#i hope he’s taking care of himself and i hope he knows he’s allowed as much time to process as he needs

[saltinyourwound]

let me (nam-gyu)

nam-gyu x gn!reader, 1.9k words, angst, fluff, smut

synopsis: you know your roommate, nam-gyu, has been struggling, and you offer him help him out in a… different way

warnings: smut!, illusions to drug abuse(nothing in detail), sub!nam-gyu, softdom!reader, handjob, really nothing too crazy, might be a little ooc nam-gyu

note: hi! this is weird for me because i haven’t posted my writing in years, but i wanted to share this because of the lack of squid game writing on here <3 i’m unsure whether i’ll post anything else, but i hope you enjoy nonetheless :)

—

sighing under the steaming hot water, you allowed your shoulders to relax for what seemed to be the first time all week. finally, it was friday, and your work week was over. finally, you had your break from your crappy 9-5 where you could feel your body rotting by the minute.

you wanted to quit, of course, but this job was the only thing keeping a roof over your head when you had to pay your share of the rent, and you knew surely your roommate wouldn’t be able to pay it by himself.

your roommate— nam-gyu— was not necessarily the ideal man to live with. you had your fair share of him stumbling into the apartment intoxicated, or him and his friends yelling obscenely at late hours. however, your past roommate had left without warning to move in with her boyfriend, and you were left scrambling.

thankfully, your friend se-mi, introduced you to nam-gyu, a man working at a club who had just been evicted from his last place for reasons he would never care to share. you had assumed it was something to do with the suspicious look in his eyes when he would come home in the middle of the night, sporting a chatty, boyish demeanor that clashed greatly with his typical standoffish and sarcastic personality. however, he never let you see what he actually took, murmuring something about it being “not anything someone like you should worry about”.

nam-gyu left you perplexed most of the time. of course, you were frustrated with him as a roommate, but there was times when you wished he would let you in as a friend. you knew nam-gyu wasn’t a bad guy. he kept his space clean and feed the stray cats outside of your apartment complex. he showed up at a moment’s notice when his friend called him after he was badly injured in a fight. however, he didn’t allow you to see when you knew he was struggling, even when you could hear his pained sobs he tried to muffle through the thin walls. you really had no basis to act on, but you knew that you wanted to support him.

with a groan, you turned off the running water and stepped out of the shower. tonight, there was nothing you could do about the pesky situation with your roommate, as you knew he had probably already left for his evening shift at the club. you wrapped a towel around your body and began your walk to your bedroom to get changed, but you gasped when you nearly bumped into another person.

“you scared the hell out of me!” you exclaimed, hand on your chest as you stared wide-eyed at the man in front of you.

“woah, shit, sorry. didn’t mean to scare you.” nam-gyu laughed, holding both of his hands up in surrender.

“what are you doing here, not at work?” you asked, shaking your head slightly to rid yourself of the shock in your lungs.

“ah, i got that one new guy to take my shift. i wasn’t in the mood to deal with shitty customers today.” he explained, stress evident in his tone. he rubbed his hands on his face before actually taking a second to look at you. when he realized your still damp body was only covered by a towel, his breath hitched in his throat, and he quickly adverted his gaze with pink ears.

“okay,” you paused with suspicion, eyeing nam-gyu in front of you. “just— are you going to have people over tonight? ‘cause i really don’t want to deal with so much noise.”

“nah, i won’t.” nam-gyu still wouldn’t meet your eyes.

“alright, cool. i’ll be in my room if you need me,” you replied, relieved, and made your way past him towards your room to get changed. nam-gyu froze in place as you walked past, squeezing his hands into fists at the smell of your body wash. he rubbed he face once again, before making a beeline towards his room, abandoning the soda he was about to grab in the fridge.

—

once changed into a comfortable loose tee and pair of sleep shorts, you collapsed into your bed, letting out a sigh. it didn’t take long, however, for you to reluctantly roll your body up due to the empty feeling in your stomach. you hadn’t eaten since your lunch break, but the idea of cooking made your shoulders sag down.

you figured your week was hard enough that you deserved take-out. you also figured that nam-gyu likely hadn’t eaten anything since you left your leftover lunch in the fridge yesterday— you had known he wouldn’t cook something himself and managed to cook too much once again anyways.

after allowing your feet to guide you down the unfamiliar track to nam-gyu’s bedroom, your hand froze in place hearing what sounded like.. your name? you held your breath at the sound, leaning closer to the door. it was, most definitely, your name being called— or really, more so whined, accompanied by soft gasps and erratic breathing.

was nam-gyu…crying? you remembered your thoughts earlier, and your heart felt pained at the idea. you considered your options. you could let nam-gyu struggle, possibly risking him doing something he would regret, or you could try and offer him help. or he could scream at you for intruding and never speak to you again.

you can’t keep allowing him to suffer alone, you reasoned with yourself and slowly turned the doorknob, but what you were meeting with was not a sobbing nam-gyu.

instead, the man lay on his bed with his eyes screwed shut and mouth slacked open, with one hand clutching his bedsheets and the other.. fisted around his cock at a nonforgiving pace. the very sight made you gasp, causing nam-gyu’s eyes to shoot open in your direction.

“holy shit!” he exclaimed, quickly pulling his blanket to cover himself.

you clapped your hands over your eyes, “fuck, i’m sorry!”

you heard nam-gyu swearing to himself quietly, and everything in you wanted to run back to your room in embarrassment, but something kept your feet planted to the ground. slowly, you peeled your hand from your eyes, looking at nam-gyu once more.

his entire body was flushed, and the shocked yet dazed in his eyes made your breath quicken. “i— why are you just standing there?!” he implored, eyes flicking over your face.

“you… were saying my name, right?” you ask breathlessly, and nam-gyu went rigid.

“what? no! no, no, no, of course not i was just—”

“you don’t have to lie.” you took a step closer.

“no, i— i wasn’t i swear. you’re my fucking roommate i wouldn’t—”o“really?” you cut him off again, analyzing his stressed expression. the furrowed eyebrows, sweaty skin, glossy eyes. “huh. i wish you were, though.”

“huh!? what do you— are you fucking with me?”

“no. i wish you were whimpering my name while you jack off.” your voice was uncharacteristically level, yet your heart was beating out of your chest. you couldn’t, however, let this opportunity pass. the idea of him wanting you excited you to no end, and it certainly helped that he looked so pretty like this.

“are you serious?” nam-gyu whispered, trying to detect if you were lying.

“of course. you don’t have to say yes but, i could.. help you out, if you wanted me to...”

all it took was a breathy “please..” for you to join nam-gyu on his bed. slowly, you eased his covers off of him, taking in the sight that transfixed you. his cock was pretty, with a flushed tip and a dribble of pre leaking out of it. what arosed you more, though, was his tear filled eyes and quivering lips.

“you’re entirely sure you want this?” you confirmed.

“yes, god, please. ‘want you more than anything.”

your thighs clenched together at his words. not taking your eyes off of his own, you wrapped your hand around the base of his length, and started to slowly move it up and down. nam-gyu let out a whine at the touch, his eyes casting to the ceiling.

your thumb swiped across his tip before continuing your movements. “doin’ so well, ‘gyu. keep looking at me, yeah?” you could sense how heavily your words effected nam-gyu with how much louder he became.

“‘s so good. fuck, you’re so good. ‘been thinking about this f’so long”

your eyes shot open in surprise. “really? how long, baby?”

“since i fucking meet you. fucking hell when i saw you, ah, in that towel i almost came right there”

your eyes rolled back at his words. he had always wanted you? while you were worried out of your mind about his well-being, he was undressing you in his mind? “fuck..” you murmured, feeling your own breath start to become rushed.

nam-gyu’s whines and groans turned into moans as you kept at your pace. you felt transfixed as your other hand traced his collarbone, feeling his erratic heartbeat in the center of his flushed chest. you knew that your heartbeat matched.

you could tell in the way his cock twitched and his body shook that nam-gyu was close. what made your breath hitch, though, was his own hand snaking up his chest to lace with your own, desperately. as if the touch was what he needed.

“shit, i’m—” nam-gyu came with a gasp, his chest heaving under your hands entwined, where he squeezed your hand with intensity.

“fuck, so good f’me..” you murmured, transfixed on the sight, your thumb rubbing circles on his hand with care.

nam-gyu opened his eyes with caution. “holy shit..” he breathed out, a pretty serene trace in his features that fought with the confusion he still had. “why did you—?”

you felt oddly struck with emotion. your hand tightened around his. “…i wanted to. i want to.. be here. with you. i’m— i’m sorry this is sappy at the wrong time but— i’ve been thinking about you for so long. please— let me be here..? you can use me however you want. even if it’s just a shitty handjob, i want to—”

“stop.” fear and embarrassment clogged up your chest. just as you we going to start apologizing, nam-gyu slowly brought your hand to his mouth, leaving a shaky kiss that left your skin sparkling in its wake. “i want you too. i’ve always wanted you. more than fucking sex. i—i’ve been scared as hell lately about everything but you.. you make me want to try.”

you felt speechless.

“i’m an asshole and you— you don’t deserve that. but,” nam-gyu had a pleading look in his eyes as he sat up, other hand cupping your warm cheek, “i want you. let me prove it.”

you couldn’t hold back yourself from letting the space between you close, groaning quietly as you felt his lips soft on yours. you felt his sincerity. you hadn’t before realized the care you held for nam-gyu had manifested into something so strong, but you felt a wash of relief as you let yourself bathe in the honesty that had bubbled out from between the two of you.

nam-gyu was first to pull away, and he looked at you with care and urgency in his eyes, “tomorrow i’ll take you out on a date. we— fuck— can figure everything out then, but right now i need more of you.”

“then take me.”

[nmakii]

everything is blue!

— what colors do kunigami + bachira + kaiser + rin + nagi + otoya + nanase love in?

u guys can argue that they see love differently, but i j thought this was cute. tried another format for this btw lmk wyt

the deep maroon shade of the roses he buys for you; the scarlet stains you leave on his lips. rensuke kunigami sees love in red. yes, it’s pretty boring— maybe even expected from a good guy like him. but, it’s what he grew up associating love with, so why should anyone expect anything different from him? his scars and cuts all bleed red, the color of his love for you. it’s a fiery color that expresses all of his affections and desire to be your one and only in one simple shade. every piercing sun rise that overwhelms the gloomy dark sky with a burning red as he takes his morning jog reminds him of his passion for you. it also reminds him to work out, just so he’s strong enough to be your man— someone who’s strong enough to keep you safe from the world’s troubles, and be your hero. every valentine’s day, the corridors of his school are filled with red cut out hearts, and the only thing he can think about is you; the owner of his heart and body. to kunigami, red is love, and love is you.

the gentle flutter of a monarch butterfly landing on your nose after the two of you went butterfly catching; the orange juice that spills on to the plate after you had asked him to peel your orange. meguru bachira sees love in orange. he’s never had a friend he can trust will stay before. so when he falls for you, he falls hard and fast. no one else besides his mother has understood what he meant by his monster. so, it left him unbelievably jaw-dropped and star-struck when you told him of a similar monster that haunted you. his eyes shone a bright marigold to learn more about you and your monster; an imaginary friend that made life just as exciting for you as his has made soccer fun for him. all of a sudden, all he could think about was you, and how much he wanted to know everything about you. his mind— once filled with only hope for the next day to come, so that he could play more soccer, was suddenly overflowing with excitement for the next time he could talk to you again. just imagine— the lonely, weird kid finally meeting his match. but hey, misery loves company, right? who cares if the world is against him? fitting in would be too boring anyways. he’d rather have one person who understands him, than a world that supports him. they say that the color orange isn’t rare in nature. but, it isn’t common either. the same could be said for bachira. people who tolerate and accept him such as isagi, nagi, or aryu are a dime a dozen amongst geniuses such as himself. but, to find someone like you who can understand his eccentricity and what he means below the surface-level— you’re his one of a kind gem. one that’s his, and his alone.

the champagne blonde strands of hair that flow through your fingers; the gold rays of sun that shone on his skin after another win as he ran to the stands to kiss you. michael kaiser sees love in yellow. he really didn’t expect to fall in love with you. he kept trying to push you away by any means— undermining you, ignoring you, even physically pushing you away! but, your stubborn ass never got the point, and just thought that he’s always like that. that’s how he treats ness after all, so he just teases people he likes! your persistence eventually wore off his walls, and he finally allowed himself to be vulnerable. he finally let you into his life, and against his better judgment, told you about his mental scars. now, you were simply just too dangerous of a person to push away now, he’s told you far too much. well… he doesn’t see himself pushing you away anytime soon though. he’s found himself to be much more fond of your presence. when he’s with you, everything feels okay. he doesn’t question if he’s worthy of all this happiness— you make him forget all of it. after the cold winter of his childhood, spring has finally came. it’s why he buys you daffodils, instead of the roses he loves so much. while roses, blue ones, represent the impossible becoming reality, daffodils represent a new beginning— one where he hopefully doesn’t need to cling relentlessly to the past to evolve, and instead evolves to become a man you can proudly say you’re dating.

the sound of your footsteps on a football field after he practiced into the night for the nth time; the cute cactus plushie he won for you after you told him how cute it was. rin itoshi sees love in green. he knows that after his big brother abandoned him, he hasn’t been the kindest of people. which is why he was so confused as to why you still stayed. you were amazing— you could certainly have any other guy. but, you still wanted him! why is that? why do you want sae itoshi’s stupid little brother? after another night of questioning himself, he’s found his answer when you talk him through his emotions, and help him sort out his problems. it was because you actually cared for him. you knew rin isn’t as indifferent as he pretend to be. there was more to him than that. but, he’s wrapped that part of himself in chains and spikes, making sure he doesn’t get hurt again. he wasn’t sure if he could ever love the same way again. but, just as a plant needs tender care to grow, he needs you to be patient with him to let him heal and carefully take down the walls he built ever so meticulously.

the denim jeans you wear when he takes a nap on your lap; the stone color of the usually bright sky when it rains, which makes you have to stay the night in his apartment again. seishiro nagi sees love in blue. just like how he can rely on the sun to rise again the next day, nagi knows that he can always rely on you to be honest with him. his trust with you runs deeper than skin and bones. he knows he isn’t the most ideal boyfriend, he’s always afraid that you might leave him for someone who’s more outgoing with him one day. but, he always manages to remind himself that you’d tell him if he was lackluster in a certain way. but just because you’re saying he’s doing nothing wrong, it doesn’t mean he’s gonna remain the same lazy genius. for you, he’ll always try to improve and evolve to be someone whom you can rely on as well. like the bright blue sky that wakes everyone up in the morning every day without fail, nagi will never forget the moment you jumped into his life and promised that you’d stay until the end of times.

the bright mauve lights in the karaoke room whilst the two of you sang ‘i wanna dance with somebody’ by whitney houston; the vibrant violet takis bag carelessly dropped on the floor after the two of you fell asleep marathoning the harry potter series during the weekend. eita otoya sees love in purple. even though he was quite the lover-boy, he found relationships quite exhausting. having to date a high maintenance girl that needed to constantly go on dates and be given gifts was something that killed his vibe; very unenjoyable. so, he enjoyed it when he finally found you; someone who didn’t need the high life to have a good time. whether it’s the both of you speeding his car at 1 AM with some of your friends after blowing through 3 weeks worth of allowance money in one night, or staying over at your place and just doing whatever little arts and crafts sounded fun that day, you always had fun as long as the both of you were together. sure, at first, he just wanted to have some fun until the next one came along… but, he finally found himself to be enamored with someone. it isn’t so bad if he just doesn’t tell you that, right? all’s well that ends well..? either way, he finally feels fulfilled in a relationship, and like he might actually stay for a while this time. it’s fun, fresh, but still deep with an unspoken connection— just like the royal eloquence, yet playfulness, of purple.

the rosy blush of his cheeks when he saw you for the first time; the cherry blossom kitkats he shaped into a heart for your first valentine’s as a couple. nijiro nanase sees love in pink. being from the countryside of japan, he’s a stereotypical country boy. he was raised well by his grandparents, he’s been taught well in the likes of chivalry, and he’s unbelievably naive. oh, to be looked at the same way as the way nanase’s eyes gleam— star struck, at the sight of you. now, he doesn’t know what to do! his hearts’s all… what’s the word…? thumpy thumpy..! he can’t help, but get jittery whenever you’re around. this is what love feels like? it feels good! he wants to feel this fluttery feeling all the time. and to have that, he has to be your boyfriend. nothing can compare to the feeling of first love— slowly falling deeper and deeper into a pit that swallows him from the inside out. he feel like he’s drowning, but at the same time, it’s so gratifying, he can’t help but get addicted to the sound of syllables falling from your heaven-sent lips. he can tell you’re new at this too. you’re nervous— maybe even more nervous than him. but, hey! that’s alright. the two of you will go by this whole relationship thingy step by step. like how a pink rose is so delicate that it falls apart when crushed by the fist, he’ll make sure to be careful with your heart. as long as you promise to be careful with his.

