehow believe it.

Okay, what the fuck, enough with that cesspool of sadness, what's wrong with him. It's fucking pathetic.

It's probably just the first day in a new place, the nerves are acting up. Well, they've already been here a week, but it's the new school day, so.

He'll just have to hold out for a year here, fuck, it's only nine months basically, and then beat it, dust under the tires, miles away from his dad.

Dammit, is Max going to school today or not? Neil has already left for work, so there's no harm in showing a little disrespect. Billy honks the car horn couple of times, out of irritation.

Finally, Max rolls out of the house, thank fuck for that. Red-haired monster.

She jumps into the passenger's seat, like it wasn't on her.

"Mom was packing lunch!"

"Mom? Lunch? Well, hold on then, you dimwit. It's gonna be your fault."

Billy calmly drives away from the house to a safe distance and then floors the gas pedal, not without a tinge of pleasure. Makes the music louder, Scorpions are so good this fine morning. Let's fucking go.

He hears Max shrieking something like, "Billy, are you nuts?!? We're gonna crash!"

Same old, every goddamn time. Like Max really thinks Billy's gonna slow down if she's hollering like the chickenshit that she is. He's just gonna go faster.

"You should've packed your stupid lunch quicker. Now we're gonna be late because of you. And don't even think of ratting me out to the parents for speeding."

Max pouts and shuts up. She only clings to the safety belt, as if it would help her if they crashed for real. They won't. Billy knows his car like the back of his hand and he is an excellent driver. Driving and cars are two things that he's pretty good at.

Billy also likes basketball. Dribbling that ball, blood pumping, shoving other guys' sweaty lean bodies around the pitch, the euphoria of scoring.

And he has... well, had a great surfboard. Left it at a friend's place back in Cali, the fuck he was gonna do with a board in Hawkins, fucking Indiana. The friend promised not to use it too much but to take it out for a spin occasionally. He put in the garage, told Billy to come back for it. With god's help, Billy will surf on it again one day.

That's like his best friend, Nick. They've known each other for ages. Billy sometimes caught himself thinking that he would probably try something with Nick. Something like fooling around, in bed, that is. Billy thought about it a couple of times when they were stoned as fuck, sitting on the floor of Nick's bedroom. But Nick had a girlfriend since forever. Like real love and everything. And Billy respected that. Also like... Billy isn't stupid. There is no need to throw sex into the mix with good friendship. Now with the new school starting, everything will get going, he should call Nick, tell him how fucking lame it is here, ask how things are back in San Diego.

Billy wonders if they have some good weed here. There is a plastic bag at the bottom of his suitcase, under all his clothes. Nick gave it to him as a parting gift. Not to go completely off the rails with boredom here.

Drugs? Billy saw what drugs do to people. No, thanks. He smokes weed, but that's it. Well, he has tried molly a couple of times they went to big events with a crowd, but anyway, it's a fucking slippery slope, so no.

Alcohol, cigarettes, weed, sex when it's available. Driving his baby around which makes him feel alive. Working out. No surfing here obviously, but he's already signed up for the school basketball team.

Without all this maddening pressure from his dad and his heavy hand, Billy's life wouldn’t actually be so bad.

In California. Here it's gonna suck ass.

At the bottom of the suitcase there are also magazines, the latest issues. Not only the latest ones, but also those that he especially likes.

And if he has a couple of another kind of mags lying around under ordinary Playboys, then this is only his business. His father would kill him on the spot, no doubt about that, if he ever found out. But Neil didn't even welcome girls. Called them all whores anyways, like Billy wasn't even able to find anyone good.

First you need to get an education, son, decide on a job, and only then date a respectable girl, blah blah blah. Well, he's basically right about getting a job and stuff. Like...a relationship is at the bottom of Billy's priority list right now. Hell, it's not even on the list.

So Billy would bring a girl home only if he knew for sure that his father was not there and would not be for a long time. Billy couldn't even imagine what would happen if he brought a guy home. Ohh what a shitshow it would be. It'd definitely end up being a crime scene with the police and that yellow tape.

There is also Susan. And Max, the fucking snitch. Yeah, fuck it. At least masturbation to any kind of magazines won't bring him unwanted problems.

Also, if you do bring a girl home and they catch you, you'll end up answering all these annoying questions. What and who, what's her name and who are the parents... Who the fuck cares who her parents are. What were you doing there in your room, Billy? We were listening to music and holding hands, for fuck’s sake, Dad, leave me alone. Nope. Leave me alone - that's a very wrong thing to say to his father. Billy will immediately get smacked on the lips for such disrespect. Or worse.

Billy takes out another cigarette and lights up. Well, here's the new school. He drove so fast, they got here in under seven minutes. Of course, upon approaching the parking lot, he had to slow down, one of his most favourite songs blasting through the speakers.

Fucking hell, Billy still can't believe he ended up in this godforsaken swamp of a town. He misses his life back in Cali, he was doing so good there. It's gonna be a hell of a long year.

"Don't be late after school or you're skating home."

Max doesn't even say thank you for the ride, just bangs the door. What a spoiled little brat. Billy hates it when she does that, he hates that she gets away with it, she gets away with fucking everything. Next time she slams the door of his car, he's gonna teach her not to ever do it again.

He sets his boot on the ground. Heavy. Like his fucking heart.

Max is off to the middle school.

Billy is scanning the parking lot. Everything looks ordinary, everyone is busy with their own stuff. Most of the cars are the boring usual, but a couple catch his eye... That BMW over there looks interesting, apparently, someone got lucky with a rich daddy. That must be the rich kid, in a striped polo, bleh. He eats money for breakfast, it's so obvious. Staring at Billy like he's just seen Jesus descending from the clouds. What a dumb bitch. He must be the hottest one around here. Hairstyle and all that, a girl hanging on his arm. Surrounded by the court of jesters and such. Billy fucking hates rich kids. They are full of shit, rotten through and through.

Not far away, there are girls lined up in a row, assessing the new guy. There, in California, Billy was, of course, a 10 out of 10, but honestly lots of guys there were fit, tanned, with dazzling smiles and that special something about them. Like they are... carefree. Life by the ocean gives you this, like a gift. No matter how much it hurt sometimes, the ocean always, always helped. Healed him. It's 1779 miles away now. The Atlantic is closer. Billy craves water washing over his feet.

So yeah, Billy looks good. He knows it. However, if back in California Billy's looks are nothing special, here, oh here he'll be a fucking curiosity. He bets he'll get lots of girls drooling to get a piece of his hot ass.

They are already checking out his car. Well, sure he can have fun, it's the last year of school, after all. Just nothing serious. And, most importantly, no one gets pregnant. Double bag it.

Billy was already beginning to get the sense of dull annoyance, with girls. They just want to get the status of a girlfriend. Then plan their whole life, his too. He doesn't fucking need it. So who cares about a relationship. Sex with no feelings involved is always a good option though.

Billy smiles to himself as he sees the chicks twirling their hair. A couple of them don't look so bad either. The rest is meh.

He throws what's left of his cigarette and heads for his first class.

@dragonflylady77 a huge thank you for your help💖

***

Chapter 2

#harringrove #harringrove slow burn #harringrove fic #mean steve vs mean billy #billy x steve #season 1 steve vs billy

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vickyvicarious · 1 year

Note

I like how Jonathan liked his letter of recommendation so much that he went and transcribed the praises in his journal to remember forever.

"THIS TALENTED BOY HERE JUST GREW INTO MANHOOD UNDER MY CARE. HE WILL NOT FAIL TO DO WHATEVER YOU PLEASE."

Jonathan: omg dad thinks I'm talented

HONESTLY. It's adorable of him. Like... I know I wrote that post about Dracula's takeaways, which are all horrible obviously. And I can see how people would take it as a weird way to phrase things/very open to sounding creepy from the get-go. But honestly, I think it was supposed to be pretty sweet.

“I must regret that an attack of gout, from which malady I am a constant sufferer, forbids absolutely any travelling on my part for some time to come; but I am happy to say I can send a sufficient substitute, one in whom I have every possible confidence. He is a young man, full of energy and talent in his own way, and of a very faithful disposition. He is discreet and silent, and has grown into manhood in my service. He shall be ready to attend on you when you will during his stay, and shall take your instructions in all matters.”

The initial expectation was for Mr. Hawkins to be the one coming, and Jonathan had to sub in. It's unclear exactly how long ago, but he did at least have time to do a little research about the area (as well as being involved in inspecting/choosing the property Dracula was buying; some of that may also have originally been Mr. Hawkins' job before it got delegated as he became too sick). Dracula has probably known for a little bit that someone named Jonathan Harker was coming instead of Mr. Hawkins, though probably not much more about him. @animate-mush had a funny post about how the specific wording Mr. Hawkins used may well have been meant to address specific concerns/desires of his client in regards to the type of employee he wanted. But even in doing so, I think everything he says is meant specifically as a compliment - possibly even in premature defense of Jonathan.

Some complaints that could be made (in general, not even by Dracula specifically): he's too young and inexperienced (we mostly all headcanon babyface Jonathan for a reason I think, and he's confirmed to be new to this specific role). He seems kind of retiring and quiet (there are spoilery quotes that support him giving off this impression, so it may have even been something someone objected to in the past at work for all we know). Can he be trusted to not talk about my business? What if I think of some new questions or need help with other paperwork while he's here, will he have the knowledge/willingness to handle that?

All of the things Mr. Hawkins says are kinda bringing up then discarding these objections. He's bragging hard, saying, I'm sick but my replacement is plenty good enough, I trust him completely. Sure, he looks young and quiet, but he is actually full of energy, trust me, he's gonna get the job done. He's loyal, he totally understands client confidentiality, he's gonna work super hard and will be sure to make up for any inconvenience of not having me there, and he can help you with whatever else you need. I practically raised him so I have trained him thoroughly and know all this from experience, he's gonna do great.

And Jonathan is absolutely super chuffed to hear it! Sure, the letter of introduction is a Thing with perhaps some established rules/expectations of format, and of course Mr. Hawkins isn't going to insult his own replacement, but perhaps he isn't usually this effusive. I kind of get the impression that Jonathan at least tries really hard to be grown-up and professional with his boss, despite also looking up to him as a father figure. And so not only being given this chance but getting to see a letter that proves how seriously Mr. Hawkins is taking him and how much faith he has in him... he's really really happy about it. Especially considering that he is brand new to all this, only recently having got confirmation that he passed his exam and is no longer a clerk.