[heyyallitssatan]

Ok I love this so so much, it opens up so many new avenues for character development and shows that mha can have alignments other than chaotic evil and lawful good, and it present natsuo in a whole new light and it gives us so much potential for the other todorokis and their reactions when they find out

I want to yap about a few of said options so bear with me

First and the easiest, they don’t find out until Touya’s final scene when natsuo doesn’t try to stop him and Touya laughs maniacally and then the scene goes pretty similarly made natsuo steps in on his behalf maybe he just keeps his mom and sister out of the fight who knows

Then again maybe natsuo is just there for dabis dance and seconds what he’s says basically

Now for the (in my opinion) more fun options

How does Dabi react to natsuo being the mole? Does he even know at all, maybe they kept him in the dark to preserve the moles identity and make it as easy as possible for him to maintain his cover, but (that’s less fun) Dabi is a core member of the LOV so maybe he does know, and how would he react to that

Maybe he doesn’t care at all because he really does have no connection to or fucks to give about his family and natsuo can do whatever he wants, but i think he’d be just thrilled that another one of endeavors kids feeling the same way as him and wanting to take the bastard down

Now say what would Dabi do if natsuo wanted to get in on the action, he wants to be on the front lines, more involved than just a rat

Does Dabi stop him? Maybe, maybe some tiny burnt shrivelled part of his heart still beats for his little brother and doesn’t want to see him hurt, so maybe he draws his line in the stand

But what if he does let him? Is it because he really doesn’t care, doesn’t see natsuo’s as a brother anymore so what difference does it make to him, or is it because deep down he wants to fight with his brother against the man who hurt them both

Either way I don’t think he be allowed to fight cause they’d want to preserve his anonymity, makes him a better spy, my question is, does Dabi breathe a sigh of relief or disappointment

And in any of these scenarios really, does natsuo get to know who Dabi is, does Dabi give up his own identity to know his brother again, or does he maintain his cover and observe from the sidelines, assuming of course that he cares enough to watch at all

Now, what about fuyumi?

I find it hard to believe she doesn’t know unless she doesn’t want to, and maybe that’s the case, maybe she knows somethings up with natsuo, hears just enough cryptic calls, sees just enough sneaking around, knows just enough, to know she doesn’t want to know anymore, she leaves it at that, content to live in the dark where things make sense and she can keep the peace a little easier

I think she knows, and it bring up, does she tell?

I mean she should right, to protect her father and her littlest brother and everyone really, she should tell, it’s the right choice

But natsuo is her little brother too, and to protect him she has to keep quiet, what does she do

I think she probably tries to reason with natsuo, maybe not to incriminate himself but to stop, he’s not in too deep yet (she hopes) he can get out, even if they reveal his identity it won’t be hard to spin up that he was under duress or being manipulated, they can fix it

But he doesn’t want that, he doesn’t want to stop and he certainly doesn’t want to cover his own ass and hang the others out to fry, and he tries to explain it to her, why he has to do this

And she gets it, she really does, the desire to hurt their father for everything he’s done, to burn the system that let him do it, to hate everything that he is, everything that made him and everything that he’s made, she gets it, probably more than anyone else, more than natsuo even knows (cause after all, she’s fuyumi, how could she hate so deeply to know his, how could she hate so much and still do what she does)

But it can’t be worth this, it can’t be worth so many innocent lives, can it?

She should tell, she knows she should, she can make the perfect argument for it too, in her head, she’s protecting her father, Shouto, every innocent hero, student, and civillian that will be caught in the crossfire of their war, and natsuo wont back down, he won’t stop, he’ll keep pushing and pushing until he’s in the middle of this stupid fight too, he’ll get hurt, in the long run it’ll be so much worse for him too if she doesn’t tell, so she should, and she knows it, she knows all the reasons it’s the right choice

But there’s a burning feeling, an ache in her chest she’d thought she’d long since filled with ice, for the fire Touya bared to the world, for the kindness that used to live in their fathers eyes, for the life in their mothers, for the innocent in all of them, and that fire in her heart she’d buried beneath the glaciers in her lungs forcing her to bite her tongue, it burns for something, something some would call vengeance, and others would call justice, it’s the same thing really, for her at least, isn’t it? And she wants to consume the world in that fire, her father, the commission, the society that lets women be bought, children be bred in a lab, abused and killed by men who will never see the consequences, and then be sent to a war they had no part in starting, canon fodder, pawns on a board so big they’ll never find the edge, and certainly not the people moving them, she wants all of it to burn, and burn and burn, until it burns itself out, and all the ashes are lost, buried beneath a layer of fresh snow, that melts to water new grass and flowers, things that have never known war, or pain or abuse like she has, things new and untouched by everything that’s tainted them

So maybe she doesn’t tell, because she knows it’s the right thing, but, what if, this one time she didn’t do the right thing?

And Shouto can’t know, he just can’t, he’s too good, to perfect, to heroic, he wouldn’t understand, he didn’t feel what they all felt, not really, even fuyumi, who natsuo trusted but was never totally sure of when it came to stuff like this (but for some reason Dabi knew, he would have gone under oath, sworn against all but his name, that she wouldn’t tell, because natsuo knew fuyumi the big sister, but Touya knew fuyumi the girl) she understood something that Shouto just didn’t, couldn’t, not the way he was now, he never really took much notice of his siblings oddities anyway, I mean, how was he to know if they were really oddities at all

Obviously Endeavor doesn’t get to know until they want him to, until they can hurt them the most with it, but neither does rei, cause she was a victim too, but maybe they can’t get over it, maybe they can’t accept that she keeps choosing him, and even if she didn’t, they can’t trust her, not really, because they don’t know her, not really, no one does I don’t think, because they know rei the mom, rei the wife, rei the patient, but none of those are her are they?

So they get to it, the dance, when all is revealed to the world, and sure Endeavor looks shocked, and natsuo tries to, and wow when did he become such a good liar, fuyumi was alone when she saw it on tv, she didn’t have anyone to pretend for, and she didn’t, she didn’t look shocked, she didn’t look knowing either, she looked… not sad, sad wasn’t the word for it, maybe resigned? Resigned to it, because she knew, she didn’t know of course, no one could have, but she’d see the photos of Dabi posted everywhere, seen the footage, and those were her eyes, and that was the way Touya used to throw the first punch, and that scar hidden by all the others, it was older, and fuyumi remembered laughing at her big brother for tripping over a ball while she pushed a bandaid over just the same spot, so no she didn’t know, but if she honest she did

And when the big moment finally came, natsuo stood with fuyumi, but they both had this strange look of calm to themselves, not quite the panicked civilian they should have been, and when she stood together and wielded their “weak” quirks they were so strong, strong enough to stand behind their older brother, strong enough to cool him off and coat his limbs in fuyumis frost, while natsuo made every effort to blast their father back, it may not have been obvious to an outsider who’s side they stood on, but to the todorokis it was more than clear who, what, they’d chosen

Endeavor didn’t die that day, but neither did Touya, he would go to prison for a long time, but with twice weekly visitations he doubted he’d be lonely

Natsuo and fuyumi made the wrong choice this time, and if anyone can ever prove it beyond their family’s word, then they’ll be in matching outfits with their big brother, but maybe that’s not the worst thing in the world, because for once, their wrong choice finally felt right, they felt free

Honestly, I think it would have been really interesting if Natsuo had been the traitor.

He had a hell of a motive. Older brother is killed in a tragic accident brought about because of their father, younger brother is abused by their father, mother is institutionalized because of his father, and Endeavor faces justice for absolutely none of it.

All of a sudden this news broadcast showing Stain yelling for the public to open their eyes to the false heroes among them happens...just saying, that could have appealed to more than one of the Todoroki siblings.

And with Shouto a UA student, that places Natsuo in a prime position to potentially gather information about classes on and off campus. He wouldn't be an active member of the LoV; he's just the mole. It might be a stretch to say he wanted Shouto in harm's way, but if you remember that Shouto was exhibiting the exact same anger and arrogance Endeavor had, there was room for a narrative where Natsuo reached a, "Fuck, now there's two of them," mentality and didn't care what happened to him. And that only expands on the betrayal. Shouto realizes he's on a path to become his father, then starts trying to reconnect with his mother and estranged siblings. Natsuo doesn't even have to approach him to form a connection.

...

Shouto: Why did you do this?

Natsuo: If you had any original thoughts of your own, you'd have done it, too. But I guess it's not your fault Endeavor raised you to be a puppet.

Shouto: This isn't who you are.

Natsuo: *not even anger at this point, just pity* Are you sure? Can you say with any certainty that you know any of your siblings? Or am I just the one who went to college, Fuyumi is the one who cooks, and Touya is the one who died?

[deathbxnny]

hiii, platonic jing yuan,dan heng and moze with a teen!reader who gets kidnapped by borisins during the wolf hunt quest?

Hunting the wolves. | Jing Yuan, Dan Heng, Moze x Teen!Reader

Hello Anon! Thank you for the interesting request, and I'm sorry it took so long! I hope you enjoy this!<33

Content: Kidnapping, threats of violence, platonic relationships, teen reader, blood, sfw

Reader has no set pronouns.

((Not proofread))

》JING YUAN

He should've known that you were going to run off on your own again, despite his order for you to stay put. It was just in your young nature to do so, the wild and free spirit in both you and Yanqing having always been a challenge to the older man. But when the boy came running into his office, loudly proclaiming that you had been snatched by the Borisins, he suddenly became aware of how dangerous that part of you was.

Quick to act, he immideatly deployed all possible troops to find you. He knew that the cruel wolf like creatures wouldn't hesitate to hurt or even kill you if you became useless to them. He could never forgive himself if you got hurt this way.

With that said, though, expect the lecture of a lifetime once he gets you back to safety. Whilst he understands that your kidnapping isn't entirely your fault, he was deeply worried about your well-being and wants you to understand that listening to him is for your own good.

(Also, Yanqing is definitely losing half of his allowance for letting you out of his sight...)

》MOZE

You had secretly trailed after Jiaoqiu and were captured with him when you failed to hide clumsily from the cruel wolves. To say that the man was unimpressed would've been an understatement. But Moze was meanwhile stressed beyond belief. He knew that you were just a kid who often didn't know any better. And yet, he wished you would have just listened to him for once as he told you to stay back.

He had a hard time keeping a professional front when he knew that you were possibly tortured and hurt in terrible ways. He was practically worried sick deep down and would work overtime just to track you two down. Moze couldn't rest until you were okay. Jiaoqiu was good at taking care of himself, but you... he didn't want to think of the possibilities.

Even if he never voices it out loud, he feels a lot lighter when you're safe with him again. He'd definitely pull your ear with an expressionless face, as he coldly tells you to never do that again. But you can tell he was just worried sick.

》DAN HENG

Was he surprised at the news of your kidnapping? No. Was he disappointed? Absolutely. Was he going to immideatly go and save you anyways, though? Ofcourse.

He knew something was up when you happily promised him to stay put at their hotel on the Xianzhou. His sharp mind didn't miss how fake your wide, "sincere" grin was in that moment. And yet, he let it slide without reprimanding you further, perhaps hoping you were actually listening for once... well... you were not. And it was up to him now to look for and save you. He was worried sick deep down, of course, but the disappointment overruled that for the time being.

Once he got you back to the Express in one piece, you'll be grounded indefinitely by him. And you'll also get a boring and long lecture regarding safety... again. He cares. He really does.

[mxymii]

ERROR

pairing | android!jjk x humanfem!reader

warning | 18+, smut, possessive/obsessive behavior, p in v, naive reader, dom!jjk, sub!reader, unprotected sex, etc.

summary | when your android bot hates having people steal your attention from him…

a/n | hello guysss!!! so glad that you all loved my previous posts! i appreciate so much and now with this one i have decided to steer away from squid games a bit and get into k-pop starting with the man himself, jungkook. i hope you all enjoy and pls feel free to leave any feedback ! (i have the warnings up for you all to read, i am not your parent and will not tell you what you should or should not read :))

hard eyes stared back at you as you tried to continue your conversation with a fellow friend of yours. having a bot in your house was something you didn’t think was going to bring you so much trouble, but there he stood with a hard glare at the man besides you.

you could tell that your friend was getting uncomfortable with the stares jungkook was giving him, which had you stand up and drag him to a more secure spot. “jungkook stop it. why are you staring at him like that?” you told him softly, being careful to not let your guest hear your conversation.

“get him out before i do it myself.” he said harshly as his eyes glowed blue, a sign of anger coursing through his wires.

“jungkook i can’t just kick him out, we are simply just catching up. i would prefer if you will excuse yourself for a minute, go charge up or something…” you tell him as your hands slide down from your face, frustration building up. this wasn’t something knew. he always acted out whenever someone was either too close or invaded your house, he hated having people over.

his hand quickly grips your face, his finger firm enough to apply pressure but not too harsh to harm your face. “do it y/n, i’m not asking you again.” seeing this new side of jungkook scared you, he had become more possessive over you but you just brushed it off as him being protective. that’s what the manual had said.

he quickly pushes you back into the room where your guest stood, you didn’t want it to end like this but you quickly apologize and ask them to leave, letting them know you would catch up later on. as you try to say your goodbyes, jungkook is quick to shut the door close and lock it, his dark eyes meeting yours.

“you don’t listen, do you?”

“kook..what are you talking about?” you try to talk to him with his sweet nickname that he loved but it didn’t work at all. although he was a android, his humanly features were very prominent. if you had seen him in the street you wouldn’t even know he was a android.

“i don’t want people coming here anymore. it’s only going to be me and you, that’s it.” he said firmly as he made his way towards you slowly.

“you can’t make that decision, it’s my house jungkook, plus you’re my bot and you do as i say…” your breath hitches up as his hand grips your throat tightly. “well baby..the rules have changed.”

your eyes widen at the fact his demeanor changed overtime, jungkook was never like this but being so naive and trying to justify his actions you failed to realize how crazy he has gone. “what? can’t talk now?” he states as his lips graze the side of your face, his finger marks being visible by how firmed he had gripped it earlier.

“no one is allowed near you..you stay here with me y/n.” he leaves open-mouthed kisses on your neck, sucking and teething to leave marks all over your skin. “jungkook…” you whine as you try to push your head away, although your mind tells you this is wrong your body betrays you, asking for more.

“i bet he wasn’t able to have you like this huh?” he locks his gaze with you for a minute before smashing his lips onto yours, nibbling and sucking on your bottom lip to give him access to his tongue. “kook…”

he picks you up just to drop you on the couch, his hand fumbling with your pants as he quickly takes your garments off as well. his knee meets with your cunt as he has you grinding on him. “you’re mine to kiss, to love on, to look at…” he says against your ear as his grips your waist, helping you grind on him faster. “fuck jungkook..”

“if i see anyone in here other than myself, ill kill them y/n. is that what you want?” he trails his hand down to your clit, massaging your clit in circles. the way he was talking to you was just making you turned on even more. your head pushed back against the cushion as you feel his finger plunge into you at a fast pace, not even letting you adjust for a bit. “fuck!”

“look at you…so fucking wet for me..” he whispers softly as he leaves wet kiss against your body, trailing down towards your wet pussy. his tongue darts down to your clit, as he sucks on it harshly, his finger picking up the pace even more. the room is filled with screams of pleasure and wet noises coming of your pussy but you could care less, the amount of pleasure he was giving you was all new to you.

“fuck jungkook! please don’t stop!” you screamed as your fingers gripped his hair tightly, your legs furiously shaking as you were close to your high. “gonna cum baby?” he says softly against your clit for a second as he continues back to sucking your clit and pussy lips clean.

“ngh jungkook!” you screamed as your body shook from the intense orgasm he had given you, he quickly sucks your cum up but lasting a bit longer which as your legs shaking a bit from the overstimulation.

he quickly takes his pants off, his cock hard and oozing out with precum. he bumps his cock at the sight of your tired body from the orgasm you just had but that only stimulates him more, he wasn’t done you just yet. he tease his tip against your entrance. soft grunts and groans leave past his lips. “no one can fuck you except for me baby..you’re mine.” with that he thrusts into you, hard.

leaving no room for adjustment, he is quick to set a pace, his hands digging onto your skin knowing that’ll leave a mark the next day but you couldn’t even protest as your eyes rolled back and your mouth was left agape.

“so fucking tight baby..” he moaned as he tilted his head back, sweat trickled down from his forehead. he could easily cum right there by how your walls clenched onto his cock but he held himself back, wanting to have you cum before him.

“fuck! jungkook!” your nails clawed against back, your head tilted back and your hair sticking onto your forehead. he grunts at your moans and the way his name left your lips, his guided his hand back onto your clit as he touches it vehemently. his other hand quickly grabs onto your legs as he lifts it up high, the new position giving him more access to feel deeper into you. he didn’t think he could hold back any longer as his grunts turned into loud moans, chanting praise against your ears.

“cum with me baby..” he moans softly as the both of you shook and came unraveling. “shit! fuck y/n..” he moan softly, his thrust slowing down as his cum filled you up full.

“this’ll teach you something now.”

a/n | helppp that was it !!!! hope you all enjoyed!!!

mxymii out!

[middlingmay]

Coach Bucky and Gale, alone in the locker room... (3.5K)

Shoutout to @johncleven who sent me a fic request for something set in a locker room and let me run wild with it. I know this isn't what you originally had in mind, but I hope you like it all the same!

A fun romp of a fic set in my Footballer!John AU. This comes after the last installment at Christmas, after John takes up his position as head coach of a veteran's charity football team.

Summary: Football coach John Egan and his report boyfriend, Gale Cleven have some fun roleplaying in the locker room after hours.

Enjoy! Wordcount is over 3.5K so I've put most of it under the cut. Get's a li'l filthy, just to warn you.

.

It was a quirk of John's, collecting vintage football strips. But unlike most collectors, he favoured the shorts over the shirts. People hired experts in hunting down shirts all over the world with this misprint, or that stitching from this year, and that particular game. But not John.

"It's too much pressure, Buck." He'd told Gale once when he questioned his oddity. "You have to keep them pristine and perfect, and God forbid you touch 'em without gloves. And do you have any idea the kind of pretentious assholes who collect football shirts? You think I want to be part of their circle jerks? No thank you."

So he collected the shorts instead. The earlier the better. The black 1997-'99 home shorts of FC Bayern Munich with the red splash and white stripes. The high cut of the white Aberdeen away summer shorts with the Umbro diamonds and geometric detailing of 1990-1992. The 1980s Manchester City burgundy set with white and blue stripes, and the classic bold red block shorts with the yellow liver bird of Liverpool, used from the 1970s well into the '80s.

Which sat very high on the thigh. They were several sizes too small for John to ever wear, but on Gale they sat perfectly. Just below his belly button, pressed tight against the toned muscle and trim fat of his middle. Snug around the groin, and they left most of his long, muscular legs on display.

It meant that he felt every bit of John's size eleven sneaker covered in an expensive, sturdy, matte black leather where it sat perched on the bench between Gale's spread legs, brushing against the skin and hairs of his thighs and the soft clutch of the underside of the silk-soft shorts.

"What the hell do you call that today?"

Gale curled his toes in his boots and clamped down on his muscles to stop himself from wriggling close to the pressure of John's foot. With one foot on the floor and one foot on the bench between Gale's legs, John loomed over Gale. His elbow rested on his knee and he looked down at him, almost fatherly.

Dressed in those vintage shorts, true to the shamelessness and carefree fashion of the '80s with how short they fell below the crease of his thigh, and a skintight compression shirt that protected players against chafing and perspiration, Gale felt simultaneously starkly aware of his body, and much smaller than John than he actually was.

He normally resented any implication towards delicacy and softness, but sometimes, just sometimes, he didn't mind when it was with John. Gale had to fight and claw and scrap for everything he got in life, even his relationship. John's steady determination to take care of him with every inch Gale allowed was a relief sometimes, an opportunity to let go and hand off the reins to someone else, and trust they weren't going to derail his hard fought and hard-won life.

John shifted his foot until Gale felt the pinch. His eyes fluttered shut and his teeth left purpling dents in his lip.

"I said, what was that today, Cleven? Because it sure as shit wasn't anything I told you to do."

"I'm…I'm sorry." Gale wasn't sorry at all. How could he bring himself to regret a single thing that had led to him here under the mercy of John's heel and his gaze.

"Coach."

"John."

"You say, I'm sorry coach."

He shifted his foot away from the crook of Gale's groin, and not even Gale's desperate clutch on the back lip of the bench kept him from lurching forward for the hem of his pants in a desperate grab to bring him back.

But the foot hit the ground in a disappointing clack.

"You let me down today, Cleven."

Gale's stomach lurched. Thick, calloused fingers skirted along his jaw, and anchoring balm in the face of John's disappointment. They settled under Gale's chin and forced his head up at such an angle, it stretched the front of his throat and made it difficult to swallow back the build-up in his mouth.

You, Gale wanted to swear through a mouthful of John's leather belt. And maybe John read it in his wide, wet eyes and parted lips. Because he tssked anyway and put a whole two feet between them.

"I think you need a lesson in focus." John crooked two fingers, his other hand propped on his hip. "On the floor."

Gale looked down. The floor was shiny and smelled of lemony chemicals. Freshly cleaned.

"Gale. Get on the floor."

Gale slid off the bench onto his knees and sat back on his haunches.

But John still wore that sad frown and twisted purse of his lips. It made Gale want to collapse into those thighs which no amount of fine tailoring could slim down, and beg John what he wanted to stop looking at him like that, so he could just give it to him.

"Down further." John stepped back and Gale slapped clumsy hands against the rubberised flooring as he swallowed up John's retreat until his was pressed stomach down, leaning up on his forearms. His legs kicked up, entirely without his asking. Like a school girl prostrate before her crush.

John took two careful steps closer. One heavy sneaker slipped into the space between his forearms, where his chin might be if he laid face down on the floor.

"Further."

Gale almost wished he hadn't foregone the boots and knee-high socks as he lowered his legs back to the floor and the chill of the floor seeped in and cooled the tense muscles. Only John's sneaker protected Gale's face from the same fate. Gale swept his palms to press under his shoulder and leaned down and down until his mouth and his nose hovered above the leather.

John would be cross if he drooled all over it. He swallowed back a mouthful.

John didn't say anything, but Gale felt the weighted burn of his stare on his nape, the flex and shift of his shoulders and hips as he settled into position, the curve of his ass that felt like it was only just hidden under the shorts, despite the tiny, entrapping pair of briefs he'd been made to wear under them.

Goosepimples erupted up his arms and down his legs, all the little hairs standing on end.

"How about we start with twenty?"

Gale slipped for a moment and grinned into the floor. John did love an excuse to see Gale get physical. He adjusted his form, set his wrists under his elbows, rolled his shoulders back and pressed up. He held it for a sec, letting John admire the line of him. He always waxed lyrical about the lines and angles and juts and refined strength in Gale's body, so he flexed his heels up and down under the guise of perfection his push-up position. He made a show of making sure his ass wasn't sticking out and held himself high up on his arms to show of the strength up his forearms, biceps, triceps.

He heard the tiniest thump of John's toes tapping inside his sneakers. And just as Gale started to lower himself down to complete his first push-up, John lifted the tip of his foot and stuck it under Gale's jaw tilting his head up.

It was a long stretch, and an uncomfortable distance for his eyes to look up. But it was worth it when he saw John gazing down at him, square jaw tight and eyes burnin'.

"Count 'em."

"One." Gale followed John's foot back down.

For the first ten, John simply watched him, sharp and critical like he did his players when they'd performed less than their best and John knew it. It powered Gale's body and his ego like little else and sent him tearing through the next ten with ease.

At fifteen, John started to loop his body, and Gale's rhythm slowed and fell in time with his steps, burning his muscles up a little more than the quicker pace he had before.

"Eighteen. Nineteen." At the top of number twenty, John lifted his foot and pressed it against the thin, barely-there material of Gale's shirt. It was a light touch at first, the simple weight of John's foot. Then he pressed harder. And harder. Until Gale could feel the skin of his back pinch and his muscles had to push against the downward force of John's sneaker.

"You said twenty," he gasped as he tried to hold against the unspoken order to lower himself back down. "John—"

"Coach."

"Coach! You said twenty. You said twenty."

"But look at you," John crooned and Gale didn't have to look at him to know exactly which of his smiles he wore right now. "Not even out of breath. Not a lick of sweat on you. Do it. Again."

With a final push John brought Gale down onto the floor with a grunt. He kept his foot on his back, making Gale press on through the weight. As he rose and fell, rose and fell, his skin rubbed against the hard sole of his sneakers, interspersed with slivers of metal, specially designed for walking around football pitches as he coached. he felt the skin ruddy and redden, fancied he could start to make out the pattern of the treat by the time he got to twenty again, and was so distracted when John's heel slipped into the curve of the small of his back, Gale didn't get chance to muster a single shred of resistance when John pushed him down to the floor again.

"Ah, God." His erection twitched and pulsed against the floor. He couldn't stop the helpless, tiniest thrusts against it searching for the barest modicum of relief. John was so gentle and good to him all of the time, but when he got like this, focused and a little mean, a little physical? Gale never stood much of a chance at any kind of stamina.

"Hmm." John toed a rough line down the small of his back and over the crease of his ass. He sunk his heel into the meat of it, and Gale nearly bit through his lip. The copper was bittery sweet. "We're not doing this right if you're enjoying it so much."

He shifted his foot and it rucked up the short hem of the shorts and Gale felt John's sneaker against the bare curve of skin that peeked out of the briefs.

"M'not. I'm not, coach. I promise."

"It's no good?" That fucker. That smug-faced tricky little bastard. It was heavenly. Hurt in all the right ways and had the back of Gale's eyes burning just as much as his muscles and the heat in his belly. But he couldn't let on or it would ruin the game, and John would stop.

So he clamped his mouth shut, and locked his muscles until the shook from the effort of not rolling between the twin resistance of the floor and John's foot pressing on him.

"Again."

After the first two push-ups, Gale doubted he was going to survive this. The push against John's foot had it massaging his ass and slipping over the seam of him; whilst the press down against the floor jolted against his cock begging for any kind of touch. Twin agonies derived to drive him out of his mind.

His arms were shaking by the time he got to five.

John tutted in false sympathy. "You don't look too good, Cleven. You need to stop? Learned your lesson?"

Like hell.

He pushed down and up, down and up. Then he heard John sit on the bench behind him. And he slipped his foot down further, trailed the hard curve of the toe of his sneaker down Gale's ass, round over his thigh, and all the slow slide under until it pressed against the crowded pouch of his briefs and where he strained under the shorts.

He pushed in hard.

"Oh, God. John. John."

"If I have to tell you one more time…"

"Coach! Fuck, I…"

"You're not done." John's voice was rough and Gale shivered at the only evidence he had that John was just as affected by this as he was, lounging on that bench, watching Gale from behind as he made him rut against his foot like an animal. In his mind he pictured the wide sprawl of his thighs, the strained fabric of his beautifully tailored, navy blue dress pants. The shine of his lips where he licked at them as he tried to catch his breath.

"Keep going, or you can pack your shit up and get the hell out of my locker room."

Gale barely swallowed a whine and pushed down, his arms shaking with the effort not to collapse. John made him push his foot down as he went, and kept the pressure on as Gale pushed himself back up. No relief. No reprieve. Just a constant, blinding pressure as he shook and forced his way through push up after push up. His cock was no longer dripping so much as it was leaking. John's foot rubbed and pressed and wiggled against him. Started dragging back and forth in little pulses and Gale couldn't hold back the moans and whimpers that fell from him with every exertion. His pace picked up, even through the sweat that curled around his forehead, off his hair and splattered on the floor.

The simmering heat in his belly started to bubble and forth. His moans were getting louder, his form sloppy, and behind him John rumbled straight from his chest,

"Fuck that's it, baby. Almost there."

Gale choked on his own spit and a little felt out in a sliver of drool as John pressed against him and stimulated him in earnest now.

"Coach. Coach. I—Jesus. Fuck, I…" Gale was babbling. Nonsensical and desperate pleas to the man above and behind him. For it to keep going, For it to end. For anything he deemed fit to give him.

He gave him it all. Whether from Gale's pleading or his own painful impatience, but John pressed his foot against Gale so hard, that he felt the sensitive skin of his sack pinch like the knife needed to cut through the knot it pierced through Gale's pitiful last defences. He collapsed onto one elbow as his other hand plunged down to clutch John's ankle and keep it there as he rode and rode out his pleasure. The minimal space left inside his tight briefs flooded with sticky heat, and kept flooding. Gale wasn't in a locker room, but somewhere above and outside time and space as he chased the trembling heat and frothy exaltation of his orgasm as far as it would go.

By the time he came back to, his mouth was blabbering against the floor, and he shook from head to toe.

A noise came from John, a little wounded, but like the good boy he was he stayed still. They weren't done.

"You—" his voice shook and John cleared his throat. Shifted it lower and calmer and more in character. But even then he couldn't quite shake the tremor. The softness. "You've got something of mine. Give it back."

The shorts. He meant the shorts. Gale gazed stupidly, on his belly, down the line of his body, realising he'd have to move to get them off.

"One minute, coach, please. Just one. I can't," he gasped through sharp breaths and spittle, "I can't."

"You can. And you will. Give."

Gale cursed and let out helpless little noises as he worked the shorts over his hips, his sensitive cock brushing against the unforgiving floor. Once under the curve of his ass, gale managed to flop over, and wiggled and kicked his legs, but the shorts were too tight, and wouldn't budge. One look at Gale sent his head thumping back against the ground. His eyes blazed with heat and he looked like a starving man staring at his favourite meal.

"I will leave you here, if you don't give me those now, Cleven."

Gale heaved himself up, the idea of being out of John's sphere right now too much to risk. Shaking hands shoved the shorts down his legs and over his feet, and he threw them in John's direction, before leaning back on the palms of his hands, panting.

John felt all over the slippy fabric, inspecting for any signs of wetness or sticky texture, but there were none. Gale's brief had seen to that.

"Good," he murmured, surprised and pleased and Gale flooded with a different kind of warmth when he added, "You did good, Cleven. You did exactly what I wanted."

He let a tentative, exhausted smile twitch across his face.

"But now I want those, too."

John nodded at Gale's crotch, nostril's flaring. His briefs. Wet and damp and squidgy with his release. They were uncomfortable and messy, and—

"I want them. Give them here."

Gale couldn't look away as he sat up straight, slipped one thumb and then another under the waistband and slowly peeled the ruined briefs off himself. Gale looked at John and John's looked at his prize, as Gale peeled them down one leg then another, trying not to get himself any messier than he already was.

Gale held the briefs in his hand, pinching the dry fabric of the waistband between two fingers. He looked between then and John.

"This what you want? Coach?"

Before Gale could tease him, John's hand snapped out and clamped over his wrist, and hauled Gale's whole body into the space between his legs. From the floor, Gale's head fit perfectly in the crook of John's thighs, and he let his head fall there against the ample padding of one of them, and stared unblinking as John yanked the briefs out of his grip, and unfastened belt, buckle, button and zip with one hand. He drew himself out, and thank God Gale was already on the floor, because the sight of John drawing himself out of his pants and wrapping Gale's briefs full of his some around his cock and using them to jerk off would have brought him to his knees.

It looked painful. Hard and swollen and red and straining. Gone too long without attention, love, worship. Gale licked his lips. His hands twitched to touch, and John noticed.

He smirked down at Gale as he denied him. "No. You just sit there and watch." He groaned through a twist of his own wrist. "Maybe—maybe next time you'll— l-listen. Fuck. Then I might let you touch."

Gale's head felt heavy against John's thigh, and his long fingers white-knuckled their grip on the fabric on John's pants. John worked himself at speed, the tenons in his neck straining, his chest heaving.

"Fuck, your panties are so wet."

Oh my god.

"And all for me?"

Gale nodded weakly. His trembling hadn't subsided. Even when he wasn't touching him, John had him riding that edge of overstimulation.

John was almost there. The muscle in his thigh was twitching and his stomach clenched under the crisp white shirt he wore. His grip on himself tightened and a well of absolute filth fell from his lips the way it always did when Gale edged him and he finally got close enough to the edge to feel it.

"Look so fucking good on that floor, Gale. Under my foot and doing what you're told? Shit. Shit. What else would you do for me? Huh? Fuck. What else would you do?"

Gale took a risk and pressed a line of kisses down John's inseam. Just as he reached the apex of his thigh he looked up at John through his lashes and said, "Use you. To get what I want."

John's free hand snapped to Gale's hair and yanked. Gale gasped as his throat was exposed and he heard John curse and moan and felt him thrash through the throes of his orgasm. "Fuck. Fuck. Buck!"

It took minutes before John's hand turned to petting him instead. Gale looked up to see John weakly removing the now sodden briefs and gingerly setting them on the bench next to him.

He made grabby hands down to Gale. "Get up here."

Gone was the clip of Coach Egan. In his place, the attention-greedy and devoted Bucky.

Gale let himself be pulled up and gathered onto John's lap. His curly head dropped to Gale's chest and his arms wrapped all the way around Gale's waist. Anchoring and soothing both, and Gale scraped his fingers through John's curls and smelled the sweet scent of his hair.

Eventually John pecked sweet kissed against his cloth-covered chest and rested his chin in the valley between his pectorals. His eyes were bright with contentment whilst Gale's were heavy and sleepy and sated.

"Was that what you had in mind?" He asked, almost shy. John and Gale were adventurous in bed before they got together. They'd never been shy about exploring new things in their relationship. But those occasions when Gale wanted John to take the reins, Gale knew he worried about pushing too hard or swinging too far out of their dynamic for Gale's comfort.

"Mhm," Gale murmured against his forehead. "Though buy bigger briefs next time, Jesus. Damn things nearly cut off the circulation."

John rubbed a soothing hand over his flank. "I couldn't risk it, Buck. They had to keep everything…contained."

"Oh, so you can risk my cock but not your vintage 1980s Liverpool shorts?"

John's silence was far more indecisive than Gale would have liked.

"Boy—" Gale moved to get off, but John clamped down and pinned him there.

"I'll buy bigger next time; I'll buy bigger next time," he giggled into Gale's neck. "You bring a chance of clothes?"