This might be the first time in his career that he has been important enough to merit so official an introduction. It's possible that every other time has been more along the lines of "this is my clerk, Mr. Harker. You can entrust the documents to his care," or whatever. Much shorter, simpler, Jonathan more as an attachment to a more important employee than anyone notable in his own right. But that's not the case anymore! He's a solicitor now! And Mr. Hawkins thinks he is talented! (Dad is proud of him!)

#dracula daily #mr. hawkins #jonathan harker #anonymous #replies #i kind of imagine mr. hawkins thinking of jonathan as a son but not saying much along those lines out loud #he has mentored him and been kind to him and mina and everything #but never outright made it clear how much he loves them through words #and jonathan is never going to assume too far. so without that bigger proof he's more like 'mr. hawkins is very good to me. i think of him #like a second father' without getting into how exactly mr. hawkins views him in return #thus making the praise in the letter really nice to see bc hawkins just doesn't say those kinds of things too often in general #he more shows his trust in treating jonathan well/giving him advice or access to training/work that will help in his career

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the-bluerecluse · 1 year

Text

Midoriya's First Heat

MHA- Dekubowl (Deku x everyone (but really just Deku x Class 1a minus Mineta cause he got expelled or something idk fuck him)) | SFW Omegaverse

Summary: Midoriya begins pre-heat. It's his first heat. How does that work in the dorm system?

Part of my OmegaDekuBowl series

SFW Angst/Fluff

inspiration: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1539151 // https://archiveofourown.org/series/1701352

Thank you so much to @cozysafechaotic for being my beta! Really appreciate it.

btw this is chaptered on my ao3 but here on tumblr im not bothering with chapters anymore for finished fics. one big ol fic for yall.

---

Tired. That was the way to describe Midoriya’s current mental state.

He had no idea why he was so tired. Too much training? Too little sleep?

Maybe it was the fact that he’d cleaned the entire common area and cooked dinner all by himself that afternoon.

His friends had tried to pitch in but he was absolutely adamant about doing everything himself. Why couldn’t they see that he just wanted to take care of them?

After class had let out, he pretty much beelined for the dorms with nothing on his mind except helping his friends. Cleaning, cooking, all of it. Come to think about it, he’d been pretty huggy too.

Well, he just wanted his class to feel good! What was wrong with that?

“You good, Midoriya? You’ve been pretty busy.” Kirishima said to him as he walked past. He had a finished plate of curry in his hands, the dinner Midoriya had made for all of them.

“I’m fine, Kiri, really.” He sighed. Why was everyone asking that?

“Alright. Well, you know you can talk to us, right?”

“I’m fine.” He said, sounding admittedly tired, even to himself.

Even if he did clean and cook all afternoon, he shouldn’t be this tired. He trained day in and day out, why was this exhausting him? He inhaled. The smells of his class filled his mind, easing his tension bit by bit.

He spotted a discarded jacket on the floor near the couch. Without thinking, he quickly picked it up. Why did he do that? Oh, probably laundry. Yeah, it needed cleaning.

He held it up to his face and took a deep breath. It was Kirishima’s.

Alpha.

Warmth filled his core and he smiled.

“Oh, you found my jacket.” Kirishima yelled from the kitchen with a slight waver in his voice.

“Oh, uh, yeah. It was on the floor so it’s probably dirty. I’ll clean it for you. No worries!” Midoriya rushed off before he could hear again how he needed to take it easy.

He rubbed the cotton material in his hands as he rode the elevator up. As he stepped off onto his floor, he found himself entering Tokoyami’s room. He searched the darkened area and found a cloak hanging off the side of the bed. It smelled of him, like ash and a dark roast coffee.

He grabbed it and exited the room, now holding a hoodie and a cloak as he approached Aoyama’s room.

…

Jirou stepped off the elevator on her floor. She was still worried about Midoriya but she couldn’t find him on his floor. Eventually, she figured she’d just retire to her room and Midoriya would reach out for help if he needed it.

What she didn’t expect was to see Midoriya leaving her room with an armful of clothing.

“Uh, Midoriya? Are you okay?”

“Huh?” Midoriya blinked and looked at her as if escaping from a trance. “Yeah?”

“What’s… with the clothes?”

The greenette looked at the clothes in his arms with a puzzled expression. “Um… laundry?”

“You don’t seem too sure about that.”

“I guess that’s what I’m doing.” He shrugged.

Wait a minute.

Cleaning, cooking, extra touchy, and now he was stealing clothes.

Jirou’s eyes widened. “Midoriya, are you… um,” She winced, not knowing how to phrase it politely. “Are you, uh, nesting… like, in a pre-heat?”

Midoriya furrowed his brow at her, as if what she said was insane. After a moment, his eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. “My heat? Oh crap! Am I gonna have my first heat?”

“Wait, your first? I thought Present Mic said omegas got their first heat in middle school?”

“I-I’m a… late bloomer.” Midoriya flushed and grimaced. “Crap, I’m going into heat. I didn’t even think about this when we moved into the dorms. Am I gonna have my heat here? What am I gonna do?!” Midoriya was hyper-ventalating and shaking.

Jirou focused on pumping out as much soothing beta scent as possible, knowing that her number one goal was calming him down.

It worked, though just a bit, as Midoriya’s breathing slowed and deepened and he stopped trembling.

“Let’s head downstairs, we’ll calm down first, yeah? Plus, everyone will be relieved to know what’s been going on. Didn’t we talk about in class how when someone’s in heat they need to feel safe with people they’re close to? I know we’re not family, but we can try and help?” Jirou held out her hand and Midoriya hesitantly took it. She led the omega to the elevator and the two headed to the commons, Midoriya still holding an armful of clothes.

“Do you want to tell everyone when we get down there?” Jirou asked.

“I don’t know.” Midoriya whimpered and gripped the clothes he had tightly.

“Uh, you don’t have to tell them if you don’t want to. I can probably spin some excuse for you.”

“I…” Midoriya paused. Jirou sent out more beta scent to help calm him and he continued. “I need to go ask Mr. Aizawa what I’m gonna do for my… heat. I’d like… someone to come with me.”

“That’s no problem. Who do you want?”

…

“What do you think’s been up with Midoriya?” Kirishima asked to the group sat in the living area with him.

“I’m not sure, but it’s definitely odd behavior.” Todoroki answered.

“There’s no way the nerd looks that exhausted just from some cleaning and cooking, something else is up.” Bakugou said, looking as unperturbed as ever, though there was still some worry evident, just barely.

“Perhaps something is wrong with Eri. They’ve been particularly close ever since the School Festival.” Iida offered.

“Nah, Amijiki’s been talking about Mirio and Eri and she’s been totally fine.” Kirishima responded.

The elevator dinged and Jirou and Midoriya entered the commons. Most of the class turned to look and raised an eyebrow at Midoriya’s armful of clothes.

“You, like, on a laundry run or something?” Kaminari asked.

Midoriya ducked his head and flushed.

Some of the class picked up that something was wrong. The omega was letting out distress pheromones and you could see it all over his face, too.

“Are you alright, Midoriya?” Momo asked.

“Do you want me to ask?” Jirou spoke softly to Midoriya so only he could hear. He nodded his head.

“Midoriya needs to go talk to Mr. Aizawa.” She looked to two alphas near the tv. “Bakugou, Iida, you wanna go with him?” She shot them a very intense ‘go, don’t ask questions’ look.

“Of course!” Iida shot up in an instant.

“Tch. Fine.” Bakugou got up, looking reluctant, but Midoriya could tell that he wanted to go.

“Hey, is he okay?” Kaminari asked.

“He’s fine, just chill out.” Jirou shrugged, trying to keep people from prying until Midoriya was ready.

“Thank you.” Midoriya said and handed the clothes in his arms to Jirou so he could begin walking to the door, to which the two alphas singled out followed.

As soon as the three were outside the dorms, Bakugou broke the silence. “Okay, spill, what’s going on?” causing the omega to wince.

“I’m… in pre-heat.”

“What?” The two alphas practically yelled.

“Ah, I assume we are going to Mr. Aizawa to ask about your accommodations during your cycle.” Iida said.

“So that’s why you’ve been acting weird.” Bakugou muttered. The omega nodded with a red face.

“Rest assured that we will do anything to help you through your heat, Midoriya.” Iida announced whilst chopping the air.

That brought at least a little comfort to the omega’s nerves as they made their way to Mr. Aizawa’s office.

…

Aizawa was grading Kaminari’s paper, making a variety of marks as the door opened. He looked up from the homework and raised an eyebrow at Iida and the two problem children.

“What is it?”

“Could you… wait outside?” Midoriya asked quietly to the two other students.

“Of course.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

The door closed and Aizawa was alone with a very nervous Izuku Midoriya. This had his attention.

“Why are you here?”

“So, I know we’re at the dorms because of the league and all, but… what do I do for my… heat? Do I have to have it here?” He asked, voice high and face aflame.

Aizawa blinked. That wasn’t anywhere near what he was expecting.

“You all were actually just about to have a class about this kind of thing tomorrow.” The teacher put the papers inside his desk and gave his full attention to his student. “It isn’t safe to send any of you home, so one of the new buildings constructed is what’s known as a Cycle Home. Do you know what that is?”

Midoriya shook his head.

“A Cycle Home is a building with heat rooms and rut rooms. As you can imagine, these are facilities for taking care of alpha and omegas in heats or ruts. They’re staffed by Cycle Specialists trained to help people through their cycles. UA has specifically hired Cycle Specialists for youths and we have A/B/O support on staff. Think counselors, but specifically for problems relating to secondary gender.”

“So… I stay in a heat room?”

“Pretty much. You’ll be escorted to the heat room and spend the duration of your cycle there under 24 hour supervision. You’ll have a laptop with internet access to attend classes and be provided food, water, medication, nesting materials, and a heat collar.”

“When do I go?”

“How long do your pre-heats usually last?”

Midoriya winced and went silent. After a moment, Aizawa sighed.