Gale nodded to his backpack in the corner.

"Get dressed, and we can go home."

But Gale didn't budge. "We can't leave the place like this, John." Drips of both of their slick had escaped the confines of the briefs and were dotted across the floor and the bench. A sizeable puddle of Gale's drool also lay there where his mouth had panted and watered as John put him through his push-ups.

"Buuuck." John whined like a child.

"You remember what the cleaners said?"

"Come on!"

"If they find one more unexplained bodily fluid in here, you're goin' to have a strike on your hands. You want that? You want to be the one to clean up after Crosby? Or explain to Brady why he can still smell Bubbles' socks the next day?"

John flinched at the thought of an irate, upset Brady.

"You get dressed, I'll get the mop."

[reyesstrand]

I wish you would write a fic where they meet because Carlos arrest TK right at the bar when TK goated the guys into a fight.

Carlos’ old life ends and his new one begins the moment he steps foot the appropriately named dive bar, The Trap.

He often finds himself here when he’s working this beat, especially on humid Saturday nights. He pictures the overturned furniture and broken pool cues; the sweating beer bottles and claustrophobic atmosphere. Miller is hauling out a bloodied guy in a flannel when Carlos pushes through the crowd, and Carter’s got another in cuffs.

“Your instigator’s getting checked out by medical,” Miller tells Carlos, and he nods, setting his shoulders. Peanuts crunch under his boots as he spots a lone paramedic at a high top table, her kit opened up as she shines a light in the eyes of a third man.

A third man who takes Carlos’ breath away. He’s the kind of wet dream Carlos barely allowed himself to acknowledge as a kid; all effortlessly cool in a form-fitting jacket and tight jeans. As Carlos gets closer, he takes in a sharp jaw and pouty lips and beautiful eyes that flit around. Carlos can’t quite read him—is he nervous? Scared of ruining a reputation? Too drunk and bothered to care? He closes the distance between them and knows immediately his last guess is wrong. His guy’s shaky, sure, but his gaze is clear and strong and somber when it meets Carlos’. It’s almost enough to make him falter.

“Officer,” the paramedic says, nodding at him and snapping the moment in two. Carlos can still feel the man’s eyes on him, taking him in, absorbing something from him like osmosis, but he focuses on her assessment that besides some split knuckles and a few bruises, Mr. Strand will be perfectly fine. The name is familiar, like a bit of trivia just on the tip of his tongue, but it slips away from him.

“Mr. Strand,” Carlos settles his hands on his hips, observing as many little details as he can. Especially up close, Carlos can tell this wasn’t just a drunken fist fight. “Want to tell me why you’re getting in fights for no reason?”

The man’s jaw clenches. “You don’t have to do all of this. I started it, we all got the shit kicked out of us, end of story.”

Carlos hums. The paramedic—June—finishes packing back up and squeezes the man’s shoulder as she departs. His expression is suddenly genuine as he thanks her, and Carlos tries to put the pieces together.

“Mr. Strand—”

The man wrinkles his nose. “That sounds so formal.”

“What should I call you then?” Carlos asks, unhooking his cuffs from his belt.

“TK.”

“TK,” Carlos repeats, trying out the taste of his name against his tongue, memorizing the feeling of it in his mouth even as he reads TK his rights and tries not to react to how he blows a zero.

TK’s eyes find him again, stormy and yet unwavering. Carlos can’t look, as he secures cuffs around his wrists, taking in the reddened, thin skin over his knuckles; the smear of blood on the back of his hand where he must’ve wiped at that busted lip before medical looked him over. They walk slowly out of the bar, most of the patrons already unbothered and going back to their previous conversations. Insects chirp in the distance, as Carlos gets TK settled in his back seat.

“I only wanted—”

Carlos’ gaze flicks to TK’s in the rearview mirror.

“Never mind.”

Tapping his thumb against the wheel, Carlos frowns. Then he calls in to dispatch and his sirens wail as he pulls away from the bar. He shouldn’t be talking to a man he just arrested like this, he can already hear the reprimand; the critique in his father’s voice. He pushes forward anyway.

“Whatever it is…I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

(i wish you would write a fic where…game!)

[emblemxeno]

Meetcha half way: Miklan and Xander are both awful, terrible people.

You're allowed to think that way, I genuinely think whatever floats your boat is good, anon.

I don't share that opinion. Forgive me for the rant ahead.

Fates, IMO, made it clear what nuance it was going for. Aside from the little sisters and non-story important characters, there weren't purely good people. However, there were always clear hate sinks that the player was meant to despise.

War makes good people do bad things; evil people start or take advantage of war to benefit themselves; good people are taken out of the equation early on or don't get involved as often. Bam, that's it.

3H on the other hand, tries to justify every fucking action an antagonist takes. It tries to make everything an "I can see where you're coming from" situation, even when it falls on its face. For example, Lonato. No, actually, I don't feel bad for the guy trying to assassinate the archbishop in a plot of revenge for the execution of his son who was caught trying to assassinate that person already, especially when he's mowing town resistance in the process while knowing he could potentially harm or kill his other son in the process.

For fairness, Xander also does bad things and has no qualms harming a former sibling. But that was a fact established as soon as chapter 2, early in the story to intentionally give the audience a lasting impression. Yes he cares for his family, but his fear of his father outweighs that. The next logical step in analysis would be to discover why.

Lonato doesn't get that. He gets praised, shows that he's actually a douche, yet gets off the hook in various directions, excused by the Western Church (undeniably horrible group, but he himself shouldn't be exempt), the Central Church (should Ashe be on Crimson Flower because most of the cast isn't allowed to have a rigid backbone since they must be allowed to steamroll their own homes on Byleth's word), and even in Ashe's support with Catherine.

Miklan is no different, where they shift blame from the individual's actions to being about Crests, something that's contradictory to ingame information. He was disinherited well fucking after Sylvain was born, so it stands to reason that it's because he was an irresponsible, jealous, violent creep, and not because of Crests. But the game wants us to feel bad! He doesn't get a nuanced death because whining about Crests takes priority in the game's writing. Three Hopes cemented this by making him a fucking ally, highlighting that "oh he's actually a good leader even without a Crest!!1!" Yeah, I'm sure all the women he kidnapped, villagers he robbed, and families he tore apart will just be hunky dory with knowing that.

Xander meanwhile dies like a little bitch, taking himself out by letting Corrin stick a sword through him. That's thematically poignant, because he was the most common antagonist and a plot consistent hurdle that Corrin had been preparing to face ever since he made the choice to side with Hoshido. It's supposed to hit that it was really fucking easy, that Xander wasn't taken out through raw strength, but the weight of his own actions. That's exponentially more ingame acknowledgement of the wrong that Xander did, than any one character in 3H can manage to say about anyone they're fighting against besides maybe the Slithers.

[daflangstlairde-art]

"A Noble Occupation" Chapter 2, 7936 words

Summary:

The shame burned. Dream felt as though everyone knew. Knew that he was a failure, that he needed something additional to work (and he was already worse at his work than he'd like). Knew that he wasn't the beacon of happiness and hope that they believed in, that they needed, that they loved. That he was something flawed, which felt sorrow and exhaustion and shame. — Dream acquires a new coping mechanism. It's not a very good one.

Credits, warnings and additional info on ao3.

—

It… became a habit, as shameful as that was.

On lighter days, when his emotions weren't exhausted enough and therefore reached him, Dream would… well, first he would busy himself. When there was nothing obvious that needed him (uncommon occurrence), he sought out how to be helpful, how to be of use. When there was little of that (very rare occurrence), he trained with his teammates, or made preparations.

When that ended and he was home, Dream still looked for ways to make his time worthwhile. Even cleaning was better.

But when he was at a loss on how to do that, and he was thinking and feeling things the Guardian of Positivity shouldn't be… he drank.

The experience didn't get more pleasant, but he grew accustomed to it. The same way he'd learned to bear wounds. The same way he'd learned to bear his own bad emotions.

Go to the store. Internally writhe in shame as he got a bottle of alcohol (wine, since he was most familiar with it). Sometimes he lied that it was for a friend or a gift. Go back home.

Drink it all as fast as possible.

Get hit with the effects all too suddenly.

Feel miserable. Throw up. Go to bed. Sleep like a log.

He learned to keep a glass of water at his night stand. He learned to set an alarm so he wouldn't sleep until noon. He learned to take headache meds in the morning so his functionality wasn't impaired.

It wasn't a big deal, really. It rarely happened, once every several weeks at most.

It helped him sleep, when he did it. It helped him, well, drown his sorrow — make it dull and fuzzy, allowing him to wake up the next day and pretend like none of it existed in the first place, because it shouldn't have existed in the first place.

He was a Protector of the entire Multiverse. If this made him better at his job, at giving the people what they needed in a way that didn't affect them negatively at all, what's the harm in it?

—

Dream should get a mat or something. For his bathroom. The floor tiles were cold.

At some point, he figured it was easier to just drink in his bathroom, since he was inevitably going to end up throwing it up.

The floor… wasn't particularly comfortable, but that's fine. Dream just had to sit here for a bit. Knees pulled to his chest, breathing steadily. Waiting for the alcohol to kick in properly, for the nausea to really rear up. Everything was already fuzzy and tilting, so it was on its way.

And then his phone rang.

Dream winced. He felt his metaphorical heartrate pick up, because it was late, and today had been easier, so this had to be an emergency, and he was a useless mess–

"Hey Dream!" Blue's voice came through.

"Blue?" Dream swallowed. Oh, he hadn't yet… experienced talking to anyone in this state. And he knew alcohol changed the way people spoke. Stars, he really hoped Blue wouldn't pick up on it. He really, really hoped that.

Blue was one of his best friends. One of his teammates. He was… so nice. He genuinely… cared about Dream, not just– about what Dream could do for him, not just about Dream's role. Blue was a good person.

What would he think of Dream? Would he be disappointed?

Dream would not be able to handle that.

He couldn't let Blue know.

"–always for some emergency or another, soo I thought I'd just… you know… call to chat! Just as friends," Blue spoke. His voice was… calm and cheerful. No emergency.

His words caught up to Dream. He wanted to… chat. As friends. That was important. Dream… didn't want Blue to feel like they're just co-workers. They were friends. Blue mattered a lot to Dream.

He was right. Dream had to make more time to spend with his friends. As friends. The last thing he wanted was for them to feel like… like he didn't care about them because he spent all his time helping other people instead.

(He had to have learned from his mistakes. He had to.)

Dream exhaled through his nose, trying to string together a coherent reply. Come on, he wasn't that drunk. Liven up!

"Yeah," he agreed, nodding even if Blue couldn't see. "I– I also… I'd enjoy spending time with you too. As friends,"

"Yay mweheheh!" Blue exclaimed, and Dream huffed in mirth at his endearing laughter. "Unless you're tired, that is– oh no, did I wake you up? I should've asked if you were available to talk first, gah, please prioritize your rest–!" he rushed out.

Dream shook his head. "No, no, I'm available," he spoke slower than the other. It's like the words were fuzzy in his mouth. It was weird. But it didn't sound weird, at least not to him.

"Oh! Okay then, great! Anyway. I'm making dinner!"

Dream hummed. "What're you making?"

"Vegetable cream soup!!!" Blue exclaimed.

That simultaneously sounded really tasty and made Dream remember the upcoming nausea.

"Sounds lovely," he focused on.

"Uh-huh! I hope so. You can try it tomorrow! It's a bit pot. I'm making it with the usual ingredients — you know, carrots and onions and potatoes, but I also decided to add cauliflower because I quite enjoy cauliflower–"Blue started rambling. He enjoyed cooking, as was characteristic of many versions of Papyrus. Funnily enough, Dream had caught him and Horror discussing food prep in the middle of a fight once or twice. It was bizarre. Dream wasn't against it though.

He didn't… think hating Nightmare's gang would solve anyone's issues. He wished he could help them instead. They… hngh. People hated them for ruining and destroying, which was understandable. Dream also, well, highly disapproved of their actions. But they were people, too. And, occasionally, he could feel their hurt. And there's no way being with Nightmare helped.

He exhaled. Maybe someday, he'd figure out a way to help them too. If he tried harder. If he was better.

…Ah, he wasn't listening to Blue. What a friend he was. How could he help Nightmare's gang if he couldn't even be enough for one of his best friends?

"–with an egg, and then it's going to be all done. What about you, what are you up to??" Blue asked curiously, because he was a good friend.

Agh. Dream would have to lie again. He felt… ashamed and guilty. What should he answer?

"I was… cleaning earlier," he answered. He did clean just a little.

"Cleaning? Tsk tsk tsk Dream, I told you to go home and rest," Blue said, light-hearted, more teasing than anything. Though there was soft, disguised concern in his words.

Dream winced. He swallowed. He almost reached for the bottle again before he remembered it was already empty. It was really getting to him. As always, it left him feeling odd. Fuzzy at the face. Nauseated.

"Sorry," he said, sort of by reflex.

"N– it's alright," Blue was quick to assure, and then he paused for a moment. "Are… you alright, Dream?"

Oh no.

Good going, Dream, you couldn't even compose yourself enough for one phone call. Blue just wanted to spend time with you, and now you're making it all about yourself and your problems which you shouldn't be having in the first place. Selfish.

Ugh, and the wine wasn't helping him at all. Dream felt… messy, when he should be the pinnacle of put-togetherness. He couldn't cry now. He couldn't.

"I'm okayy," Dream tried to put a sincere inflection to it. He'd mastered that long ago, except now, it fell oddly, drawing out the end of the word just a bit. Dammit.

Blue was quiet for another moment. Dream had to fix this.

"…Dream, you can ta–"

"I'm just a bit distracted, sorry," Dream lied, "Planning. You know how it is. …Sorry for interrupting you," he winced.

"…Right," that didn't sound like Blue believed him. Dream hunched in on himself. He felt sick. "Just–" Blue took a breath, "–don't stay up all night planning, okay? …Take care of yourself. Please. You don't have to– …You… you'll need the strength, so we can, uh, help people the best we can!"

Right. He was right. Dream was so selfish to be doing this.

"…You're right," he agreed softly. "Thanks for the chat, Blue. I really enjoyed it. Can we… I… I really appreciate you as a friend, you know?" he swallowed. "We should… hang out more. I'm sorry we don't hang out more. I'm s– I… I think I'm gonna go to bed now," he finished on a bit of a lame note.

"I'd love to hang out another time," Blue said all warm, and Dream knew he meant it. "But right now, you going to bed will make me even happier! Good night, Dream! See you tomorrow!"

"Good night," Dream returned quietly. After a beat, the call ended.

Dream let his hand down, blinking bleary at the wall. The silence lingered. He was alone.

He shuffled over to the toilet to throw up so he could go to bed.

—

He was growing too accustomed to the alcohol. One bottle wasn't making him as sick. He had to get two.

The shame burned. Dream felt as though everyone knew. Knew that he was a failure, that he needed something additional to work (and he was already worse at his work than he'd like). Knew that he wasn't the beacon of happiness and hope that they believed in, that they needed, that they loved. That he was something flawed, which felt sorrow and exhaustion and shame.

…He was finding more varied places to get the alcohol from.

—

Several days later,

"Dream!" Ink grabbed him by the shoulders.

"Ink?" Dream was immediately aware, "What is it, why did you call me, are you alright?" did Error go too far again, did Dream need to heal him? Was an AU being destroyed?

"Oh I'm great," Ink waved a hand, and then once again grabbed Dream, "But I really really really need your help!"

"Yes? Of course!" Dream would always help his friends.

"I need you," Ink said gravely, "to have a beach day with me."

Dream stared back at Ink's intense stare.

He resisted the urge to sigh. That'd be rude. And he wasn't really irritated with Ink anyway. Both because he didn't feel irritation, and also because it was Ink, Ink was like this.

"Come on pleeasee! It's really important!" Ink shook him a little. "It's for one of my stories! It has to be realistic. I stayed up all night thinking of plot points to put to the test,"

It still often baffled Dream how Ink could use up his time and energy for fictional stories like this. Then again, he'd… learned Ink perceived real people as fictional too. And besides, he wasn't Dream. Other people needed breaks and hobbies to function and to feel alright, so it was justifiably important. Even if Dream, personally, wouldn't dare.

"…Right," he replied carefully. "How long is this going to take…?"

"Uhhhmmm about a day, less even, so it's basically nothing," Ink shrugged. "We'll leave if there's an emergency, too, I promise,"

Okay, that eased some of Dream's worry. And it's not like this was the first time Ink hauled them away to do stuff relating to his stories. Last time was a few months ago, a camping trip in the mountains. Blue enjoyed that one. Dream did too. He held the memory fondly.

"Okay," he relented with a sigh and a smile. He'd rather be used by his friends.

"YES!" Ink threw his hands up.

And so here they were. Having a beach day.

It wasn't some private beach — there were a bunch of monsters around, but it was very far from crowded. It made Dream feel less like everyone would be looking at him and disapproving of this unearned leisure.

They'd already gone into the water, which wasn't awfully cold. And either way, the sun was high up and hot, seeping warmth into Dream's bones. The air held a gentle breeze that smelled of salt and sand and seaweed.

"Ink, pass it!" Dream hollered, grinning.

"Incomiiing!" Ink laughed, turning so he could pass the ball to Dream. With a running start, Dream jumped to dunk it past the net.

Blue laughed loudly at that, whistling. Error couldn't be assed to rush to catch the ball, even if he was literally a few paces away from it.

Blue had the idea that they play beach volleyball, but they'd needed a fourth person. Ink ended up nagging the Destroyer until he finally agreed, though he wasn't exactly passionate about it. Still, it was really fun. Error made up for his lack of involvement by cheating. This was the third ball Ink had drawn, haha.

And honestly?

Dream was having fun. Even with just the four of them, he was having a great time. All those fighting skills turned out to be useful — agility and precision and team coordination. Both teams were about evenly matched, making the game just engaging enough. Though weirdly, Dream didn't feel drained by all the movement and emotions.

The other monsters around the beach were relaxing, wafting off pleasant contentedness. Blue and Ink were as cheerful as ever. Even Error, as much as he complained about the sand, didn't seem to loathe it too much (likely because he was sort of friends with Blue and was familiar Ink).

It all left Dream collapsing onto his towel with a grin that was so big it ached against his face and a pleasant buzzing in his bones. This was yet another memory he'd hold near and dear.

("Thank you," Dream said to Ink quietly, but from the heart, as they all were sat to eat lunch during a brief break.

Ink chuckled, sharing a brief glance with Blue. "Anytime," he nudged Dream with an elbow.)

.

.

.

…Unfortunately, Dream remained a mess.

He was trying to sleep, he really was. He'd gone to bed over half an hour ago and he'd stayed there. Feeling lighter after a fantastic day. Calmer. More put together. Hopeful, the positivity inside him fresh and sincere, braced to live.

But he just… couldn't sleep. Which, to be fair, was far from new. Actually, he struggled to sleep most of the time. Which wasn't ideal since he got to bed, hm, maybe once every three days, but he was still fully functional so it must be all he needed.

Dream sighed, rolling on his side. Purple teddy bear held to his chest as always.

He wanted to sleep. Bad dreams or not, selfish or not, he was tired and he needed energy to bring his best for the Multiverse. Simply laying around certainly wasn't better.

He didn't understand why he couldn't sleep. He felt so cozy and comforted after the day at the beach. Filled with an unmarred warmth.

…Maybe…

…Hm. Did he need to drink an entire bottle every time? Maybe… drinking only a little would be fine. Just enough to dull his hyperawareness. What's so different to using melatonin pills?

Carefully, still a little ashamed, Dream got out of bed.

His head didn't even hurt in the morning, so it must've been fine.

—

It's really not that bad. Dream remained Dream, the Guardian of Positivity, member of the Star Squad, Protectors of the Multiverse. He was just as reliable, endlessly and gladly inspiring hope in everyone around him. Everyone knew how Dream was. Dream helped and asked for nothing in return. Dream always saw the best in people. Dream determinedly kept his stance in the face of terror and destruction. Dream embodied goodness, in everything he did, everything he was. Always smiling sincerely, reaching out his hands. Dream and all that he was belonged to the people. He served his role dutifully, humble and dedicated, glad and proud.

After years, he'd eventually settled into this balance. Always outputting as much productivity as he could, and always looking to do it more. A worn routine.

This was just… another… tiny part of said routine. He never dared to overdo it — he never drank around people, the same way he never cried around people. He never did it two days in a row, never even did it twice in the same week. He was always very careful that he wasn't needed when he was… uhm, in that state. He didn't… always drink himself to sickness, some nights it was just to help him sleep.

No one was noticing. So it was fine. Dream was ensuring he was highly functional and stable. He could get out all these unwanted emotions and thoughts, flush them down the toilet, and then continue as if it wasn't needed in the first place.

Until he was taken off-guard.

His phone was ringing.

Dream picked up immediately, desperately hoping this was just Blue or Ink wanting to chat. Because here he was once again. Dressed in pajamas, on his bathroom floor. Staring at the swirling and swimming tiles with over one bottle of alcohol in his system. Waiting for the sickness to come and pass, as usual.

"Yeah–?"

"Dream, emergency," Blue's alarm was audible over the line. Dream's rolling stomach sank. "Nightmare and his gang attacked–"

"On m' way, give me– minute," Dream hauled himself to his feet, and promptly regretted it as sharp reflux burned his throat. He pushed it down.

To his credit, his awareness sharpened a bit, as he listened to Blue give him the details of where to go and what state they were in. Ink was already there, and he heard Blue go through one of his portals. At that point Blue had to hang up to engage in combat as well.

In the meanwhile, Dream tried to gather himself into something semi-functional. He knew he looked terrible when drinking, and he was far from dressed for fighting, he had to hurriedly put on more combat-appropriate clothes so he wouldn't earn himself unnecessary wounds or impede his movements. He also took barely a few short seconds to splash his face with cold water.

As always, his mind kicked into habit as soon as he heard 'emergency'. Settling into familiarity. Forcefully jammed into strategy and pragmatism, away from sorrow and pain and all those distractions.

In about a dozen minutes, he arrived at the described location, more specifically in a version of Waterfall. The teleportation made his stomach do uncoordinated flips but Dream barely even noticed it, because he spotted Killer and Dust both engaging Blue in combat and jumped in to deal with at least one of them.

"Dream!" Blue exclaimed in relief.

"Here," Dream called back, parrying the swing of Killer's knife with his staff. Sometimes Killer preferred regular ranged attack bullets, but it seems today (or, tonight, according to the Omega Timeline's cycle) he was more for close-ranged combat. Which was fine because Dream was experienced in both.

"Well look who deigned to join!" Killer spat laughter in Dream's face, gladly engaging him in a fight. He was as vicious as ever, relentless and dirty with his attacks. Dream was used to him and knew to keep his guard up at all times, responding with fast, precise blocks and attacks of his own so as to not allow him openings to abuse.

Or… he was used to Killer.

But as they fought, and Killer kept taunting him as he usually did, Dream was… having a harder time than he should be.

It felt like he was reacting on time, except again and again, Killer managed to steal hits from him that Dream should've been perfectly capable of handling. His reflexes were… fuzzier than he'd like. In a normal fight, they would still hold up, but again, this was Killer. Nightmare had picked out the members of his gang for clear reasons.

Everything was just a little uncoordinated. Just a little unstable, like they were fighting in shallow water even though they were still on dry land, like Dream couldn't manage his footwork. Each hit that landed jarred Dream, even though the pain was muffled as well. Dream was lacking.

…And Killer was catching onto it.

"Heheheee did we catch you off-guard, dreamboy?" he jeered as he slammed his blade against Dream's staff once more, undistracted by his own words. "Are you losing your spark?"

Dream didn't reply, focused on matching him beat for beat as much as he could. Though that wasn't uncommon. He wasn't much for mid-fight banter. That was more Ink's thing. It's why Killer liked fighting Dream specifically. He wanted to crack his composure.

"You're sloppy," Killer hissed, grinning, dodging and slashing in the same movement, "Not usually your style, Mr. Perfect!" he mocked.

And he was right. Dream excused the rushing of his metaphorical heart on the adrenaline.

"This is who our enemies are? Pathetic," Killer successfully managed to slam the hilt of his blade against Dream's wrist, which weakened the grip on his staff, allowing Killer a wide swipe that landed despite Dream's attempt at dodging. Dream registered absentmindedly that, thankfully, it wasn't a lethal wound.

"What is up with you?" Killer crooned. "Am I scaring you, sunshine? Was this a bad time? Or…" he paused, in a dangerously considering way.

Dream's gut wrenched. His eyes widened, just the tiniest bit that people usually would not notice.

But this was Killer. Killer, when he wasn't drunk on violence and pain, could be terrifyingly observant. He was like a shark sensing a single droplet of blood in the water.

Killer barked out a hysterical laugh.

"Are you drunk?!" he loudly marveled.

Dream was too late to catch the wince he made at that. It was just the confirmation Killer needed.

"Oooohohoho oh this is incredible!" Killer laughed, fiercely back to attacking. "Your Guardian, everybody! A drunkard! I knew I could smell something familiar!" he declared it all loudly, even if there was nobody here to hear except the two opposing groups. And the echo flowers.

But even though there were no civilians here to hear, Dream was violently cringing inside. Please, no, he begged, please just let me handle this and go back home.

"What, got sick of living the life anyone else would kill for?!" Killer mocked, abusing his new knowledge to gain the upper hand in their fight. Dream was even sloppier, struggling to keep up with him, backing up as Killer pushed onwards. "I'm embarrassed to even fight you, Dream! Tsk tsk tsk!"

Usually, Dream mentally shielded himself from Killer's and Nightmare's and everyone's negative remarks as much as he could. Usually he knew the point of their words was to get to him, him specifically. To weaken his resolve, to hurt.

So why was it getting to him now?

Horrifyingly, Dream realized he wanted to cry.

All Killer needed was for him to stumble for a moment, and then Dream cried out as a knife was plunged directly into his chest. Killer seized the opportunity, shoving him towards the wall with it so he could push the blade in up to the hilt.

As soon as he accomplished it, he twisted the knife, Dream letting out another highly pained sound, and then ripped his knife out to let him bleed.

Dream, uncoordinated, sloppy, hurting, overwhelmed, slid down to the ground, trying to at least breathe. Everything was spinning, and the back of his throat stung sharply and discontentedly.

Dream didn't even process Killer lifting his knife and summoning four blasters with the same gesture, laughing hysterically above him. He flinched and cowered pathetically as a second shape jumped between them, and it was the final push as he leaned forwards and retched on the ground. Or… he aimed for the ground but didn't quite make it. The humiliation burned as he saw he caught the bottom of his pants and his shoes and it was gross and he wanted to cry. He was shaking.

"–eam are you okay?!" Blue's worried voice floated in from beside him, and Dream squeezed his eyes shut, pulling his knees closer in, hiding his face in them.

He was collapsing in the middle of a fight. His friends needed him. He was letting them down. He was letting everyone see his composure break. He was broadcasting his weaknesses, his wrongness to their enemies. What was wrong with him? Why was he like this? Why couldn't he just work?

Adrenaline and shame and sheer overstimulation wracked him inwardly and he felt sick, he felt so sick, he was going to throw up again.

"Dream, hey, hey, listen to me, it's okay, focus on my voice," Blue spoke. He was– he was kneeling next to Dream, blocking his view of the rest of the fight. If both of them were dealing with Dream's mess, then Ink had to be handling the rest on his own. And Ink was strong and incredibly capable, he was creative and didn't let things get to him, but Dream was letting him down.

They were both going to be disappointed in him. The thought felt like getting stabbed in the chest again.

Dream– Dream couldn't do this. He was a disappointment. He was a useless. A mess. He was a failure.

In barely a flash, he was back in his bathroom, bending forward to throw up into the toilet. Everything was spinning, and he clutched the bowl to stop the shaking of his hands. His face felt hot with shame and the blubbery tears breaking out of their prison.

Dream was struggling to breathe. It felt like his rib cage was made of stone, and he couldn't breathe in right. He was– he was trying to gasp in air but every inhale got cut off sharply, he couldn't breathe, everything was vibrating like pins and needles.

Dream let his forehead thunk down on the toilet seat, the cutting breaths starting to sound more like hiccups, like sobs. He couldn't get himself under control, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't even think. It was all just a barrage of emotions he shouldn't be capable of even having, uselessness and panic and sorrow and self-hatred and guilt and disappointment and shame shame shame. He was a ruin. He felt so damn sorry the Multiverse depended on this thing.

Suck it up. Pull yourself together. Handle this. Be better. Be better!

But he couldn't. He couldn't. Every desperate attempt to pull himself together only made him more overwhelmed, only made him feel more incapable. He wanted to claw out the emotions. He wanted it out.

It hurt as he retched into the toilet again, acidic magic trailing down his chin. It was gross, it was so gross, he hated it. He hated the way his uncontrolled sobs echoed in the bathroom. He hated the way he couldn't even get up, trembling and weak and aching all over. He hated hating, he shouldn't even be capable of it.

How was he going to sleep like this? How was he going to look his friends in the eyes like this tomorrow? How was he going to look at anyone? Maybe they wouldn't know how much of a useless disappointment he was, if Nightmare didn't broadcast it to the whole Multiverse, but Dream would know. It would be in the background of all his actions, following him, never allowing him to forget because he had to remember his mistakes, he had to learn from them, he had to be better.

Who would need– who would want a Guardian of Positivity who wasn't even positive?

He tried to reign in the sobbing, he tried, he swore he tried. He always tried so, so hard but it was never enough. He was never enough. People always needed more, there was always more to do, he always had to be more. He couldn't even stop crying, when he shouldn't be crying in the first place.

Dream raised his hands, slamming them into the sides of his head. Just stop it. Just stop it. You're the one that messed up, you're the one who always messes up! It's your fault! It's always been your fault! Why are you crying? How dare you feel sorry for yourself you useless thing? People suffer constantly, and here you are, sniveling!

"I'm sorry, 'm sorry," Dream blubbered incoherently, not even sure to who. It was just– instinct, deep inside him. Sorry that he was wrong, sorry that he wasn't enough, sorry sorry sorry.

The tears didn't stop coming. It's like every tear he'd ever repressed was coming back for him with vengeance. He just kept crying and crying and crying, like he was trying to hold back the tears with his own hands but they just kept slipping through. How was he supposed to calm anyone else's tears when he couldn't even deal with his own?

He was made to help people, it was the definition of his existence to exist through others and for others. If he couldn't be theirs then he was nothing, he was as good as de–

"–shh, shh, it's okay,"

Dream jumped as a hand was placed on his shoulder, no, no, what? There wasn't supposed to be anyone here, he was alone, he–

"Dream, it's okay, it's alright," Blue was kneeling next to him, keeping up a stream of reassurances, and the sudden shame Dream felt, like someone had grabbed his nonexistent intestines and squeezed.

"Blue– you– n– m– I–" he stammered, words slurred in a way he hated.

"It's okay," Blue insisted, "Look, look at me, hey," his hands came to cup Dream's face, and Dream felt borderline scared as he looked at Blue's gaze. It was gentle, but sure. "You're okay. Everything is okay. Stop thinking, just– breathe with me, please?" he said.

More tears bubbled into Dream's eye sockets because he couldn't, he couldn't–

"I need you to remind me how we did it, please? Please? How did we do it? How do we breathe deep?" Blue tried desperately.

He needed Dream. He needed Dream's help, and that's all Dream's shattered thoughts could focus on. His friend needed him.

Dream forced himself to gasp in air even as it burned, his chest and his throat.

"There we go, that's right," Blue encouraged, still holding his face, keeping Dream's eyes on him. "I think I'm remembering, keep showing me, okay?"

Dream gasped for air again, and Blue followed, inhaling deeply. Much more steadily than him. Dream tried to hold the breath but it burned and escaped him, and Blue held and exhaled with him, although slower.

Dream was still shaking with sobs but he pushed through, hands clutching tightly onto nothing, forcing himself to breathe in, hold, breathe out, hold, repeat. Blue following him beat for beat.

They barely spent a few minutes that way before another presence joined them and Dream flinched, his already unsteady rhythm knocked off again.

"It's just Ink, it's okay," Blue reassured quickly. "He's got some medical supplies–"

Dream's eye lights snapped back to Blue in alarm, "Who's hurt?" he asked immediately, still struggling with cohesion.

Blue's face saddened, and that only panicked Dream more. There was someone injured who needed his help and he was sitting here freaking out–

"You are," Ink said next to them and flicked Dream's head with two fingers. Dream startled at it. He saw Blue send Ink a look at that, but he sensed no regret from Ink.

His mind grappled to process the words.

He was? He was what? Hurt?

…Oh wait. Yes. He was hurt. Killer stabbed him in the chest, he was still bleeding from it.

And then– then he'd–

More tears and shame pricked at his face. He shook his head insistently, though he wasn't sure what he was trying to convey.

"Dream, please let Ink help," Blue pleaded, worry lacing every word.

Dream hated to make him worry, especially over him, so in guilt, he relented.

With shaking hands, he removed his capelet and his shirt so it would be easier for Ink. Looking at it now, the wound was bad. It wouldn't kill him, it would take a lot to kill him, but it was bad. His blood dripping down from his severed ribs. It'd soaked into his clothes. It explained the burning of his breathing only partially.

"It's going to be okay," Blue lifted his face up again. "Just let Ink heal it, it's going to be okay Dream,"

He shouldn't be the one reassuring Dream. Ink shouldn't be the one cleaning his wound carefully to heal him. Dream should be the one taking care of them, not the other way around.

"I'm sorry," he whispered through hiccups, not even flinching as Ink gently cleaned his wound out with rubbing alcohol.

However the smell reached up to Dream's nose and nausea rolled in his stomach.

He shoved himself away from Blue to gag, pressing a hand to his mouth because he'd hate himself even more if he threw up on his friend.

"Whoops, sorry about that," Ink said casually, assuming he'd done something wrong.

"Not– not your fault," Dream reassured him, struggling to breathe through the nausea.