“If this is your first heat, then I’d say you should go right away. We’ll contact your family and let them know. If you’d like anything from home we can call and have it brought here. For now, you should go pack what you want with you in the heat room. If you want, a teacher can escort you, or you could have some of your classmates go with you.”

“I’ll have my friends come with me.” Midoriya bowed his head. “Thank you, Mr. Aizawa.”

“If you have any concerns about your heat or secondary gender, there are people in the heat rooms who will help you. Now go pack.”

“Yes, sir.” Midoriya left the room with a very tired Aizawa and explained the basis of what they discussed to the two alphas waiting outside.

“You’re going to be in the heat rooms? Are you sure you wouldn’t rather stay with us in the dorms?” Iida asked as they began their walk back to Heights Alliance.

“I think it’s for the best. I’d be safer there, anyway.”

“Safer? Like anyone could keep you safer than I could. I’d kill anyone who tried to even get close to you.” Bakugou scoffed.

Midoriya felt his inner omega positively sing at that.

Alpha will keep us safe in heat. Alpha will protect us. Alpha wants us safe.

“Really?” He couldn’t keep himself from asking.

“Hah? You doubting my ability to keep you safe?”

“N-No, not at all, Kacchan!”

“So, will you be staying in the dorms with us after all?” Iida’s voice had a lilt of hopefulness to it.

The omega thought it over for a second or two. “No. This is my first. I don’t know what might go wrong. It’s best if there are professionals around in case something happens.”

“I understand. And I applaud you for taking your health so seriously.”

“Tch. Whatever, nerd.”

…

Midoriya ran through his packing checklist one more time in his head as he rode the elevator down.

Blankets, a pillow, my favorite All Might plush, laptop, clothes, underwear, toiletries, anything else?

His backpack was full to the brim with things for the heat room, causing him to wonder if he overpacked.

Once the elevator doors opened and his entire class seemed to be waiting in the commons for him. He had texted Jirou earlier that it was okay to tell the class since he had to leave for a week or two and that they should probably know why.

Turns out they were all quite concerned for him.

“Aw, Mido, you were being so sweet taking care of us, and now you’re leaving? Not fair!” Mina charged into him with a hug, almost toppling the two of them over.

“We would be happy to take care of you here, if that’s what you want.” Todoroki offered.

They really want me to stay, huh?

“Thanks, guys, but I’ve made up my mind.”

“That’s okay, Midoriya. We hope you feel better.” Tsu said.

“Yeah, for sure.”

“We wish you the best!”

“Au Revoir~”

Midoriya smiled and nodded.

“Forget it. Me and Glasses are taking him and that’s final.” Bakugou growled.

Midoriya looked over to see Bakugou baring his teeth at Todoroki and Tokoyami.

“I think it’d be a good idea for me to join you in escorting Midoriya to the Cycle Home.” The bi-colored alpha said.

“As if. The nerd chose me, got it?”

“Dark Shadow and I wish to join as well.”

“What part of ‘he chose us’ don’t you idiots get, huh?”

Midoriya walked between them. “All four of you can take me if you stop fighting.”

That shut them up. With a few grunts or nods of approval, the five of them set out for the other side of campus. Midoriya, Bakugou, Iida, Tokoyami, and Todoroki. Four alphas and one omega.

When they arrived, Midoriya felt like he was sweating through his jacket. All the anxieties were building up and now he was there, about to spend over a week without any of his friends or family in one of the most vulnerable points in his life.

“Are you feeling alright, Midoriya?” Todoroki asked softly.

“‘Course he’s not, you idiot.” Bakugou barked, ever the calm one.

They entered the building which had a similar look to Heights Alliance, not surprising, as they were built around the same time. There was a front desk with a friendly looking woman wearing pink glasses and a headband.

“Hi there, Izuku Midoriya?”

“Um, yes ma’am.”

“Alright, let me just sign you in. I just need to ask you a few questions about your cycle.”

“Oh, uh, right.” Midoriya nervously approached the desk.

“Have you started yet or are you in pre-heat?”

“Um, pre-heat.”

“This is your first, correct?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you have any medical conditions that we should be aware of?”

“No.”

“What is your pack status?”

“No pack.”

“Alright, that should do it. Allow me to show you to your heat room.” She stood and gestured for Midoriya to follow her. He turned to his friends first and bowed his head.

“Thank you for escorting me here. I’ll see you after this all blows over.”

“Of course we’d help. We are your class after all!” Iida proudly announced.

“Yeah, whatever. Don’t slack off. When you come back we’re going at it, 100%!” Bakugou scoffed and walked out of the building, followed by the other three alphas with various goodbyes.

Midoriya’s expression softened and he turned back to the woman to be led to his room.

The heat room was sort of similar to a hospital room in size. It had a large mattress on the floor with a closet, desk, and window. In the open closet was a large selection of blankets of various colors and sizes, most likely nesting materials.

“This is where you’ll be staying, feel free to make yourself at home. You’ll have three meals delivered to your room and two snacks a day. The bathroom is down the hall with showers as well. As you’re the only omega checked in at the moment, you have it all to yourself. A Cycle Specialist will be assigned to you to keep track of your progress, temperature, and water intake. We’ve received a delivery of a few blankets and pillows from your home which will be moved here momentarily.”

Modiriya nodded and began unpacking his things as the woman left him to his own devices. He plugged in his laptop and set it on the desk. He stored his clothes in the closet. He poured out all the nesting materials he had packed for himself onto the bed and put his bag of toiletries on the edge of his desk closer to the door for when he got ready for bed that night.

He stared at the room with a feeling of emptiness. What now? He had finished his homework and he couldn’t train now that he was in the heat room.

Usually he’d hang out with some of his friends. Talk with Iida and Uraraka, play some videogames with Kaminari and Sero, train with Bakugou, Kirishima, and Todoroki…

He could make a nest. That’s what he was doing earlier, wasn’t it?

Midoriya grabbed some of the blankets from the closet. They were nesting blankets specifically, long, oddly-shaped, and extra soft. He smiled as he carded his fingers through the fibers. He brought them to his face and smelled…

Detergent. A nameless detergent that meant nothing to him.

Earlier, the clothes from his class… his friends, it smelled so nice. Warm, comforting, safe.

But these…

Well, he’d take what he could get.

As he was setting up the base for his nest, there was a knock. He told them to come in and it was the lady from before with a big box.

“Your mother sent you these from home. If you need anything, just let us know, your attendant will be here shortly to do a quick check-up.” She said before closing the door and leaving.

Finally, nesting materials that smelled safe.

Midoriya practically tore through the box. Most of them were old blankets that were his, but a few were his moms, smelling like chai tea and fresh dough.

And so, he got to work.

…

It was three AM. Midoriya could barely sleep. He felt anxious. He felt tired. Most of all, he felt alone. He had worked on his nest for hours but it just felt empty. He could smell his mom and his old home, but not his current home. Not any of his friends. Not Iida. Not Uraraka. Not Todoroki. Not Kacchan.

Now that he was aware he was going into heat, he could feel it. This unending tension and clinging exhaustion that wouldn’t let go. If everything he learned in class was right, he should be going into heat within the next day.

He couldn’t help but remember the clothes he had collected earlier. Kirishima’s jacket, Tokoyami’s cloak, Jirou’s hoodie, Aoyama’s shirt, Hagakure’s tank top… they all smelled so secure and reassuring. Throughout everything he and his class had been through together, their scents were a source of calm to him.

He wanted so badly to go collect nesting materials but he was stuck there now until his heat ended.

Midoriya pulled out his phone and opened the class group chat.

‘Midoriya: Hey guys. Do you think some of you would be willing to bring some nesting materials by the heat rooms at some point? Like shirts and blankets and stuff. Don’t feel like you have to though. It’s not super important’

He added the last part, unsure about how the request would make his class feel. An omega taking items for nesting was usually only for people they were close with and/or pack mates. He didn’t want to overstep anyone’s boundaries or sound like he was demanding their things for himself. Though, it couldn’t hurt to ask, right?

He put down his phone and tried to get some sleep before class tomorrow, which he’d be attending virtually.

…

The omega woke up to his phone alarm and an all-over body ache. He winced and groaned as he sat up and stretched.

Oh, right. Heat pain.

His usual morning routine went off decently well, a shower, teeth-brushing, taming his messy green lockes with a hairbrush, the usual. As he was just making sure his laptop was ready for the class, a Cycle Specialist knocked and entered.

He was a taller dark-skinned man with patches of gray scales on his face holding a clipboard and a satchel hanging off his shoulder. “Greetings, Midoriya. I’m your nurse, Mr. Higashi, I’ll be checking your vitals this morning and Nonaka will be here with your breakfast soon. If you could just sit at your desk, I’ll take your blood pressure and temperature.”

Midoriya sat and furrowed his brow as the nurse entered. He was careful not to stray too close to the nest, as entering an omega’s nest without being invited was generally a bad idea. “Is all this really necessary?”

“Technically, no. But, as you’re a hero student having his first heat under the care of UA, the staff want to make sure there’s no negative reaction by the body or that you may have some condition about your secondary gender that might affect your hero work.” Mr. Higashi said as he wrapped Midoriya’s arm in the cuff and took his blood pressure.

“Besides, between you and me, they’re mostly covering their butts. See, if a student has a bad heat experience under their care, you or your family could sue.” The doctor laughed. “And they can’t send you home because of all the villain attacks. So they gotta give you the best, or else they’re in trouble.”

That got a small chuckle out of him.

“Alright, your heart rate and blood pressure look good. Let’s take your temp.” The nurse scanned a thermometer over his forehead and hummed at the reading. “A little warm there. I’m guessing you’ll be starting your heat within the next 20 hours or so.” He quickly put his medical instruments in a small bag and picked up his clipboard. “I’ll go fetch Nonaka for you, be back in sec.” The nurse offered a cheerful smile and left.

Higashi walked down the hall and to the front of the building, looking for Nonaka when he saw a small crowd of students at the front holding a massive amount of clothing and blankets.

“Excuse me, may I help you?”

“We’re here to see Izuku Midoriya.” The taller one with glasses and dark blue hair spoke loudly with an air of authority.

Higashi looked down at his clipboard with Midoriya’s paperwork and scanned the top information section. Just as he thought. “Izuku Midoriya is not in a pack. Only immediate family and pack members are allowed to visit the omegas.”

“What? That’s ridiculous!” A shorter brown-haired girl said with a pout.

“We were asked to bring him some nesting materials. May we leave them for him?” One of the alphas of the group, the one with red and white hair, asked calmly.

“I’ll take them for now, go ahead and leave them on the front desk. If Midoriya says yes, then I’ll allow it.”

“Why the Hell wouldn’t he say yes when he’s the one who asked us to come here?” One of them, the winner of the Sports Festival, practically snarled in his face, as two others from the group put all the nesting materials on the desk as asked.

“Believe it or not, there are some people who will try and force nesting materials on omega’s in an effort to get them used to their scent so they may take advantage of them.”

A few in the group recoiled in disgust, while a couple others seemed offended at the implication.

“I’m not saying you guys are definitely doing that, it’s just something we have to be aware of. Midoriya’s still mentally in a place where he can accept and reject things, so I’ll talk with him about it.”

“Sorry, what did I miss?” Nonaka walked in at that moment, having probably gone to use the bathroom.

“Just some friends offering nesting materials, Nona, go ahead and grab Midoriya’s breakfast, I’ll take care of this.”

Nonaka nodded her head and left. Higashi looked back at the group.

“Thank you for the offerings for your friend. We’ll take it from here.”

“Of course. We thank you for your time.” Glasses bowed and corralled everyone out the door.

Higashi smiled at all the offerings piled on the front desk now. “Nice kids.”

…

“Midoriya?”

“Come in.” Midoriya said from his desk.

The lady from earlier with pink glasses, Nonaka, entered with a warm tray of food. “Breakfast. Lunch Rush makes all the food for the Cycle Home, so lucky you. I love his cooking.” She set the tray down on the desk and placed some chopsticks beside them.

“Thank you.” Midoriya quickly grabbed the tray and began eating his grilled fish, suddenly feeling extremely hungry.

“Also, did you ask for some nesting materials from your friends? A group of students came by with clothing and blankets for you.”

“Mm-hmm!” Midoriya hummed and nodded in between bites of food.

“Alright then.” Nonaka stepped out of the room and Midoriya heard a strained sound from outside. He looked to see Higashi bringing in an absolute mountain of nesting materials.

Midoriya inhaled in surprise and a bit of rice flew into his throat, causing him to cough and hack it up. As soon as he caught his breath Higashi stepped out and brought another mass of items.

“They brought all that for me?”

The two attendees laughed. “Yep. You’ve got a good group of friends there.” Higashi said.

“We’ll leave you to it. I’m sure you’re gonna wanna work on that nest now, huh?” Nonaka said, smiling at Midoriya’s vigorous nodding. She chuckled and the two left the room.

Midoriya was on cloud nine as the scents from all his friends filled his nose and head. Forget food, he was on the floor sorting out items in an instant, trying to figure out how each color and each scent would fit together in his perfect first nest.

There was so much material to work with, layers upon layers of cloth and cushion, Midoriya was in heaven.

He spent the next twenty minutes carefully placing each item in its exact spot within the nest. Just as he was making the important decision of where the alpha scents went, the alarm on his phone went off, alerting him that class was starting very soon. He reluctantly got up from his nest and went to his desk to start class.

—

The heat was really setting in.

It had been 3 days. He had made the perfect nest and for a moment he thought this might not be so bad.

Well, those anxieties he felt earlier about his first heat were not misplaced.

He hurt, and not a little either. One thing you could not say about Izuku Midoriya is that he had no pain tolerance. That was the opposite of the truth. He’d shattered his bones over and over again and kept fighting.

But this wasn’t like that. It was an ache. It was a throbbing burning ache in his core that spread across his body, and he had a headache to match.

And the actual heat part… Midoriya had fought Todoroki before, he’d been burnt by fire, this was worse.

At least in a fight he had adrenaline coursing through him that kept his mind from focusing on any pain or discomfort, but just sitting there in his nest, he could feel every inch of fire on his skin.

Heats weren’t normally like this, at least, not for adults, but as he had heard about in health class, heats and ruts when you’re young are irregular and abnormal and can easily be debilitating.

Lucky him.

On top of it all, all of his senses were cranked up to a hundred. Increased sensitivity, another effect of heats. Things were bright, pain was more intense, tastes were stronger, sounds were louder.

Thankfully, since the staff are trained for this sort of thing, they easily communicate and move around without making too much sound. And the food was already pretty bland, probably for this exact reason, so he could still eat pretty easily.

He laid in the fetal position in his nest, all clothes except boxers discarded, and fan on full blast. Classes were over for the day, so he didn’t have to keep trying to focus with his muted thoughts and fuzzy vision.

There was a knock and the door creaked open.

“Hey, Midoriya. I need to get your vitals real quick and then we’ll get dinner right out for you.”

Midoriya whined out something hoarsely and slowly sat up, holding out his arm for the blood pressure cuff.

Higashi gently took a seat beside him and set up the cuff. “At this rate, your peak heat should happen sometime between tonight and this time tomorrow. After that it’ll start to feel better.” He spoke softly as he took measurements. Midoriya was wincing at the cuff squeezing his arm, feeling everything so much more during this period.

The omega reached for his All Might plushie and held it close, needing something to squeeze. Higashi smiled but didn’t comment. He just scanned his forehead with the thermometer and hummed at the results.

“Did you finish your water from earlier?” He asked.

“Yeah.” Midoriya practically whispered as he handed him the empty bottle.

“Alright, let me get you a refill.” He took the bottle and left, allowing Midoriya to dramatically flop back down with a deep sigh.

The worst part of all of this was that throughout it all… he could only think about how much he wanted to be back at the dorms with his friends. He wanted them there. He wanted to nest there and bring them in, invite them in, and cuddle with them together. He cared about each of them so much. Their scents were great, and just about the only thing keeping him sane, but what he wouldn’t give for them there in person…

For now, all he could do was eat and guzzle water like his life depended on it.

…

“Alpha…” Midoriya whined and whimpered. His peak heat was here. His eyes were glazed over and he couldn’t move his body much. His thoughts were muddled… but there was still something on his mind. “Alphas… where?”

Higashi scribbled a few things down from his seat at the desk. He was required to keep ten minutes of watch over Midoriya every hour to make sure nothing alarming happened. He seemed physically fine, but Higashi was starting to think he did have a pack. Well, not yet, but he seemed very attached to a group of alphas, most likely those kids from earlier, and he wouldn’t doubt if he’d bonded to the betas too.

“You’re alright, Midoriya. Do you want more water?”

“Alphas… Kacchan. Want Kacchan.”

“Kacchan isn’t here. Do you want an ice pack?”

Midoriya curled up and whined pitifully.

“I’ll get you an ice pack in a minute, okay?”

Midoriya didn’t respond. Honestly, Higashi was surprised he had already responded as much as he did during his first peak heat.

The omega was clearly quite close to his friends. He wouldn’t be surprised if the next time he saw Midoriya he had formed a pack with them. A pack formed at a younger age came with some unique problems, but it wasn’t inherently doomed to fail. He’s seen many young packs who stayed together and made each other stronger, just what heroes in training could use.

Higashi wrote down a note to recommend A/B/O support to Midoriya. A counselor in secondary gender and pack dynamics could help him navigate a possible pack, or at least his relationship with these alphas. This ‘Kacchan’ in particular seemed to mean a lot to him.

He’d bring it up to him once he came out of his heat.

...

Midoriya quickly shoved his laptop and charger into his bag. He was finally getting out of this place!

His heat ended up lasting 8 days, 8 days too long if you ask Midoriya. He was thrilled to get back to his friends and classes and he was already mulling over which muscle groups to work out and which type of combat training would be best to jump back into after his break.

He had to request a box to store all the nesting materials his class had brought him. Extra care was taken to neatly fold them so they wouldn’t be so crumpled or wrinkly when he returned them.

It felt awful to have to take apart his nest that he worked so hard on, but if it meant leaving sooner, then he was all for it.

“Hi, Midoriya, may I come in?” Came Nonaka’s voice.

“Come in.”

“We’re almost ready for your checkout,” Nonaka said as she entered the room. “However, you’ve still got some lingering heat scent so you’ll be required to wear a heat collar on school grounds. Do you have one? If not, we have one you can take with you.”

The greenette blinked in surprise. “Uh, no, I don’t have a heat collar.”

“That’s alright.” She fished around in her pocket for a moment before pulling out a plain black collar wrapped in plastic. “Here you go. Let me just finish your check-out and you’ll be all good to go.” She waved and exited his room.

Midriya took the collar in his hand and fumbled with the plastic before sliding it off.

The collar was a thick fabric with two long strips of foam, meant to go over the scent glands, and a thin plastic buckle at the back. It was black and plain, as one should expect from something given out by medical staff. He rubbed his thumbs over the foam. It was soft yet firm, comfortable but still able to soak up the scent. It slid over his neck and snapped in the back with a small click.

Midoriya adjusted the collar a bit, trying to center it over his glands in just the right way before finally letting go with a satisfied smile.

With his bag zipped shut, and the heat room left just as it was found, the omega eagerly left the room and beelined for the lobby. 8am! There was still enough time to take his stuff back to his dorm and make his first class in person.

As he entered the lobby, he saw some familiar faces.

Was that… his entire class?

“Deku, you’re out!” Uraraka called and waved her hand in the air excitedly.

It’s true. His entire class was there. All 18 of them!

He couldn’t help it. After over a week of being alone in heat he ran up the group, not an ounce of hesitation, and practically tackled Bakugou in a hug.

Alpha. The words resided in his mind as he clutched onto Bakugou like his life depended on it.

“What the fuck? Deku?” Bakugou yelled, but didn’t push him away.

“Alpha.” This time he said it aloud in a satisfied sigh.

Though Midoriya couldn’t see it, as his face was buried in Bakugou’s chest, the alpha’s cheeks flared red and his eyes went wide.

“Midoriya, are you quite alright?” Iida asked, putting a hand on the omega’s shoulder, not paying attention to the death glare now upon him from Bakugou.

Midoriya pulled away with a smile like the sun. “Yeah. I just missed you guys.”