"Oh, I thought that's what we're doing? Apologizing for things that aren't our fault?" Ink said with a mischievously innocent smile.

Blue whacked his shoulder. Ink showed no regret, chuckling.

Dream was trying not to throw up again. He didn't usually vomit this much, but he usually stayed in his bathroom with little physical strain too.

He really, really wished they didn't see him like this.

"Oh, you still feel sick?" Ink spoke again, pushing himself to his feet, "I'll be back in a mo, keep an eye on him," he told Blue and then disappeared through a swipe of inky magic.

"Okay–" Blue exhaled through his nose, picking up the cotton and the rubbing alcohol, "I'll treat your wounds for now then, is that okay?"

Dream stared at the plastic bottle of rubbing alcohol. Just the thought of the smell made him feel sick and ashamed and guilty, like he wanted to hide under his blanket.

"Oh–" Blue looked down at the bottle and then put it down.

"No, no, it's fine–" Dream was quick to reassure. His words were slightly clearer even though everything still felt like pins and needles. He was still intermittently hiccuping and sobbing, breathing shakily. And bleeding.

"No, we'll think of something else," Blue insisted, and Dream cringed. He couldn't even give it to them to not be a difficult patient. Way to burden your friends with what shouldn't even be their job, Dream.

He reached for the plastic bottle. He could patch his wound up himself, it was far from the first time.

Blue grabbed his wrist.

"Dream." he said sternly, and Dream couldn't help but hunch in on himself at the tone.

"Sorry,"

Blue breathed in and out in a measured manner.

"It's okay, I'm not mad at you," he said gently, and Dream could feel he wasn't. Mostly, he felt– frustration, worry and care, and sadness.

"Are– are you okay?" Dream asked. He didn't want Blue to feel frustrated and sad and all.

The frustration reared up at that, and then Dream felt it get intentionally shoved down.

"'S okay to be frustrated," he reassured, hand reaching up to Blue's shoulder in sloppy comfort.

"I'm–" Blue exhaled, "I'm not frustrated because you've done something wrong," he explained, "I just– I want to help you but I don't know how, and I'm... frustrated you're not letting us,"

Oh.

"Sorry," Dream mumbled, "I'm– I'm alright,"

"You're not," Ink reappeared, and Dream saw Blue wince at the bluntness. "Maybe this will help though?" Ink crouched down next to them, holding out a blister pack to Dream.

Dream let go of the rubbing alcohol, so Blue let go of his wrist. He accepted the blister pack, reading the name on the back.

'DETOX' and underneath, in smaller letters, 'active charcoal'.

"Charcoal?" he frowned.

"Yup!" Ink exclaimed. "It helps draw out, uh, bad things from your digestive system! Like food poisoning. Or alcohol,"

Dream stiffened, deeply uncomfortable and ashamed. Maybe they'd just heard Killer. Maybe they'd connected the dots. The two bottles still remained in the bathroom, after all, which is where they were sitting right now.

"I, I–" he scrambled.

"You don't have to explain yourself," Ink cut him off with a raised hand. "If you think that'll help, take it. You can even take two, it's not dangerous," he pointed at the active charcoal pack Dream held.

He hesitated.

"...Okay," Dream accepted, popping two out and swallowing them dry. It didn't taste like anything. He was thirsty. He felt completely drained, which didn't help the shaking and the wooziness.

"Wanna know what would help right now?" Blue spoke, and Dream looked at him hopefully.

"What?"

"Telling me how this upsets you so I can think of something else?" Blue pointed at the bottle of rubbing alcohol tentatively.

Dream cringed again. He should just tough it out. He was making things needlessly complicated, when he should be the person that makes things easier.

...But... Blue said it would help.

Dream took a wobbling breath in, then let it out. He was still blinking tears out of his eyes. Even though they weren't wracking through him anymore, he couldn't stop them.

"It's– the smell," he admitted quickly.

"Oh! Psh, well that's not a problem," Ink said easily, for some reason unraveling his (very long and thick) brown scarf that he loved. And then, bizzarely, he started wrapping it around Dream's neck, pulling it up so it rested over the lower half of his face too.

When Dream breathed in through his nose, all he could smell was Ink's natural scent, ink and paint and cloth.

"I– but what if I throw up again?" he looked up at Ink, voice small, eyes wet.

Ink stood with his arms crossed, smiling.

"You realize I throw up when I get overwhelmed, like, half the time, right?"

...Oh.

They were being… so nice. Showing him so much care, even though they shouldn't. But because they… wanted to?

It made him want to cry all over again, expression wobbling. They were so nice, and warm. He could feel their care.

"Thank you," he said softly to both of them.

"Anytime!" Ink beamed. "So is it gonna work?"

"I– yeah, I think so," Dream nodded, raising a hand to press the scarf to his face.

When Blue brought a cotton swab soaked in rubbing alcohol to try cleaning his stab wound again, the smell didn't hit Dream's nasal cavity, it didn't make him want to bend over and retch.

They spent some time in the quiet like that. Blue and Ink cleaning up his wound, healing it, and dressing it in a practiced manner. There were still tears half-heartedly streaming down from Dream's eyes, no matter how much he wiped them away with his hands and tried to hold them back.

He could feel the ache of the wound settling in, sharper now that it wasn't covered up by alcohol and adrenaline, but it wasn't more than what he could handle. His metaphysical stomach felt desolate, and he was so thirsty, but he worried he'd just throw it up again. Exhaustion tugged at his limbs and his eye lids, from the amount of energy he'd wasted in throwing up and freaking out.

And in the middle of a fight, too. And his teammates had rushed after him to help him, oh stars.

"What about Nightmare's gang?" Dream suddenly piped up in alarm.

"Oh don't worry," Ink waved a hand, "I ditched them at Error's," he cackled. Blue snorted.

Oh. Okay then.

"Good job," Dream praised them both. He really couldn't ask for better, more capable, more reliable teammates. Friends. "And… thank you. And– I'm–" his mouth wobbled more, and he tried to breathe the uprising tears away. "I'm sorry, I... I just– this–" how could he explain this? How could he justify himself?

He didn't want to lie to them. He hated lying. Especially to his friends.

"I thought it would help," his voice broke against his will. He stared at the floor, starting on the damned crying again. Get a hold of yourself, Dream. "I was trying to– I thought it would–"

Wordlessly, Blue reached over and dragged him into a hug. A second later Ink flopped into the embrace too, both of them sandwiching him like endearing annoyances.

Dream was… a bit stupefied. Here he was, drunk (post-drunk?), having botched a fight. Vomited magic dried on the bottom of his pants (he'd kicked his shoes off). Sitting with his best friends on his bathroom floor, an undignified mess in all ways.

And they just… hugged him.

Blue's arms around him were solid and strong, an unflinching aura of care. Ink had a steady calm presence, for all his hyperactivity, never overwhelming Dream with emotions due to their artificial nature.

They were… so warm.

Dream pressed his face to Blue's shoulder, squeezing his eyes shut painfully. Blue rubbed his back, as much as he could with Ink there at least.

"It's okay," Blue comforted him gently. "You're okay. Everything is alright. You didn't do anything wrong, alright? You can let it out,"

Dream shook his head.

"Heeyy! There's room for only one emotionless Protector!" Ink whined, "Don't infringe on my copyright!"

Dream laughed wetly at that.

"I'm– but it's wrong," he argued, daring to voice his inner turmoil. Uncertain how exactly to describe the way he felt about it to someone else. "I– I wasn't made to cry," he tried.

"I mean, you can cry though, right?" Ink pointed out. "Sounds to me like you were made to do it, then,"

And… and Dream couldn't really argue with that. He was left speechless.

"Come on, what do you always tell other people?" Blue guided. "What do you say when someone's crying?"

Many things. But among those things,

"That it's... normal, and... healthy," Dream replied, quiet, uneasy. "But I'm not– it's not the same,"

"Why not?" Blue exclaimed. "Didn't it feel nice just now? Letting it out? Everything that was built up?"

…Miserably, Dream had to admit it did. Like there had been a dam accumulating inside of him, turbulent and heavy, metric tons of tears built up. And finally, he'd let some of it out. He was exhausted, and ashamed, but he did feel… eased, in a way.

"You're allowed to cry, Dream," Blue insisted softly. "Heck, you of all people should get to cry!"

"Don't worry, we won't tell anyone," Ink said in a jokey tone, "It's going to be a Star Secret,"

"Yeah, Ink will probably forget in a day," Blue teased.

"Heeyy!" Ink complained with no upset behind it, instead amused. "Maybe you should forget it too, did you consider that?"

"Nope! I'm a magnificent keeper of secrets, mweheheh!"

Dream giggled wetly. They were so nice. He sobbed again, muffling it into Ink's scarf. He loved his friends so, so much.

"There we go," Blue encouraged, amused but sincere. Patting his back gently. "Do you still feel sick? Do you think we can move to your room–?"

"Yeah, it's alright," Dream swallowed.

"Dream,"

"No– it is, it really is, I– I want to change my clothes," he insisted, it was the truth.

"Alright, Ink, move a little please,"

Ink complained and there was a bit of shuffling. Dream also got ready to disengage from the hug, but instead he was taken off guard as Blue lifted upwards, still holding him. Easily picking Dream up, making him yelp. Jeez, he sometimes forgot how much sheer physical strength Blue had.

Blue cackled, having definitely done that on purpose.

Dream sighed in feigned annoyance, but considering how tired he was, he honestly appreciated the lift to his bed where Blue deposited him. Ink happily trailed after, and flopped down right beside him.

"Do you need anything else? Where are your clothes?" Blue hovered, still on his feet.

"I can get it," Dream pushed himself up.

"Noooooo," Ink complained, wrapping around him like a squid.

"Guys,"

"Dream,"

"Just–" Dream sighed, "please? I swear I'm better," either from the DETOX or he'd thrown it all up, or both. And from the sheer comfort and positivity of his friends. He was just… tired. So tired.

But… not in a hopeless way. Rather in a really sleepy way.

Blue was visibly unsure, but relented, sitting at the bed. Dream smiled at him. Ink unlatched from him, letting him get up. He got into pajamas, brushed his teeth because yuck, and also went to get himself a glass of cold water from the kitchen. He drank it slowly and crossed his fingers, hoping he wouldn't throw up again.

He lingered in his kitchen for a moment, just… breathing. His body was tired. Heavy and dragging. It was so much more than simple lack of sleep. It felt like he'd bled out. Not just literally. A part of him dreaded how this would all crash down on him tomorrow.

And he was still highly in danger of crying.

…But…

…Maybe, he was made for it. Maybe, it was good and healthy for him. That's what Ink and Blue thought. And Dream both trusted them and trusted their view. They were some of the most truly kind, capable, honest, caring, dedicated– ah, he could go on. Point was: he appreciated them. Maybe... maybe he should take them as a guide instead.

It was a bit terrifying? Because what if he was wrong? What if Dream was daring to go against everything that'd kept the multiversal balance intact this far?

…But he hadn't been enough, this far. So... clearly something wasn't working. It was time he tried to change things up Just a little. For the sake of goodness.

(And maybe, just a little, for his own sake.)

Dream refilled the glass, taking it with him. Pattering back to his bedroom.

Ink and Blue were still laying there, their collective aura easy and light and warm, though with mix-ins. They were chatting about something. Ink was holding up the purple teddy bear, making it move as though it was acting out their conversation.

Dream passed by and primly snatched it out of his hands.

"Heeyy!" Ink protested, and then his mental track switched as he grinned, "Oh I'm so happy you kept him!"

"Of course I kept him," Dream rolled his eye lights. "He's a gift from you doofuses,"

"Mweheheh!"

"I like his ribbon," Ink pointed out. "Purple and yellow, complementary colors,"

…Yeah.

"Dream. Bed. Sleep. Don't make me make you," Blue threatened.

"I dare you to try," Dream grinned.

"Oh Dreamy Mr. Guardian," Ink clasped his hands together theatrically, making his eyes big and sparkling, "I need aid remembering how to get into bed, can you please show me–!"

Blue mercilessly whacked him over the head, making Ink kick his feet and laugh loudly.

Blue sent Dream a glance, but Dream was laughing too. He wasn't particularly offended. Partially because it was Ink, but mostly because Ink was... pretty accurate with it, haha. Oh stars.

Oh so benevolently, he flopped into bed, laughing quietly as he got dragged in for cuddles. Holding the plushie close.

Tomorrow, the shame and guilt would crawl up his spine. Tomorrow, he was probably in for… difficult conversations.

Tonight, instead of alone, Dream was held by his teammates, his friends, listening to them chat and breathe, and he felt... alright. Tonight, instead of lying, Dream had cried and it was alright. Tonight, Dream slept alright.

[averillaratargaryen]

‘The Bitter Bond.’

Chapter XIII

“The only way to secure your daughters claim to the throne, is to have the Princess marry your son, Your Grace” Lord Lyonel was sat beside the King.

“And how exactly will that play out? What are you suggesting?” Viserys asks.

“Prince Aegon is a man. Princess Rhaenyra is a woman. There is no doubt, the realm will not accept her to be Queen, when you are no longer present. And no doubt, your Hand, will do the best to usurp the throne” Lord Lyonel paused, waiting to see if King Viserys would get the hint.

Unfortunately, he did not.

With a sigh, Lord Lyonel then leaned forward, “Princess Daerlyssa is Princess Rhaenyra’s daughter. Marrying Prince Aegon will give her the advantage of having your blood sit the throne, should it be usurped. Princess Daerlyssa is our only hope.”

“It will make no difference, they will have my granddaughter become a consort, if a usurpation was to take place” Viserys, despite slightly being intrigued, held back.

“Except, it will make it easier for Daemon to fight for the throne, and to pass it to the rightful heir, your daughter, Princess Rhaenyra” Lord Lyonel looked at Viserys in worry, “you are in poor health, your grace. You must see to reason, that this is possibly the only way, to stop a usurpation when you are no longer here.”

-

“Princess” Ser Arryk gave a polite gesture, as did his brother, Ser Erryk, when the two were stood, guarding the doors of the Great Hall.

The King had called, for his granddaughter.

Turning around, Daerlyssa looked towards Ser Harold, who gave her a nod, “I will wait out here, Princess.”

She nods back, turning towards the doors once again, before being politely welcomed, as her grandfather was sat at the throne, watching as she made her way down, to him.

It was complete silence, the sound of her heels clicking against the floor, followed by a sudden bang, as the doors were pulled closed, leaving her alone.

“Your grace” she politely greeted her grandfather, “you called for me?”

“Yes, I did” he responds, “do not be scared, child. Come closer.”

Daerlyssa looked around, as she continued walking towards him, wondering what he wished to speak of, to have her desert in the hall with him.

“You seem nervous” Viserys sits up, leaning forward.

“I do not understand why you have asked to see me. On my own” Daerlyssa gulped.

With only a couple of steps away, Daerlyssa stopped, as she stood facing him.

“We must speak, of my proposal” Viserys responds, watching Daerlyssa let out a soft sigh, “the last we spoke of this, you stormed out.”

“Marry my Uncle is a grave mistake, your grace” Daerlyssa responds, “I do not want to face the same fate as my mother.”

“And what fate would that be?” Viserys asks, knowing she questioned his parenting skills.

“You had my mother marry a man, who could not give her children. My brothers are bastards, by nature. It had given every reason for whispers around this place, towards my family” Daerlyssa scoffed, “if you had married her to my father first, my mother would have not had to move away, to Dragonstone.”

“And you are afraid Aegon will not give you children?” Viserys scoffs, “do you think I’d allow that?”

“You allowed it with my mother” Daerlyssa responds, “as for me.. you know of your son’s desires. He will not be able to give me children, and I do not want to be his wife.”

“Daerlyssa, do you understand why I am asking that you marry him?” Viserys asks.

“Because you find his love for men a sin. You wish this marriage would cleanse him. My uncle has confided in what you have spoken, to him” Daerlyssa responds.

Viserys sighed, as he shook his head no, forcing himself up, off the throne.

Looking towards her, he stepped down, making his way towards her.

“Daerlyssa, if you care for your family, your only choice is to marry your Uncle” Viserys explains.

“What would marrying him do, to help my family?” Daerlyssa asks.

“Your mother is the heir, as you are aware” Viserys states.

“Yes, I am aware” Daerlyssa responds.

“Dear, I do not know how long I will” Viserys let out a soft chuckle, at his weakness, “my time will be up, and soon enough, it will be time for your mother to rule. Except.. she is a woman.”

“If you thought of it that way, why did you chose to name her your heir?” Daerlyssa asks.

“I do not think of it that way” Viserys shook his head, “no. But the realm would put a torch the throne, than see a woman sit it. It is possible, that Aegon would become a usurper.”

“And you wish I’d marry him? You think that is what will help my family?” Daerlyssa scoffed.

“If you marry, you will become his consort” Viserys explains.

“I do not wish to be his consort. I wish to be a woman with dignity. Marrying, for a game.. what dignity would that give me?” Daerlyssa asks.

“Your mother will struggle to take back her throne, if it is not for you” Viserys responds.