“We missed you too!” Mina, Uraraka, Kirishima, Sero, and Kaminari all shouted at once.

There was a laugh from the desk. “Izuku Midoriya, you’re all checked out. You’ve still got class, but afterwards I’m sure your friends will be happy to keep you company. And be sure to come back if you have any other concerns.”

“I will.” Midoriya waved.

“Oh, and don’t forget the nesting materials your friends were so nice to have brought you.” Higashi said and he entered with the box of clothes and blankets.

“I got it!” Kirishima ran to the nurse and grabbed the box before heading back to the group.

“Alright, we have enough time to take Midoriya’s items to his dorm room and then go straight to class.” Iida announced and waved them all out of the building.

Midoriya practically skipped out of the building with Bakugou’s hand in his right and Iida’s in his left.

“So what was it like in there, Mido?” Mina asked.

“Boring.” He answered honestly. “I really miss classes in person, training, and just hanging out in the dorms with all of you.”

“Aww, we were missing you too. It’s just not the same without both the problem kids.” Mina snickered, expecting some retaliation from Bakugou, but instead the alpha in question was oddly quiet, staring at Midoriya like some kind of alien.

“I got an idea! Let’s run back to the dorms. Bet you’re ready to stretch those legs, huh, Midoriya?” Kaminari waved and began running.

Midoriya chuckled. “You’re right, I do need a run.” He let go off the alpha’s hands and began jogging down the pavement, oblivious to the effect it had on the two alphas. Within seconds, the entire class was running across campus which turned to a race. Midoriya had One For All Full Cowling active as he dashed over the cement and grass. With the wind and sun on his face and class beside him, he finally felt truly happy for the first time in over a week.

…

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yellowhollyhock · 1 month

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2003 O’Neil Tech Team

April, the big boss

Donny, also technically the big boss but used to operating from the shadows and prefers to be just be called ‘engineer’ (good luck with that DonDon)

Casey: building maintenance (he has so many sets of keys, some of which may or may not open wormholes directly to other planets or cause time to freeze if used in the right sequence)

Leatherhead: more of a theorist than an engineer. Initially he’s helping where he can with the science, but ultimately the role he will thrive in is office doctor. He knows how to phrase “go take a nap” scientifically enough to get through to April and Don when they’re in the zone.

Fugitoid: he’s the marketing team. Mostly he markets in space, but he also helps run their website to draw earth clients in. He travels a ton. When he is in the office it’s because he’s helping build or maintain transportation (whether it’s a spaceship or a handheld teleporter).

the rest are my 2003 versions of characters from other tmnts. In order of hire:

Irma Langinstein (1987): April’s friend from her college days, business major who ended up doing secretarial work at a big law firm (which she hates). She is the first outside hire; April realizes they badly need help (she’s ending up doing a lot of the administrative work, Donny and Casey are both hard workers but neither one is organized or fiscally responsible), and doesn’t want Don to have to hide from his own employees, so she scours her family albums and yearbooks to make a list of people she might trust enough to tell about the turtles. She ends up contacting Irma, inviting her to lunch to talk about a job opportunity and bringing all four turtles along. They all half-expect Irma to scream and run, which it seems like she’s going to, but April made the food she likes and nothing keeps her from food. So she gets to know them over lunch and ends up fitting in great. Being sworn to secrecy is hard for her, but it helps that she can talk to April.

Harold Lilja (IDW): a physicist who was fired from the university he works at and decided to go into early retirement. He’s spending all his time in his basement designing impractical but extremely cool tech and on online chatrooms when Donny contacts him about some of his published papers. He’s extremely condescending and very difficult to get useful information from. Don contacts the university, but it becomes apparent that nobody there actually understands Lilja’s theories, and all he’s really able to learn is that the guy’s extremely unpleasant to work with. So naturally, he goes to his house. Irma is furious about having to help with this assignment (refuses to be left behind because Donny is clearly being too nice). Lilja turns out to be much nicer in person (is this because of Irma’s glare and Donny’s impossible-to-be-mad-at voice? hard to say), though still not very good at explaining his ideas. Donny hires him to get around the problem.

Oyuki Mashimi (archie): meets Leo and Mikey through the dojo they run. She introduces Mikey to the world of social media and he introduces her to April. She joins the marketing team, filling that earth gap that Fugitoid can’t. Being just two years younger than Donny makes her the youngest employee. Her and Irma work together a lot and are instant besties

Timothy Pulitzer (2012): he just walks in one day and applies at the front desk. He’s been working a cubicle job at a tech company for a decade, and noticing recently the things O’Neil Tech has been doing, and wondered if that would be a better fit and also better for his health. At first he annoys almost everyone because his enthusiasm seems too much to be sincere, but after a while it becomes apparent that he really is just that way. He adores Donny, which people tend to see as just sucking up to his team lead, but actually it’s because he’s never had a boss talk nicely to him before. Also once he catches him doing a cool flip in through the window, he becomes obsessed with ninjas, and always calls Splinter Mr. Ninja Rat and the other turtles Mr. (Name) Ninja Turtle. He also has a crush on Irma, but I haven’t decided if or how that goes forward.

Libby Meitner (IDW): not Harold’s partner in this, maybe in the future idk. But he is the one who contacts her because she has relevant expertise, I think probably specifically about supply chain things? She’s a chemist. She’s going to be filling Leatherhead’s role in that way so he’s able to focus more on being the office doctor. Personality wise she’s fairly aloof, keeps personal and work life very separate, really chill about mutants because why would it be any of her business anyway type of person. Do not play Poker with her.

Kala: An engineer! Very creative thinker, has experience with tech from all over the galaxy. Passionate about marketing as well. uhhh I wrote the blurb today about them meeting her. She and the other Neutrinos are shapeshifters, learning new things is their whole purpose of living. She loves to party and build superconductors. Energy sources will definitely be her expertise. She’s the one who starts calling Donny Boss and it catches on in spite of his protests (once she says it in front of Timothy it’s game over). She’s secretly April’s favorite.

Zak: cars. just. cars. Also has no business being as charismatic as he is, this little neutrino mechanic can talk his way out of anything. Him and Harold working together can either solve whatever problem has been stumping the team and create a new system of government while they’re at it, or burn the place down. It depends on their moods and the weather. Also at some point he will take Timothy under his wing to try to build up his confidence and people skills, and accidentally learn from him instead about being utterly sincere at all times no matter the stakes.

Dask: no interest in science whatsoever but he is a very effective administrator. He takes an interest in LH’s work specifically, the two of them are now the HR department. Figuring our human bureaucracy and how to make it work for their employees well-being is like a fun little puzzle to him. They’ll come up against a wall and Leatherhead’s like I cannot get Libby on the insurance :( And Dask rubs his hands together like he’s just been given a delicious treat. Also he’s able to get Leatherhead access to detailed medical notes about all different kinds of aliens.

#tmnt #tmnt 2003 #2003 donnie #2003 april #o’neil tech

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f1-disaster-bi · 2 months

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A glimpse into some background for girl Lando au:

"Well, if we were ever to marry, she'd give up racing", Gabriel smiled, arm wrapped around Lando’s waist and Lando, Lando laughed as if it was the funniest joke she had ever heard. Yet George could see from the look in his eyes as he said it, and the way he frowned a little at her laughter, that he was serious. "Good one, babe", Lando grinned, looking at him with so much love and trust that it made George's chest ache, "I wouldn't give up racing for that. Kids, maybe, but I don't plan on those until I retire" "And ruin your figure? Please, you already work so hard to stay attractive", Gabriel laughed, pinching at Lando's stomach as if there was stomach to pinch. George just curled his hand around his drink tighter than before. Lando laughed again, but it wasn't her real laugh. It was her fake one, the one she used when trying not to seem hurt or insecure and it made George's blood boil because she was perfect. There was nothing about Lando that wasn't beautiful, and here her boyfriend was making her appearance into a joke. "She doesn't have to work for it. Lando’s always been a beauty", George defended with a smile, making a tense Alex nod beside him. "Thanks Georgie", Lando smiled, and George savoured the brief moment of attention that was solely on him before Gabriel ruined it. "Would you mind getting me another, querida?", Gabriel shook his empty bottle and Lando didn't roll her eyes the way she had at other boys. She just nodded, and kissed his cheek before heading to the bar. "I'll grab us some another round George", Alex clapped his hand on his shoulder and he knew by the way Alex looked, that he wanted to check in alone with Lando. The silence between him and Gabriel was loud and smothering before Gabriel gave him a look and a scoff. "I don't like the way you look at, my girlfriend", Gabriel stated, fingers playing with a beer matt, "She belongs to me, not you, yes?" George hated how he phrased that as he took on the other man and drank the last of his beer. "She doesn't belong to anyone but herself, mate", George grinned viciously, leaning forward a little, "And if you don't start treating her right, I promise you, you won't be around for much longer" Gabriel laughed at his words, and there was a gleam in his eyes that made George sick. "You're wrong my friend", Gabriel leaned back in his chair as Lando reappeared.

By the look on her face, George knew that whatever Alex hsd asked her, had upset her, and she refused to look at George as she stood beside Gabriel. She quickly schooled the annoyance in her face to a smile as she kissed Gabriel's cheek and handed him his drink. Knowing that George was watching, Gabriel pulled her into a kiss. A hand in her hair, and Lando made a surprised sound while George looked away. "I've changed my mind, querida", Gabriel brushed a thumb along her lip while looking at George, "We are leaving" Lando made a confused sound as she looked at him. "But I thought we wer-" Gabriel just grabbed her wrist, tugging hard enough to make Lando stumble a little before she righted herself and grabbed her jacket. "Now, Lando", Gabriel didn't leave room for argument and then they were gone, leaving George and Alex sitting there wondering how the hell they were going to get their friend away from Gabriel for good.

#girl lando au #girl!lando au #pre norrussell #pre george/lando #norrussell #lando/ male oc

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rhaenella · 11 months

Text

You & Me - Rhys Montrose x Reader - Part 13

Part 12 | Part 14

Summary: What happens when reader assassin is tasked with killing the possible future mayor of London; Rhys Montrose. Politician by day, Eat the Rich Killer by night. But he isn’t the only person wearing different masks.

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Violence, murder, immoral sociopathic behaviour, mentions of alcoholism, drug abuse and neglect, (eventual) smut

Word count: 6k

A/N: (spoilers!) at the end.

Song: Toxic – 2WEI

Houses and cars flashed by as you stared out of the window of Rhys’ car. The sun was already descending, the roads buzzing with commuter traffic as Londoners were hastily trying to get home after a long day of work. But for you, your shift had only just started. Clocking in at a time that most would mark as the end of the workday. Assassins and serial killers simply kept to different office hours. Which is why you and Rhys were currently on your way to your next little project. Because as a fictional killer had once so accurately phrased it — tonight’s the night.

Tom Lockwood’s end was nigh.

The past couple of nights were used to finalise the details of your plan to kill Lockwood. Remarkably, the half drunken plan you’d come up with wasn’t quite as bad as you would’ve thought it would be when you reviewed it the next day.

The rest of your days were filled with taking care of your sisters. Preparing their meals, helping them shower and get dressed, as well as making sure their medication was in order. Naturally, you kept Claire updated on their recovery.

Aside from asking how your sisters were doing, Claire also insistently questioned you about Rhys. You didn’t want to say too much over the phone, which meant you kept it short. Only briefly informing her on how you two had sat down and talked. Really talked. You could detect a hint of pride in her voice when she expressed how delighted she was to hear you’d finally opened up to someone. Of course Claire still teased you about Rhys, basically ordering you to tell her everything once you two would have time to meet up. “You still owe me lunch,” she’d jokingly said.

Speaking of teasing, your sisters were evidently starting to settle nicely into Rhys’ home. He’d come up in the mornings and at night to say hello and see how they were doing, additionally asking if there was anything else they needed. You knew how busy Rhys was with preparing his upcoming campaign he was yet to announce, so him carving out time to see your sisters meant a lot to you. Besides, Rhys’ openness towards them made them feel welcome and quickly forget about his famed status, joking with him as if they’d known him forever. It warmed your heart when you noticed how well they were getting along.

But after Rhys left, your sisters would turn right back to you. They essentially ganged up on you, utterly relentless in their non-stop teasing. No matter how much you tried to explain there wasn’t anything going on between you, nothing seemed to work. On the contrary, your every defence was met with an increasing amount of what you’d ultimately decided to call plain harassment. They just laughed at you.

You and Rhys only really spoke at night. After the day’s work was done and after your sisters had gone to sleep. The time of day where everything slowed down and it was dark enough to voice all of your wrongful thoughts. When you could freely speak your mind, knowing the other would simply listen and not judge.

Rather, the other would understand. Which was bloody freeing. It almost felt like you finally broke the surface after being held under water for so long, learning how to breathe again.

When retiring for the night, you parted ways on the second floor of his home. You stayed in what was actually Rhys’ home office temporarily converted into an extra guest room. The first night you desperately tried to ignore your nagging curiosity to peek through the bookcases and cabinets. To not open up every single drawer on his antique mahogany desk. You could proudly admit you only gave in during the second night, scanning the leather-bound classics on display, including Shakespeare and Oscar Wilde. But also, a clearly often read and used copy of Capote’s In Cold Blood. You knowingly smiled to yourself when you pushed the work of non-fiction back into its original spot on the bookshelf.

Now, three days later, you glanced to your right. Rhys was deep in thought as he managed to drive efficiently through the busy traffic. You left Rhys’ house around five, letting your sisters know that you had to pick up some work, otherwise your boss would not be pleased after not having showed up for days. The lies came effortlessly, like they always did.

You were in the middle of explaining that when Rhys had come in to let your sisters know he would also be going back to his office downtown to work on some final campaign stuff. You sympathetically smiled at them, telling them you were sorry. But Sadie was quick to cut you off mid-apology, saying they understood, and convincing you they could handle a night on their own.

After having prepared an early dinner for your sisters, you’d kissed them both on their foreheads, letting them know not to wait up. When you arrived down the stairs, Rhys had already been waiting by the door with two large duffle bags, asking if you were ready. “As ever,” you’d earnestly replied.

Rhys had just turned onto the A232. It would only be another twenty minutes until you reached your destination — Washbourne Aviation Hangar, where you would then patiently wait for Lockwood to arrive.

You’d been en route for a while now. Before leaving the city, you still had to make a few quick stops to pick up some last-minute supplies.

“I still don’t understand why you felt the need to get so-called supplies at that sex store,” you said, breaking the silence between you.

“Who says they’re meant for Lockwood?” Rhys challenged, sending you a suggestive wink.

Oh, for fuck’s sake. He was unbelievable. You rolled your eyes, ignoring him. Out of the corner of your eye, you detected the stretch of an amused grin across Rhys’ face. Truly, why did you decide to put up with him again?

Rhys cleared his throat. “No, but seriously, we’re gonna kill a near Illuminati-level billionaire. If our plan goes awry, we may have to resort to some creative solutions.”

You shot him a quick look before refocusing your attention on the traffic around you. “I’m not sticking anything up his arsehole, if that’s what you’re hinting at.”

“Fine. I’ll do it,” Rhys shrugged like it would be just another day at the office.

“Glad we’ve got that settled, then.”

Your plan was simple. You knew Lockwood was, for some reason, in hiding and that only one thing could for sure lure him out of it — his daughter. Thanks to Rhys cloning Kate’s phone back at Hampsie, he was able to keep an eye on their messages. You’d found out that Lockwood had apparently made a generous offer to Kate that would require her to come back to the company. It was also clear that she hadn’t exactly made up her mind yet. Which made it the perfect angle for you to exploit.

When you worked out the final details last night, you agreed that the following morning Rhys would send Lockwood a text on Kate’s behalf. Conveniently, the cloning software would make sure that those new texts couldn’t be seen on Kate’s phone, essentially taking over the entire text chain. You had no clue how the technology worked exactly, but Rhys ensured you it was sound. He had been right before about the police not investigating more thoroughly whether Roald had really offed himself or not, so you were quick to also trust him on this.

Around nine this morning, both of you silently sipping a freshly brewed cup of coffee, Rhys had picked up his phone to formulate a short text that would set everything in motion.

Dad, we need to talk — alone. Workshop tonight?

You’d managed to figure out where they’d last met when Lockwood had proposed his offer to Kate. It was at a privately owned hangar outside of London in Westerham, where Lockwood kept his private plane alongside a few leisure aircrafts he was apparently refurbishing himself. Honestly, the hobbies the rich would pick up were beyond you. But you didn’t care. The location was perfect. It was secluded and would provide you with the privacy you needed.

Not even five minutes after Rhys had pressed send, his phone pinged. You’d both leaned in to read the incoming text. Course hon. I’ll have Hugo fuel the plane and cancel my meetings this afternoon.

You’d simultaneously looked at each other, smirking at the response. “That was easy,” you’d said, vigorously ignoring how close you and Rhys were as you hovered over the phone that laid on the kitchen island between you.

Later, Rhys had received another text stating that Lockwood would land on the airstrip adjacent to the hangar around eight o’clock that night. Rhys confirmed that you’d be there. Or that ‘Kate’ would be there.

You checked the time on the dashboard when Rhys slowed down to a stop near the hangar’s entrance, parking out of sight — 07.09 PM. Fantastic.

You shared a look. His predatory eyes wordlessly letting you know he was prepared to finally put an end to this pending purgatory in which you both found yourselves. One where you didn’t know whether a Lockwood induced threat was lurking behind every corner. You nodded at Rhys, prompting you both to turn and exit the vehicle and get to work.

––

Your gloved fingers delicately traced the black and white checkered wing of one of Lockwood’s planes. The smooth and cool surface helped you focus. You willed your heart rate to keep beating steadily, even though the adrenaline was spiking through your veins. The clock hanging on the back wall of the hangar told you it was ten minutes past eight. You’d heard the engine sounds of an approaching plane a little before eight. Which meant Lockwood could come barging through the door anytime now.

The hangar contained four small planes in total, all of them in an inoperable state. But that made sense, seeing as Lockwood was refurbishing them himself. There were cabinets filled with equipment lining the back walls and randomly placed lamps throughout the hangar. You’d turned on some of those lights, creating grotesque shadows on the walls. Two large work benches were also present, one of which was placed next to the plane you were currently circling.

You heard the tell-tale sound of boots on concrete nearing you. The CEO was used to commanding any room he stepped into, therefore there wasn’t a single reason why Lockwood should be delicate or quiet in his steps. His stupid miscalculation gave you the advantage here. Of course he would be expecting his daughter, but nevertheless — he really should’ve been more careful and aware altogether. Perhaps it would’ve kept him from unsuspectingly walking straight towards the gallows tonight.

You slipped on an impenetrable mask, walking around the tail end of the plane to emerge from behind it. Lockwood was there. His steps slightly faltered when he saw you but he quickly recovered, coming to a standstill a safe distance away from you.

“Hello, Tom,” you greeted.

Lockwood eyed you up and down, trying to figure out why and how you were here. “Y/N,” he murmured, his eyebrows furrowing. He definitely hadn’t expected you.

“You dare to show your face here?”

You shrugged coyly, not giving him an answer.

“Where’s Kate?” Lockwood quietly asked.

“Kate?” You repeated, feigning confusion. “That’s your daughter, right? I don’t know, Tom. You tell me.”

You smirked when you noticed him clenching his fists, nostrils flaring.

“I’d be very careful now, if I were you.”

The unmistakable alfa mentality inside of him quickly rose to the surface as he slowly started making his way over to you. You remained where you were, casually leaning against his little toy plane.

“Oh, yeah? Why’s that?” You said, watching him approach you with an amused expression.

“Because you obviously haven’t truly found out what I am capable of,” Lockwood spoke in a steady voice, but with a hint of danger lurking underneath.

You unflinchingly stared him down, not breaking eye contact. But out of the corner of your eye, you spotted an agile shadow stealthily moving closer to where Lockwood was gaining on you. Or thinking he was. You tried keeping up the illusion for as long as you could.

“I suppose that makes two of us.”