“You forget your brother, your Grace. My father hates your children, with you consort. Every single one, he despises. If they were to usurp the throne, it would only take Daemon a day to get it back” Daerlyssa looked towards her grandfather blankly.

Looking toward his sword, Viserys begins to walk around her, to walk past, leaving the throne in her rear view.

“Daemon has no army. He knows better himself, he can not fight for the throne. Not alone” Viserys responds.

“My father is strong” Daerlyssa turns around to face him, only managing to face his back, “he could kill an entire city, with no army.”

“And kill the small folk?” Viserys asks, “Rhaenyra would not allow it.

Turning back around, he looked at Daerlyssa with pleading eyes, as reached out, holding both her hands.

“You are your family’s only hope. If you do not, the throne will be usurped. War will follow, as you and your family are forced to bend the knee to your Uncle and the Hightowers. Is that what you want?” Viserys asks.

“No, but-?”

“Then you must marry” Viserys demands, “take my word, and marry your uncle, or live to see fire and blood shed, as the house of the dragon falls to its doom.”

“So I must sacrifice my happiness, in order for this house to stay stable?” Daerlyssa asks.

“We all must make sacrifices. This is one not for me, but for you. For your mother. My only child” Viserys slipped his hands out of hers, before cradling her face gently, as he looked into her eyes, “marry Aegon.”

-

A couple of days had passed, since the conversation between Daerlyssa and her grandfather had taken place.

He had given her time to process, and think, of what she must do.

…

“Where are you taking me?” Daerlyssa chuckled, as she held onto Aemond’s arm, the two walking the streets of the city, late at night, disguised in capes.

They had eventually come to a stop, with a crowd stood before them.

Yet, Aemond managed to have them squeeze past, as the two were intrigued of what was going on.

“Rhaenyra, the Realm’s Delight. A girl so young and so slight.”

“We should go” Aemond whispered, as he held Daerlyssa’s hand tightly.

Yet she shook her head no, her eyes forward to the play before her, as she heard the laughter from the crownd.

“Would she make a powerful queen? Or would she be feeble?”

“Feeble!” The crowd around her shout out in response.

Daerlyssa then looks around to the crowd, confused and hurt, by the slander they give, to her mother.

Aemond notices the shift in her body, as she looked around, her eyes slightly teared.

“Though, Aegon, the Prince, might long for a claim, he has two things Rhaenyra can not; a conqueror’s name, and a cock!”

Daerlyssa heard the laughter around her once again, before turning around as she stormed away, Aemond following after her.

…

“Daerlyssa, wait” Aemond called out.

“Is this what everyone thinks?” Daerlyssa turns to face Aemond, as the two stood in an alley, “because my mother is not a woman, she can not sit the throne, is that truly people’s nature?”

“It does not matter what they think” Aemond responds, “the King has named his heir. It is his word, over theirs. They have no choice, but to accept.”

“Yet they would rather have your brother sit the throne” Daerlyssa scoffed.

“No woman has sat the iron throne. It is simply just not being able to fathom such a thing” Aemond responds.

He could not understand the reason for her teared eyes, not aware of the conversation she and Viserys shared.

Not realising Daerlyssa’s sorrow was her acceptance, that Viserys was right.

That she would have to sacrifice the idea of being happy, in order to save her family.

“If you are afraid of being hurt, then I can assure you, the people of Westeros would not hurt a woman” Aemond assured her.

Yet his words weren’t enough to have her persuaded, as she took a step away from him, “everywhere in the world, they hurt women like me. We are never safe, when men are ruling.”

-

As the next morning had come, Aemond was making his way down for breakfast.

It was a rough night, given his adventure with Daerlyssa had been cut short, after she had wished to return home, due to what she witnessed from the small folk.

Aemond had found himself worried, hoping to speak to her that morning, yet could not find her within her chamber, or anywhere.

Until he reached the table, looking up to see Daerlyssa stood at the table, beside Viserys.

The faces at the table, clearly in distress.

“Aemond” Viserys called out, “please, sit.”

Aemond nodded slowly, looking towards Daerlyssa. Whilst she could feel his eye on her, she fought to keep her eyes away, looking straight.

“What is going on?” Aemond asks, as he sat beside Helena.

“Daerlyssa has accepted to marry our brother” Helena responded.

Aemond felt the time stop, a feeling as though everything began to move slowly.

Looking towards Aegon, he noticed the betrayal on his face, as he looked for help, in getting out of such a thing.

To then look at Daerlyssa’s eyes, whose eyes were full of tears, yet she kept her head held high, hiding away what she truly felt in that moment.

“What?” Aemond wished to ask, yet the words were taken out his mouth, when he turned to the voice that spoke.

There stood Daemon, beside Rhaenyra, as they look towards their daughter.

“I will marry” Daerlyssa responded.

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

chapter 14

[thatonesonicfanfictionwriter]

Hello, I was just wondering if you watched the new sonic 3 movie? If so, I would like to request shadow (platonic) who was taken in by the reader after the events of the movie took place and they showed him that he could be loved again.

And what would he feel like and do if he saw them die or nearly die (I don't think I saw it on your won't-do list), by perhaps G.U.N. or some sort of accident.

If you haven't watched the movie, I would really recommend that you watch it, it was great😁🥰

“Not Again, NOT AGAIN!”

Pairing: Movie Shadow the Hedgehog & Reader (platonic)

Requested: Yes (by @grapegirlpoland ).

Description: He had finally allowed himself to get close to someone again. Why did the world not allow him to have that happiness…?

Notes: Ahhh, more angst. And yes, I have seen the movie! It was great! Hope you enjoy the oneshot! Though it feels both platonic and romantic on accident, sorry-

(Reader will be gender-neutral.)

(Not proof-read/beta-read.)

(TW: Reader nearly dies.)

– – – – – – – – – – – –

The way you two met was…not natural.

Then again, he wasn’t natural. He was an alien hedgehog for crying out loud!

But when you found him in that crater, with him suffering multiple burn wounds…

You couldn’t just leave him there.

So you climbed down the crater, gently picked him up, and brought him to your house to get him medical attention.

Of course, when he woke, he was very…aggressive? No, aggressive wasn’t the right word.

He was scared.

It took some time (a lot of time), but he warmed up to you, eventually telling you his name.

Shadow.

He was essentially this alien hedgehog that tried to help destroy the world, but decided not to after realizing what he was doing was wrong.

He was surprised he was even alive, to tell you the truth.

But he was grateful. Grateful for your help.

He could even call you a friend.

Someone he trusted.

…

But he’s never allowed to stay happy for long, is he…?

No.

Because they showed up again.

The Guardian Units of Nations, or G.U.N. for short.

They wanted to contain Shadow again like they had done in the past.

But you refused.

You demanded they leave him alone, to let him live free, like every being deserved.

When neither of you were expecting it…

BANG.

A gunshot went straight through your chest, causing you to cough out blood.

Your pupils dilated to a small size, you reached up to your mouth as you coughed again, blood spilling onto your hand as you fell to your knees.

The last thing you heard before your vision went dark was Shadow yelling your name in a very frantic voice.

…

“…And that leads me to where I am now,” you mutter to the other person. Or ghost, you should say.

Right now, you were in a place called Limbo, the place between life and death.

The place where Maria Robotnik resided.

She nods, not saying anything for a moment.

“Do you wish to go back?” she asks you.

“Of course I do,” you say. “I don’t want Shadow to be alone again. Not after everything he’s been through.”

Maria gives you a smile.

“I’m glad to hear that, [Name],” she tells you. “Take care of my brother for me, will you?”

You nod, and she closes her eyes, you doing the same.

When you reopen them, you immediately feel the pain in your chest. But that's the least of your concerns right now.

Looking over, Shadow seems to be sleeping soundly on the bed, on top of your legs. Tear marks stain his muzzle, causing you to frown.

You reach out and gently pet the top of his head, and he leans into it, a quiet clicking sound being heard from Shadow’s chest, similar to a hedgehog’s purr.

Suddenly his eyes shoot open and the clicking stops, and he looks over at you with dilated pupils.

“[NAME]!” he yells, engulfing you in a hug, which you reciprocate without a millisecond of hesitation. Tears seem to be pooling down his muzzle once more. “I th-thought…y-you were…”

“Shh, shhh, I’m okay,” you mutter, petting the top of his head again. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“You better not be,” he says, choking out a sob. “You had me worried sick…”

“I know bud, I’m sorry,” you tell him. “How’d you manage to get me to a hospital?”

“I…had to get the help of an annoying blue hedgehog,” he mutters, a bit embarrassed.

“You? Getting help from Sonic? Am I talking to the real Shadow here?” you joke.

“Ughhh, yep, you’re fine alright,” he grumbles.

“You know you like it,” you say.

“I tolerate it,” he says back.

You chuckle, before tightening the hug a bit.

“I’m just glad you’re safe, Shadow,” you tell him.

He lets out a soft sigh but allows himself to get comfortable in your arms.

“I’m glad you’re safe too, [Name],” he mutters. “And it’ll stay that way. Don’t want to lose my favorite human.”

“I thought that was Stone?” you ask.

“Nope. It’s you,” he says. “Don’t make me take it back.”

You let off a giggle.

“Nope, it’s going straight to my head,” you say.

He lets off a groan. Why did he put up with you sometimes…

[dykedvonte]

I think it’s so ironic that the Pony Express escapes a lot if not all blame in discussion. I can’t even say I am excused from it but it’s just how hard people circle back to the characters alone without considering the environment they were made to be in.

Why would they design a ship where only two of the rooms lock? Not the bathroom? Not the sleeping quarters? We assume that all the companies in the universe are this shallow and careless to their workers but we explicitly know the Pony Express in extra vile. They are fed processed slop pack they can’t even really cook and the ration of those pack is meager at best. They hired and made people with a plethora of conflicting demeanors and beliefs work together on a mission where cohesion is important if not an outright necessity and punish them for not being happy about it. There’s no social protocols, not chain of command other than Captain’s word/choice and the only way to enforce that is with a literal firearm. They don’t allow them to celebrate freely and even took away leisure activities that would make them less stir crazy. They are only allowed a few hours of sleep despite their being no other real responsibilities or work on the ship, no matter the position or its importance. With any crew, with any level of synergy, this was a powder keg waiting for a spark.

I’m not saying characters that made mistakes didn’t make huge ones, but I think part of the horror is that at least for some (this is targeting Jimathan) those mistakes are partly made by a force of the hand. There’s a running theme of lack of choice and being forced into something and the very nature of how The Pony Express expected them to function plays a big part.

[muffingnf]

forever thinking about how nothing will be the same as before this situation and george won't be the same ever again. i just hope he will take of his mental health after this, no matter what it takes, even if it means he will be far more distanced

anon this is seriously making me suicidal

on a real note i mostly worry about how this will impact his ability to form connections and make relationships with other people. like imagine feeling too cautious to go near non-ccs because oh god what if theyre a secret fan or what if they put something online and ‘expose’ me. but then u can’t go near fellow cc’s either because you cannot tell who has genuine intentions and who just wants to fuck you over later down the line. and none of this is even shit fans like me should even be thinking about i cannot stress enough how none of this should’ve been public and i feel so fucking bad for him that he’s had to be so publicly vulnerable after being so private his whole career.

on another note i suppose dnf will be trauma bonded for life now

[sluckythewizard]

BUT IM NOT A WRITER. something strange possessed me to write my first proper fanfic in maybe a decade. be niceys to me but also grill me so i can get stronger. this one is a stupidly self indulgent bit between Soda and Emizel, a day or so after emizel was sired. CW for gore descriptions, but thats about it i think. image below is a snippet of the start. the rest of the whole dang thing will be under the cut. ive never posted fanfic ever in my life. read my tags for secret behind da scenes commentary

"Oh shit… I think hes dead…" It was another night, another patrol, another fight, and another win, for Emizel and Soda.

Under moonlight, under street light, under interwoven wires above, the two stood here in a quiet and damp alleyway. The air was drenched with the smell of a previous rain, and the puddles of said storm remain huddled in corners and pot holes.

One splashed as soda found himself stepping forwards into one. The residual adrenaline of the fight had left his body shaking, his heart still pounding, his wounds still throbbing. They had still won; or more-so, Emizel had won. A particularly nasty blow to the side had Soda reduced to the side lines for most of the fight, left to watch as his newly vampiric comrade had absolutely eviscerated the competition.

Emizel had only been turned a day ago, but it was impossible not to notice how it had changed him. He already acted so goddamn confident, so on top of the world, and this newfound power, newfound speed and strength, only built upon his insane ego.

The Fangs that they encountered here on this night stood no fucking chance. Emizel was too quick, too strong, and he easily chased off the rivals. It was only now, as the final unfortunate opponent had turned to flee, a clean clock in the jaw sent the human tumbling to the ground with a dull thump, and it did not move afterward.

Soda shifts his shoe out of the puddle, the cold seeping into his sock being one of the few things keeping his mind in his body in the moment. Is the guy breathing?

A low laugh bleeds from Emizel as he stretches his arms, licking his sharpened teeth as he stares off in the direction the remaining Fangs went. Soda knew that look on his face, the look of a tiger pondering on its next kill, he knew well that Emizel wanted to chase them.

But the guy on the ground.. It was one punch to the face, and the wicked crack sound that came from it had planted a seeding dread within Sodas chest.

As he steps forward, around the puddle, the resulting sound made Emizels attention click back over to Soda, the snap of his gaze making Soda flinch.

The two lock eyes, and Soda weakly gestures to the limp body on the floor. "The uh.. I think.. Is that guy dead?" He finally asks, having a hard time keeping contact with Emizels intensely red eyes.

Emizel turns his attention to said body, tilting his head as he goes to kick at the thing, turning it over. "Man no way hes dead, I punched him once." He mutters.

"Well, yeah, but his head almost twisted all the way around when you did.." Soda steps up to stand beside Emizel, the two boys standing with their hands in their pockets, down at this unfortunate, limp body.

"Should we hide it?" Soda asks, glancing back over at Emizel, who had.. An odd look on his face. He was clearly pondering something, but Soda could only guess whatever was going on in that brilliant head of his. He knew and trusted that Emizel was smart. If anyone could figure out what to do about this, it would be him.

But the lack of an answer had anxiety chewing at the back of Sodas rib cage, and after a second, he speaks up again, compelled to fill what he perceived as a tense silence. "Like.. I dunno, I've never uh... killed a guy..." He shrugs, prompting Emizel to let out a big sigh.

"He's not dead man, just out fuckin cold." Emizel kneels down next to the body, putting an ear up to its chest, and pondering on that for a moment. An uncertainty twists his expression, as he decides to instead place a hand on the victims throat, checking for a pulse. A moment passes, and seemingly finding nothing, he pulls back.

"Uh... Okay, so he might be dead."

Something about the confirmation from Emizel made a shiver run up Sodas spine. That, or maybe it was just the breeze agitating the cold water in his shoe.

"Huh… Damn.." Was all that Soda could really get to leave his mouth. Which was hardly a splash compared to the torrent that was slowly churning in his head. They just killed a guy. Or, Emizel just killed a guy. And it was so easy. They had to hide the body now, right? That was the usual progression here? Getting caught for murder was way more extreme than getting caught for breaking mailboxes with soda cans. It was so, so disturbingly easy. It really was just one punch. It's not like the Fangs are weak by any means, so just one punch? And this guy is dead? Forever?

Or, perhaps by human means, their rivals were fairly tough. But Emizel was on a whole other level. No mortal could stand up to him now...

"Hey, are you okay?"

The question had pulled Soda back from his head, his gaze flicking back over to Emizel, who was looking up at him with those eerie, piercing red eyes. Soda felt another shiver.

"Uh, ieah man, I'm all good." Soda nods, swallowing down whatever anxiety was bubbling up in his throat.

But Emizel didn't seem satisfied by his answer, standing back up and staring down his human comrade. Soda couldn't meet his eyes, his gaze instead traveling downward, and pausing on Emizels red, cut-up shirt. There was something off about the color, the way it seemed darker in some spots, brighter in others.. Wait, wasn't Emizel wearing a white shirt before all this?

The vampire boy seems to pick up on Sodas expression, following his eyes down to his shirt. "Oh, yeah! While you were on the floor, the knife guy got me a little" He says, a stupidly simple smile on his face. Soda was about to let out a laugh at how unbothered his friend seemed by it, but it gets caught in his throat when Emizel goes to pull his shirt up.

The sound of the bloodied fabric peeling away from skin made Sodas own skin crawl, but that wasn't nearly as bad as the sight of the intense gash running from his collar bone, down to his stomach.

"Oh, fuck dude!" Soda gasps, but Emizel laughs it off. Even despite knowing Emizel well, Soda was still surprised by just how much Emizel could shrug off. "Shit, doesn't that hurt, dude?"

"Oh yeah this fucking hurts!" he says with a laugh, his smile big and toothy and proud as he presents this egregious wound. Swollen and angry, pulsing with a slow heartbeat, and still oozing with thick, dark blood.

The sight of the split flesh, and the glints of bone beneath the dark, dark red all tugged at Sodas gag reflex, and yet he couldn't pull his eyes away. So Emizel's just been walking and talking so normally this whole time with his chest just cleaved wide open? Soda felt just as impressed as he felt horrified.