Lockwood’s scowl deepened but he was so focused on you, he didn’t anticipate another person coming up behind him. Before Lockwood was close enough to pose any real threat to you, Rhys had jumped him from behind. Lockwood cried out in surprise at the strong arm Rhys coiled around his neck, instantly putting pressure on his windpipe. Lockwood’s feet scratched the floor, hands clawing at Rhys’ arm obstructing the oxygen flow to Lockwood’s respiratory system.

His erratic movements eventually slowed and soon his eyes fluttered shut. Rhys gradually lowered Lockwood’s unconscious body to the floor, making sure he was really out.

Rhys straightened, haughtily glancing down at Lockwood who was currently laying not so comfortably on the concrete floor. He lifted his head half-way, looking at you with a wicked smile playing on his lips. “Now the real work begins.”

And with that you turned to your separate tasks which you had divided beforehand. You retreated to where Rhys had stayed in the shadows waiting for the opportune moment to strike. You picked up the two duffle bags filled with supplies, walking them over to the work bench next to the plane you’d been inspecting, and started unpacking them.

Rhys took care of spreading out the large plastic tarps you’d gotten at a DIY store in Chelsea, as well as cuffing Lockwood to the chair he’d placed in the middle of the now tarp-covered floor.

Seeing as he’d gotten most of that covered, you stated you would start doing your outside sweep to check where Lockwood’s men were. You quietly slipped out the door, furtively glancing left and right. The sun was setting but it was still light enough that you had to be extra careful.

Keeping to the exterior walls of the hangar, you quickly spotted Lockwood’s black car. His driver was leaning against the front. He was smoking and looking beyond bored. The head of Lockwood’s security was occupied with hastily scrolling through his phone, absentmindedly nodding at his two men who announced they were going to get a cup of coffee, quietly complaining about the long day they’d already had.

You’ll definitely be needing that coffee, chaps. Because the day is nowhere near over, you smugly thought to yourself.

When you re-entered the hangar, Rhys was standing in front of where a still unconscious Lockwood sat cuffed to a chair. He seemed to be very much engrossed with thumbing through a tiny black notebook.

“Outside’s secure.”

“Very good,” Rhys acknowledged without looking up.

You walked up to him, curiously glancing over his shoulder, trying but failing to make out what he was reading. Rhys lifted his head to face you, the corners of his slightly parted lips quirking upwards.

“Took this from Lockwood,” he explained. “Don’t know. Might be something useful in here.”

You frowned, analysing the almost illegible gibberish on the page Rhys held up to you to inspect. “If you say so.”

Rhys abruptly shut the notebook, putting it into his pocket. “Let’s wake him up, shall we?”

You turned to face Lockwood as Rhys calmly strode over. Rhys raised his right hand and forcefully brought it down, slapping Lockwood in the face. Hard.

Lockwood started coughing and blinking profusely, pulling against his restraints. It took him a moment to fully come to his senses. But you clocked it the moment his world came back into focus, Lockwood’s eyes instantaneously widening when he noticed Rhys Montrose standing in front of him. How fast would Lockwood piece it together that he tried to assassinate a serial killer?

“What is the meaning of all this?” He asked cautiously.

“Quid pro quo,” Rhys answered. “You tried to come after me, so I’m simply returning the favour.”

“Where’s Kate?” Lockwood repeated his earlier question, looking up at Rhys with a hardened expression. You were almost touched at his sincere concern for her. Almost.

“Oh, don’t worry. Kate’s safely tucked away. Although, she’s a feisty one. I’ll give you that,” Rhys chuckled darkly.

Rhys’ malicious comment made Lockwood involuntarily pull on his restraints once more.

You didn’t have Kate. She was likely home, perhaps even enjoying a romantic evening with Jonathan. Nevertheless, Lockwood fortunately bought Rhys’ bluff, which would provide Rhys with the edge he needed. As long as Lockwood believed his daughter was in danger, he would most certainly cooperate.

“What do you want?” Lockwood grumbled, his eyes flickering with what could only be described as pained defeat.

You chose that moment to sit down on the table where you’d spread out all of your things. You folded your arms over your chest, content to just watch Rhys interrogate Lockwood by himself. It was quite entertaining so far.

“Straight to the point, I like it,” Rhys began, his tone casual. “It’s real simple, Tom. I want answers. Why did you order my hit?”

Lockwood scoffed. “What? You’re telling me you haven’t figured it out yet?”

Rhys didn’t take the bait, feigning ignorance. “Evidently. So, spill.”

“It’s really nothing personal. Our political interests just aren’t aligned.”

You sensed that wasn’t all, and Rhys seemingly picked up on that as well. He moved languidly across the room, silently making it clear who had the upper hand in the situation.

“Right. Marcus Atkinson. My supposed main rival in the election,” Rhys hummed thoughtfully. “You’re backing him. But is that really all?”

This moment was critical, so you carefully analysed his body language. Lockwood froze for only a couple of nanoseconds, but it was long enough for the both of you to have caught it. Rhys briefly glanced at where you were sitting, his eyes sharpening.

“It’s him, isn’t it?” Rhys asked. “You’re not just backing him. You are working together.”

Rhys marched back over to where Lockwood was sitting, looking more pitiful by the second.

“I must admit I had my suspicions. It would be really fucking convenient to have London’s next mayor residing deep within your pocket. Yet somehow, I couldn’t quite imagine that dodgy wanker, pathetic excuse of a man to be capable of cold-blooded murder. But it seems he proved me wrong. You both did.”

Lockwood kept his mouth shut, not providing Rhys with any type of verbal confirmation. Not that it was needed. You could read the admission on his face as clear as day. However, it wasn’t enough for Rhys.

“All right, let’s see what we’re actually dealing with here. And please interrupt me if I’m spewing nonsense, Tom,” Rhys said, rolling back his shoulders.

“You conspired with Atkinson to have me killed so that it would significantly increase his chances of winning the upcoming election. Preferably before I would announce my own candidacy, because that would complicate things, no?” Rhys speculated.

“Which was why you rushed the hit. And when things didn’t go as planned, Atkinson hastened his own announcement and you fled the country like the bloody coward you are. Scared of what Atkinson’s reaction would be when he would find out you failed to deliver. Am I close?”

When Lockwood still refused to answer him, Rhys forcefully planted his hands on Lockwood’s forearms, his face hovering mere inches from Lockwood’s.

“Am I close?” He repeated menacingly.

Lockwood tried leaning away from Rhys as far as possible, slowly nodding as his eyes found yours. You regarded him suspiciously, what would the infamous Tom Lockwood’s next play be now that he was cornered. Only one single objective came to mind.

You wanted to roll your eyes when not even a second later, Lockwood indeed opted to go down that road.

“Tell me what you want. It’s yours,” Lockwood spoke, looking back to Rhys.

Rhys straightened, clearly amused. “What is it you think I want?”

“Power. Money. I can ensure you a victorious election.”

“You really think you can buy anything, don’t you?” Rhys laughed incredulously. “Well, I’ve got some news for you. I can accomplish all of that perfectly on my own.”

“On your own, huh? What about the lovely lady waiting over there? What about her? Will you tire of her as quickly as you did your last wife?”

Rhys didn’t sway, he merely walked around Lockwood’s chair. He was grasping at straws and you all knew it, including himself.

“Let me be frank. Since you will be dead in,” Rhys paused, glancing at his watch. “About ten minutes. Maybe less.”

Rhys stopped circling Lockwood, standing behind him as he put his hand over Lockwood’s right shoulder. “There’s absolutely nothing you can do to stop us from killing you. No amount of money. No faulty promises. Nothing.”

An eerie grin slowly crept onto Lockwood’s face. It almost made you want to shiver. What was he up to now?

“What about securing a future?” He asked, turning to look straight at you. “For Zoe and Sadie.”

The mention of your sisters caused an immediate surge of protectiveness to overtake you. A small part of you filed away the confirmation that he knew exactly who he was dealing with. But the majority of you was preoccupied with examining the best way to gauge out his eyes.

You jumped off the table, ready to punch him in the face. But before you could, Rhys stepped in front of Lockwood, obscuring your view so Lockwood wouldn’t be able to see you. Rhys moved his right hand and from the immediate gasping sound that followed, you were pretty sure it was firmly gripping Lockwood’s throat.

“Utter another word and I will—”

The sound of a door slamming in the distance interrupted Rhys’ threats. He turned to face you, allowing you to take notice of Rhys’ hand nearly turning white from the force with which he was brutally choking Lockwood. You’d gladly let him end it right then and there, but it seemed you’d received an unwanted visitor.

“Mr. Lockwood,” you heard an unfamiliar voice echo through the hangar.

“Hugo,” Lockwood heaved.

Rhys promptly shifted his hand from Lockwood’s throat to cover the lower part of his face. Not allowing him to make another sound as Rhys moved to stand behind him.

Instinctively you reached for the knife laying next to you. You and Rhys shared one look, silently communicating your intentions as you nodded once, moving out of sight to crouch behind one of the many planes.

Lockwood again tried to warn his most trusted employee but the sounds were muffled by Rhys’ hand clasped strongly over his mouth. Rhys carefully leaned down to Lockwood’s right ear. “Quiet now,” he shushed.

“I’m sorry, sir. I know you said not to disturb you, but the chief justice has been trying you.”

This Hugo lad rounded the corner. He halted when he took in the sight before him. You didn’t waste another second, using his hesitancy to come out of the shadows and swiftly slide across the floor to slice open one of his ankles. Hugo yelped out in surprise, dropping the plastic bag he was holding to the floor. You jumped up from your kneeled position and forcefully grabbed a fistful of his hair, forcing his head backwards. Without hesitating you brought the knife up to his throat, deeply cutting from ear to ear.

Blood sputtered out in front of him, causing Hugo to make nasty gurgling noises. He was essentially choking on his own blood. Hugo moved his hands to his throat in a pathetic last attempt to stop the bleeding, but to no avail. At last, the noises stopped and you felt gravity trying to pull his lifeless body to the ground.

You exhaled harshly, letting go of Hugo’s head which immediately made his body drop to the tarp-covered floor. Thank god you’d decided to widely spread out the plastic tarp around Lockwood in case of pesky blood spatter.

Lockwood. The thought of him made you look up. You noticed his bulging eyes as he evidently couldn’t take his eyes off of Hugo’s now dead body. Your gaze strayed to the man standing behind him, the one who still had his hand clasped over Lockwood’s mouth.

Rhys was already staring at you with what could only be described as naked adoration. “Well, aren’t you a sight to behold,” he spoke affectionately.

“Oh, yeah?” You sighed. “I’m not very pleased about this. Now we’ve got an extra body to bury.”

“All the more reason to get a move on. We’ve got the information we need,” Rhys said, referring to what Lockwood had disclosed on Atkinson, Rhys’ main political rival, and him being his partner in crime. Rhys moved away from Lockwood to walk towards your little table set-up. When he passed Hugo’s corpse, Rhys shot him one disdainful glance, pursing his lips slightly. He was just as annoyed as you were at this minor inconvenience, but he adapted quickly. And so would you.

Like Rhys had pointed out in the car ride over, your well-crafted plan may not turn out exactly how you envisioned it would go down. Which is why you were prepared for an additional body or two as collateral damage. Still, neither of you were exactly pleased with the extra work.

Lockwood caught your eye, regaining his equilibrium after the cold and efficient murder you just committed right before his eyes. You cocked your head to the side, staring back at him without a hint of emotion.

“I meant what I said about your sisters. I can help you,” Lockwood promised. Not this again.

You scoffed. “Help me with what exactly? Killing you is the one thing that’ll guarantee their safety.”

“You think they’re safe? Safe with him?” Lockwood derided, nodding at Rhys. “Really? From what I gather this isn’t the first time he’s done this. Do you really want to expose them to a monster?”

“Don’t let him get inside your head, Y/N,” Rhys warned, his back turned to you as he rummaged through your supplies.

“Oh, fear not. He won’t,” you said, your cold eyes never leaving Lockwood’s desperate ones. “Apparently he still can’t grasp the fact that I’m just as much a monster as you.”

“Oh, but that’s not true,” Lockwood opposed. “I can save you. From him. From yourself.”

“How exactly?”

“I’ve got the power to do so. That’s what money can do. If you let Kate go, I can and will help you get the life you’ve always dreamed of for yourself and your family.”

You furrowed your brows. Was he honestly this delusional? The last desperate outcry of a fallen man.

“I’ve had more than enough of this,” Rhys sneered, unexpectedly turning around, holding the duct tape he’d just retrieved from the duffle bag.

He steadfastly strode over to where Lockwood was still securely tied up, bending down swiftly to pick up the plastic bag Hugo had dropped to the floor when you’d sliced his ankle. Rhys unceremoniously emptied its contents, not sparing it a single look.

Without warning, he closed the final distance to Lockwood who was staring up at him with a steely-eyed expression. Rhys didn’t give him another opportunity to steer you with pity promises, or even to contemplate his own horrific fate. No, he savagely placed the plastic bag over Lockwood’s head, winding the duct tape around his neck so no oxygen could reach him.

Lockwood started convulsing frantically. His primal instincts kicked in, but the restraints obstructed him from being able to rip the smothering bag off of his head. His actions caused the metal of the chair to clank loudly against the concrete. He was screaming incoherently but neither of you made an effort to listen to the exact words of his pleas. You watched him battle for air, but it was a foregone conclusion that Lockwood would not prevail.

In the end, it didn’t take long. He suffocated slowly but surely and by the time his body had stopped violently jerking, you paradoxically felt like you were the one who could finally draw a full breath again.

You carefully stepped over Hugo’s body when you walked up to Rhys, similarly to how you had done after killing Roald. You impassively regarded the heinous scene before you.

“For the record, it’s not what I want,” you whispered, because you inherently felt it needed to be said. To counter whatever Lockwood had suggested you needed or wanted. You breathed in as you moved to softly stroke your index finger against the back of Rhys’ hand in a reassuring manner, emphasising your words.

Rhys looked up at you. You knew he understood what you meant as he entwined his index finger briefly with yours. He shot you the gentlest of smiles, one nobody would expect a sociopathic killer to be capable of.

You closed your eyes at your little moment and sighed in relief. Finally, the peace and quiet could return.

There was only more thing you needed to do before you could finally get rid of Lockwood’s ugly face. And that was to cut off his hands. It was the penultimate step in your plan.

During your night of absolute candour, you’d come up with something that would have Jonathan stay quiet for the foreseeable future. You explained to Rhys how taking Lockwood’s hand, the one fashioning his over-priced watch, and sending it to Jonathan would send a clear message once and for all. That you were the ones pulling the strings and that Jonathan would do well to adhere to your demands.

Rhys had eagerly approved of your idea, cheekily adding how it would be fitting to deliver Lockwood’s hand in a nice little fruit basket. It was supposed to be a gift after all. Jonathan would no longer have to worry about disposing of anyone else for Rhys. He just had to keep his fucking mouth shut. Plain and simple.

You’d decided to take both of Lockwood’s hands though. Keeping the other just in case. Perhaps you would have a need for it in the future.

“Do you wanna do the honours?” Rhys asked from beside you. In answer, you lifted the knife you were still gripping, wordlessly getting to work.

You briefly thought back to what Zoe had said to you after you returned from Canada. How she could never imagine cutting up a body. You could only be glad she wasn’t here to witness this. To watch you quietly relish when you started cutting through Lockwood’s flesh and bone.

Once both his hands were cleanly cut off, you placed them into the small cool box you’d brought for this exact reason. Meanwhile Rhys had put on his own pair of gloves and had already unclasped the cuffs on Lockwood’s ankles. He had laid him down on the floor, working on rolling Lockwood’s body up in the plastic tarp. You went to help him efficiently pack up the body in the tarp.

Once you were done with Lockwood, you turned towards the other body still on display. The blood had substantially pooled around Hugo’s body. It was a bloody mess. Literally.

Rhys walked back towards your little station and fished out Lockwood’s things, including that stupid little notebook again, which left you to deal with Hugo.

As you were binding the tarp around Hugo’s feet, securing it tightly with duct tape around his ankles, you heard Rhys chuckle from where he was hunched over Lockwood’s personal effects. “God, love a man who thinks he’s smarter than everybody else.”

“What?” You breathed, wiping the sweat off your brow when you straightened. It was getting quite stuffy in here.

“Remember Lockwood’s notebook? I figured out what it’s for. It contains an encryption key for the classified banking information on his phone. We can basically make him sponsor his own murder. Isn’t that just brilliant?” Rhys said delightfully chipper, swiftly turning around to face you.

“And here I was thinking you were letting me do the dirty work whilst you’re simply pretending to be busy,” you sighed, putting your hands on your hips.

“You slit his throat, Y/N. I didn’t. It’s only fair for you to clean up after yourself,” he said with a mock serious expression.

You clicked your tongue, dropping your shoulders in annoyance. “You’re fucking insufferable.”

At your quip, cracks started to penetrate his well-managed poker face, the dimples in his cheeks involuntarily appearing. You couldn’t help but also cave when his infectious smile had at last fully taken over his previous serious facade.

“What can I do to help?” Rhys asked, chuckling as he dropped the notebook to the table and walked over to where you were standing in between two corpses.

“They’re all wrapped up. Help me move them to the car,” you instructed, already turning towards Hugo’s feet.

“Yes, my dearest,” Rhys inclined his head, bending down to take hold of Hugo’s shoulders and effortlessly lift him up.

You immediately quashed the sinful thoughts rushing to the forefront of your mind at Rhys’ display of strength. Hauling a corpse wasn’t an easy task. Nevertheless, these thoughts were far from productive, not to mention highly inappropriate for the current situation. You ignored the irony of having your moral compass only engaging now to scold you on what would be improper behaviour after literally killing someone.

You and Rhys quietly carried the two men to his car, one by one. Even though the sun had fully set, the moon the only source of light, you were still careful. Continuously pausing to listen for any sounds of approaching footsteps or vehicles.

Once the bodies were bundled up in the boot, you returned to the hangar one final time. You packed up the last of your supplies in the duffle bags whilst Rhys was once more keenly looking through Lockwood’s notebook. He then also took out Lockwood’s phone and entered a series of numbers. Finally, Rhys checked his own phone.

He sent you a triumphant smile, not saying anything else, before stashing the notebook and both of the phones into his pockets. Rhys moved towards you, picking up both of the duffle bags, leaving you to carry the cool box containing Lockwood’s hands.

Not even ten minutes later, you were well on your way to where you would say farewell to Tom Lockwood once and for all.

––

A few hours had passed and you were back in the city, impatiently tapping your foot against the pavement as you waited for Rhys to deliver your gift to Jonathan’s doorstep.

A quiet yawn escaped you. It had been a long fucking day. You briefly wondered how those two bodyguards were doing. Hopefully the coffee succeeded in keeping them awake. Then again, their boss had just vanished into thin air. That stress may very well serve as an effective substitute for caffeine.

You looked up when Rhys re-emerged from Jonathan’s building, appearing completely at ease as he casually sauntered over to you with his hands in his jacket pockets.

Lockwood’s hand and watch amidst oranges, kiwis and other types of delicious fruits, wouldn’t be the only surprise Jonathan would find in the morning. You and Rhys had already come up with a nice little text to accompany your gift. A message that would make it very clear to Jonathan that he’d better lay off.

You pushed yourself off the wall you’d been leaning against, wiping down your trousers. Rhys came to a standstill in front of you, making you look up into his dazzling blue eyes. He really did seem more relaxed. Although you had to admit that you also felt a sizeable portion of stress lifted from your shoulders. You were likely sporting a similar lightened and unburdened expression.

Rhys offered you his arm and you took it without a second thought. “Now that everything’s settled and in order. Wanna get takeout from that Chinese place you like?”

You mentally groaned. Of course Rhys knew about your ritual to grab some takeout after a hit. You shot him an exasperated look but Rhys simply laughed at your attempt to jokingly scold him, already guiding you to his car to take you to the hole in the wall that was conveniently opened 24/7.

You secretly smiled to yourself — you could definitely get used to this.

––––

A/N: So, Lockwood is officially out of the picture. Sorry not sorry for the crazy long chapter, but ah well… Apparently, I get easily carried away when crafting a fictional murder scene. I might need help.

Now that this little plotline is nicely tied up, part 14 will mark the beginning of the next arc in this story. And I for one cannot wait ;)

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