It wasn't until Emizel reaches down to poke at the abhorrent wound that Soda snaps out of it. Watching his friend press his fingers into the bloodied flesh, and slowly pulling it apart, allowing more ichor to seep from the gash, it was too much to watch at this point.

Soda reaches up to put a hand on Emizels wrist, the vampire boy stopping, and looking up at his friend.

Soda found himself freezing again when he locks eyes with Emizel. He was going to say something now, right? "U-uhm.." Is all he really chokes out, giving Emizels wrist a gentle tug. "D-do you. Uh. I suppose a hospital Isn't a place you can go anymore..?"

Emizel just smirks at that, letting Soda pull his hand away from the wound. "Oh, yeah no, but it's fine. I mean, I don't think it's gonna kill me" He shrugs. It was so, so impressive just how unphased Emizel was by all this. Fuck he's actually so cool.

"Well yeah man but it's like, still a bleeding hole. Like you're soaked in blood dude, I'm pretty sure that even a vampire needs that stuff on like, the inside." Soda rubs the back of his head, still unnerved by the sight of it all. "Vampires have like, super healing, don't they?"

"Oh yeah like, regeneration powers. I know I heal faster sometimes but I dunno how to just, activate it on command.." Emizel hums, his eyes narrowing down at his own injury, as if trying to will it into mending. Soda looks away, unable to watch that vile gash ooze any longer.

"I dunno man, how do they do it in like, video games?" Soda tosses the question out, trying to click together some sort of solution in his own head.

"Uhhh.. Huh, video games.." Emizel repeats to himself, chewing on the thought while idly poking at the laceration; until an idea audibly flickers to life in his head. "Oh, I just gotta refill my blood meter. Or whatever."

"Oooh yeah, blood meter!" Soda perks up, "Of course, see this is why you're the brains, man" Soda smiles, glancing back over to his cool friend, but immediately needing to look away again when the sight of that egregious gash tugs bile back into his throat.

While Soda averts his eyes, Emizels eyes wander back over to the body, and that classic 'Emizel has a bad idea' smile creeps across his face.

"Well, if this guys dead, I'm sure he's not gonna need all that blood.." He grins, kneeling down next to the body again.

The word 'wait' had hardly gotten the chance to crawl from Sodas mouth, before Emizel lifts up the arm of the unfortunate body, pulling the sleeve back, and immediately sinking his teeth into the exposed wrist.

The sound and the sight of blood gushing around Emizels teeth made Soda cringe, his hand impulsively coming up to aide his own wrist. An empathetic phantom pain made his wrist ache, his imagination simulating the feeling of shark teeth cutting into skin, sinking deep into the flesh, and clacking against bone. That was a lot of blood, that was streaming down the arm of this fodder.

A low growl bleeds from Emizel as he adjusts his teeth, cutting into more flesh, opening the wound further, and allowing a pulsing torrent of red to stream down his chin, onto his coat. It was an annoying thing, to clean blood out of clothing. Most of the Demons deemed it easier to just let the stains remain. But the night that Emizels throat was torn open, and liters upon liters were granted freedom from his human form, the unbelievable mess had practically changed half the color of Emizels iconic coat.

That was the first time Soda had ever seen that much blood from one person. And well. This would probably be the second.

The sight was unnerving, but it was impossible to look away. The alley was quiet, save for the distant bustle of a distant city, which made the noisy squish and squelch of teeth gnawing on flesh all the more apparent and nauseating.

Emizel had become a monster for sure, and watching it feed on something was… thrilling, in a way. It reminded Soda of feeding a pet spider, or lizard. A mouse for a snake.

It's a heavy thing to witness, the end of a human life. The fear of death is a primal thing, and Soda was no different from any other living thing. He figured everyone else feared death just as much as he does. Well, maybe except for Emizel, of course.

It made sense. Emizel was such a cocky and noisy kind of guy, but hes always had the power to back it up. Even when he lost, or seemed at his lowest, Soda still saw this sort of fire in him, one that Soda admired.

Of course Emizel would be the one to become something like a vampire. Something that Soda had always figured was just a fantasy creature thing. He wondered; if vampires were real, what else was real? Werewolves? Zombies? Unicorns? Are there real demons? Like from hell? Is hell real? Is he going to hell?

The sudden ttteeeeaaaaarrrr of flesh rips soda from his wandering thoughts. Emizel was tugging his head away from the arm of his kill, his teeth clamped down into the chewed meat, and pulling it apart. Soda had seldom seen so much of the inside of a human arm, and the sight of spilling threads and squirming veins was hardly something he ever wanted to stomach again.

"Oh fuck, dude, hey-" Soda steps forward, raising a hand, but the way Emizel snaps his head back over to him, twisting to an unnatural degree, Soda cant help jolting back.

Reddened teeth glint menacingly in the low light, a threatening growl thundering from its clenched, dripping jaws. Emizels eyes were focused, yet wild, glowing with whatever light they could reflect.

Sodas eyes were wide, and his body was frozen in the thick, electric tension within the air. It was like staring down an angry dog.. Suddenly a light bulb in his head flickers to life. It was kind of like an angry dog, right? One hunched over a meal it didn't want to give up. Memories of old encounters and unfortunate dog bites resurface in Sodas head, and with that experience, and with those lessons learned, he gathers the courage to react.

He shuts his eyes, keeping them closed for a few seconds, as he slowly pulls back his arm, and slowly steps back. It was an eye contact thing, wasn't it? Eye contact makes dogs angry, right? That was how you dealt with an angry dog? As he pulls back, and takes in a breath for composure, he finally dares to peek at the angry vampire before him again.

Its snarling had died down, but its eyes were still trained intently on Soda. After a tense, and agonizingly, slow pause... It blinks back, lowering its head back down to its meal, but keeping its anxious stare on this potential threat.

A relieved sigh falls from soda as the tension finally melts. He didnt realize he was holding in so much of his breath. "O-okay, man.. It's yours, you uh.. Earned it.." Soda mutters, stepping back further, until he was standing in a sufficiently dry enough space to sit down in. Now that he wasn't standing, he was finally taking into mind just how much his hands were shaking.

It's odd. Soda couldn't really describe this feeling thrumming in his chest as something like fear.. Nausea? For sure. Disturbed and rattled? Oh absolutely. This was certainly a sight he would have a hard time scrubbing from his eyelids when he sleeps tonight. But he wasn't scared. The memory of the night that Emizel was sired still coated the inside of his mind like an unwashable film. Even in that moment, when the unnatural teeth from the unnatural maw of an unnatural thing hovered over his throat, he couldn't say with confidence that he was scared.

Emizel really is his best friend in the world. And he knows with his whole heart that Emizel feels the same. He knew and trusted that his best friend would never hurt him. Not too badly at least. He loves Emizel, and would give anything to support him.

Like a mouse to a snake.

This really is an incredible power that his comrade had come across, and Soda especially felt a sort of pride in his friend. He felt it was worth it to help him feed it.

The bile in his throat had made its point, and Soda agreed, that watching someone die, and get torn apart and drained might be too much for him. Despite how much he hated the Fangs, the end of any human life seemed like such a jarring thing. To have such an intense fear finally get confronted. Would he go to hell?

Maybe he couldn't just feed people to his friend. So an alternative could be donated blood, right? Soda wouldn't mind giving up something like blood. His body makes it for free, after all. Maybe some other Demons would agree to give up some blood too. But they shouldn't have to take on such a burden. Soda wouldn't mind being the only one. The only one. The only one.

His hand comes up to rub at his neck, as his imagination conjures up what it might feel like to have teeth sink into his flesh. He's been stabbed before, is that sort of what it would feel like? Would he have to get stitches? He didn't really want to get stitches, so maybe there could be a more effective way to get the blood out of him. And there was so much vital stuff in his neck too. There's' a vein that's safe to cut into somewhere, right? He would have to look that up later.

A STARTLING RINGING;

Splits the moment,

Prompting both Soda and Emizel to jolt in shock,

As the phone in Emizels pocket rings away.

Acting as if nothing abnormal had taken place, Emizel pulls out his phone, and answers it.

"Heyy, Johnny! Yeah we chased em off, I don't think those bastards will be infesting this street again anytime soon. Yeah, ieah we'll be heading back soon. Oh fuck yeah dude, save us some!"

Emizel covers the speaker of his Nokia, turning back to Soda with a big smile on his violently bloodied face. "They got some pizza waiting for us back home, dude!" he whispers out to him.

Soda does his best to crack a smile, and to suppress the look of unease that probably stained his face, as he stares at the literal murder scene that's been splattered about in front of him.

"Oh, yeah, hell yeah man.." He swallows down the bile again. "What kind of uh.. Soda did they get?"

Emizel ponders that, before turning back to the phone to ask Sodas question.

"Sprite and a big pack of that one strawberry mountain dew" Emizel tosses the answer back over to Soda, who gives a nod, and thumbs up.

Mountain dew is so neat, Soda really liked all the wacky flavors those guys come up with. The thought of going home and opening a can of soda was certainly a comfort. After witnessing all this blood and gore and viscera, Soda absolutely needed to get back home and get a nice cold glass of something bright red .

As Sodas mind wanders off to soda, Emizel wraps up the conversation on the phone, before hanging up, and standing up.

The movement had pulled Sodas mind back into the moment, enough for him to timidly voice a concern he's had since the start of this debacle.

"Uh, hey, so.. The body, should we… Uh.." He gestures vaguely to it, and Emizel grants it a nonchalant glance.

"Eh, I can toss it into a dumpster or something, I dunno. I'm sure its fine. I'll handle it."

The vampire boy goes to pick up the corpse, the wound in its mangled arm no longer even dripping with blood, the flesh pale from the absolute absence of red in its veins.

"Go ahead and meet me by that one mailbox, the one with the bullet hole in it." Emizel casually instructs, tossing the drained body over his shoulder. "I'll catch up."

"Uh, yeah, okay.." Soda musters up a nod, and the strength to rise back up to his feet, wincing as that bruise on his side makes itself loudly known again. He still felt anxious, but even despite it all, he knew he could trust Emizel to take care of things. He always does. "Just stay safe man, I'll see you there." Soda assures with a smile, and Emizel matches it, tossing him a wink. And then suddenly- -He's gone! If Soda had blinked he would've missed it, but he was fortunate enough to just barely catch the glimpse of Emizel darting off at an inhuman speed, probably looking for a place to dump the body. Right, he would take care of it. Emizel always makes sure his crew is taken care of. Well... Guess all that's left for Soda is for him to walk back to that meeting spot. He looks around the alley for a moment, taking in the sight of that enormous pool of blood in the middle of the concrete. Or whatever the floor of this alley is made from. He ponders on the present moment a little longer than he meant to, the shock of it all leaving him aimless for just a few, soothing moments of just, decompression. The night is quiet, vast, and cold, but the stresses of just the past 5 hours had left his body radiating with fiery aches and pains, so the chill of the occasional clawing breeze was welcomed. Except for when said breeze agitated the cold water still soaked into his sock. He should step in another puddle on his way back to even it out. The smell of rain still rested heavy in the air, heralding another storm on the horizon. There was that, and then, well, there was also the blood. The stench of it felt far too intense to just ignore it, the metallic miasma making itself maliciously unmistakable. Maybe the impending storm will wash this mess away... He looked forward to putting this unfortunate night behind him. With one last rattled, but deep breath, he stuffs his hands in his pockets, and turns away, strolling back over to the mailbox that Emizel had described.

He couldn't wait to get home and drink some soda with his friends.

[sskk-manifesto]

(´･ᴗ･ ` )

[s0dium]

Stalker

A/n: I hope you enjoy

Warning: Stalker!Gojo, dub con, fingering, pussy drunk Gojo, unprotected sex, peeping tom, male masturbation, breeding

As the strongest sorcerer alive, Gojo Satoru knows he should be the epitome of justice, the defender of what's right. So out of all people Gojo Satoru should know that what he is doing is wrong. Very wrong.

Yet despite this he cant help but be drawn to you, linger around you, stalk you. He finds himself drawn to the places you frequent, learning the rhythm of your life, memorizing the small details that make you, you. The coffee shop where you start your morning, the park bench where you read during your lunch break, the dimly lit street you walk down on your way home. In his mind, a narrative builds—a story where he is a part of your world, where his presence matters to you as much as yours has inexplicably come to matter to him.

For a time, Gojo convinces himself that he can be satisfied merely as a shadow in your life, lingering on the periphery, unseen yet ever-present. But as each day passes, witnessing your coworker's blatant glances towards you, Jesus, the short skimpy clothes you wear, the delicate balance begins to fracture. The urge to step out from the shadows and into the light is starting to grow to hard to resist.

The tension reaches its crescendo one evening as he watches from your window—a routine that has become his dark solace. You're preparing for bed, the familiar motions shadowed in the dim light. As you slip under the covers, a sudden sound pierces the silence: moans, soft and whining, drift through the air.

Are you, touching yourself?

Gojo freezes, his heart stuck in his throat. He doesnt know what to do. The sound of your moans cuts through the stillness, sending his heart into a frantic rhythm and hout blood coursing to his dick.

"Fuck." He groans, feeling his member strain against his black pants. His resolve is slowly snapping by the second. With a mixture of urgency and caution, he silently eases the window open and slips into the room.

Shit shit shit.

He approaches your bed, his breath is held tight in his chest as he takes in the sight before him. Your face is contorted in pleasure, lips slightly parted, a soft pant escaping them—each detail more intoxicating than the last. Under the covers your hand shifts, fingers moving back and forth. His heart hammers against his ribs, disbelief mingling with raw emotion as he realizes you're completely absorbed in your own world, unaware of his presence.

It's not until he looms over you that you finally sense another presence, snapping your eyes open to gasp, "Who are you?"

"Shhh baby I'm not here to hurt you I promise," Gojo whispers, a gentle yet firm assurance in his tone, "I'm here to help you okay? You can call me Satoru."

Confusion flickers across your face as you stammer, "What I don't—" Your instinct is to retreat, but he gently pins you down, his hands firm yet careful.

"It's okay, it's okay, baby," he soothes, his tone meant to calm and reassure you in the soft darkness.

Unsure why, you find yourself yielding to the comforting timbre of his voice, allowing him to press tender, feathery kisses along your chin.

"I'm gonna make you feel better better ok?" He hums and you're too engrossed in the feeling of his kisses on your skin that you barely notice he is pulling your underwear down your legs.

"Wait, i don't, this is-" you stutter but your words melt away as soon as you feel his warm touch on your stomach. Shit, you know you should resist, you know how wrong this is—a stranger in your room, touching you in such an intimate manner. Yet, there he is, devastatingly handsome under the shadowy caress of the night, his piercing blue eyes locking with yours, filled with an intensity that sends shivers down your spine. His voice, smooth and soothing, weaves through the thick air, and despite the alarm bells ringing in your mind, you're desperate for the relief he seems to offer.

You sharply gasp when you feel him slide a long finger between the lips of your cunt, collecting your juices before bringing them up to your sensitive clit.

"Already so wet aren't you."

Without a warning, Gojo slips a finger into your gummy walls and curls toward your belly button.

"M'Satoru!" You gasp. The foreign intrusion knocks the wind out of you and your hips instinctively buck into the air, your toe-curling from the sudden pleasure. You dont know it but Gojo is struggling to maintain his composure as well. The reality of your whines, the softness of your insides, surpasses even the wildest of his fantasies.

"This is bad baby, really bad, I don't think I can just touch you here." Gojo chokes out with a groan.

You dumbly nod, too lost in the pleasure to notice the unbuckling of Gojo’s pants. The pressure of his fat tip against your quivering hole is exhilarating and you can’t help but hold your breath as he finally pushes in. You let out a loud moan when you feel his tip smush against your cervix once he gets down to the last inch.

"Ah-Ah ah oh god," Gojo groans. He mentally curses himself that he could ever think his hand could replace the feeling of your cunt. "You feel good baby? Because I feel so good, you feel so good." Gojo is babbling now as he thrusts in and out of you.

You had no strength to answer him, only offering wanton moans in retort as he continued to wreck your body with his completely brutal thrusts. The pain of him hitting the tip of your cervix nearly every time mixed his messy kisses on your mouth made your brain grow light and fuzzy.

Gojo thinks that if there is a heaven, this is surely it. All those times watching you, following you home, fantasizing about this exact moment—none of it prepared him for the overwhelming reality of being inside you, of fucking you. He can practically feel your heartbeat sync with his, the sheer intensity of this connection he had desired since he laid eyes on you made him realize something he never did before; he needs you all to himself. forever.

Gojo uses you like his personal cock sleeve, shapes your insides and bruises your cervix until your entire body jolts with sensitivity; ripping orgasm after orgasm from you. His balls slap against your ass with every drop and he retracts his hips until the tip pokes out to admire the sheen dripping to his base before fitting himself back into your snug walls and spilling ropes upon ropes of cum into your womb

Your body trembled from the overwhelming hotness and he smoothed a hand over your bloating stomach.

“Shhh, take it. Take it all,” he crooned.