#just take a step further and actually start interrogating it instead of just taking it as a given

[claymoresword]

Where's My Love

Cersei Lannister x Stark Fem!Reader 🐺

Prompt: I was wondering if you could write a Cersei x Stark!fem!reader where she's Ned's youngest sister and Cersei's ex-secret lover. Reader is a rebel like Arya and never married but she's very protective of her nieces/nephews. She and Cersei had a bad breakup and are finally reuniting during the events of the first GOT episode when the king's court goes to Winterfell. You could write reader backing up Arya again Joffrey and Cersei seething 😂😂😂 you can include g!p and smut if you want.

Wordcount: 5.8k

Pairing: Cersei x Stark Reader

Warnings: g!p reader, smut, power play, depictions of physical abuse, cheating , very toxic , references to alcoholism, breeding kink if you squint, emotional manipulation, did i already say this was toxic ?

Note: thank you so much 🐑 for the prompt! i actually had a lot of fun writing this one. also important to note this is my first time actually publishing something y'all have requested me to write so hopefully i got this right.. i know i tweaked and added a couple things but i hope you don't mind! and if you hate this i'm sorry lmao i tried <33

(smut after asterisks)

Bouts of laughter erupt from your nephews as Bran once again misses his mark, the arrow flies way over the target.

You glare at the older boys, in response Robb places a hand over his mouth, Jon instead chooses to avoid your gaze entirely focusing his stare at the ground beneath.

All dirt and sleet on the base of your boot, the ground squelched with every step you took.

“Try again, Bran. Take a deep breath, aim properly.” You order placing a lingering hand on his shoulder. 

The young boy nods obediently as you step back once more, he raises his bow arm. 

He aims, soon releasing the string, and once again, he misses. The arrow pierces the edge of a barrel on the far left, leagues away from his actual target.

Once again the boys burst into fits of laughter, this time is it not you who reprimands them.

“And which one of you was a marksman at ten?” You follow the sound of your brother's voice, he is standing on the balcony above, Catelyn by his side.

“Keep trying, Bran.” Jon decides to cease his teasing, he encourages his half-brother.

A sudden gust of wind tickles your face, the cold breeze permeates the air, bleeding through the thin fabric of your doublet. You immediately regret not putting on more layers this morning. You have lost track of the days, but there is no doubt that winter is coming.

“Robb, make certain your brother continues practicing. I am going back inside, but remember– your father is watching.” You warn your eldest nephew, as stern as you can manage. 

Shaggy streaks of red hair fall over his eyes as he nods. 

You wrap your arms around yourself as you start up the stairs, but your plan to slip back into your chambers unnoticed fails.

“Y/n.” Cat appears next to you.

“Are you alright?” The Lady of Winterfell asks, and you force a sweet smile, one to disarm and hopefully quell her worries. 

Catelyn didn't exactly warm to you at first, and neither did you with her, but over time you both grew to truly care for one another. She was like an older sister to you, the void left by your late sister Lyanna did not seem so large with her around.

“I'm fine, I just needed to fetch something from my bedchambers, that's all.” You lie. However, the older woman somehow always manages to see right through you.

She gazes upon you skeptically only to eventually release your arm. She takes a step back, allowing you to take your leave without further interrogation.

-

In truth, you were far from alright. 

Despite yourself, you have been on edge since finding out that the King is on his way to Winterfell with his Lady wife and all of their children.

This visit is a sudden one. Upon the death of Jon Arryn you had expected things to be different, knowing how much the former Hand meant to your brother– but you never anticipated a visit from the King himself.

You hadn't seen Robert in nine years, and his wife for longer than that. 

It is not by accident.

If it was up to you, things would be different. You would still be in King's Landing today, perhaps serving as Knight– or as Cersei had once intended, a personal guard for the Queen.

You were once certain that you would spend the rest of your days by Cersei's side, no matter the circumstances, but you merely held the high hopefulness of a young girl. 

Since then have been forced to accept that life is nothing like the tales and songs you were fed as a child. The Gods are not always merciful, things rarely ever go to plan and love most certainly does not conquer all.

Life got in the way of your love, and pride did the rest. 

You have not spoken to Cersei Lannister in a decade, yet your entire being continued to ache with every day that you have spent apart. Time does not heal the type of hurt that only yields to resentment.

When the King and Queen arrive for their visit on the morrow, you intend to avoid her Grace at all costs, for her sake and your own. Above all, you will have no choice but to grit your teeth and endure what you must.

You haven't seen Cersei in years, but you were bound to slaughter each other given the chance.

═══════════════════════════════════════════

“Come in!” You beckon whoever was on the other side of the door as you fastened the clasps on your doublet.

Ned ceases his knocking, pushing the door open, he looks upon you in a way he knew you hated, but your brother can hardly help it.

He worries about you. When you returned home all those years ago, you were inconsolable. 

You are a Stark, not made for the South. Your brother tried in jest, but he knew it wasn't the weather, or even court politics that despaired you. 

It was Cersei, it had always been Cersei.

"The King was seen riding up; he should be arriving any moment.” Ned states.

“Right, I'm almost done here.” You quip, but the man takes it upon himself to assist you with your sheepskin cloak, draping it over your shoulders.

He keeps his hands on you, his brows furrowed with evident worry, and for some reason you can't help but find it all a bit silly, you chuckle lightly. “I will be fine, Ned.” 

Your brother appears less than convinced,  you shove him playfully. “You worry about me too much, brother, it’s beginning to age you.”

Ned scoffs. “Aye, try being in my position for a day and you'll understand why I worry so much… but it is time that's aging me, little sister.” Ned quips in response and this makes you pause.

You notice the streaks of white, scattered across his dark locks. As the morning sun peeks through the window, catching his face, you observe more of those streaks in his beard.

Where has time gone?

Ned steps closer, it seems that he has mistaken your silence for something else. Your brother plants a quick kiss on the crown of your head as a result.

In times like this you can't help but feel like a girl of thirteen again, looking to her older brother for protection.

═══════════════════════════════════════════

You watched as the Kingsguard rode through the walls of Winterfell, Lannister banners in hand. It unsettles you more than you thought it would. You gnaw at the inside of your cheek, turning to Sansa, her younger sister still nowhere in sight.

“Sansa, where is your sister?” You question and the girl only shrugs dismissively, but you aren't left wondering for long as Arya can be seen pushing through the crowd, quickly settling next to you.

The young girl was wearing an iron helm you had never seen before, her once pristine dress now ornamented with specks of dirt and grime. You shake your head disapprovingly, an effort to suppress your amusement.

Sansa scoffs at the sight of her younger sister, while you snatch the helm off Arya's head, she looks up at you with a scowl.

“Where did you even get this?” You ask, your tone manages to match the look on her face.

Arya gives you no response, and you aren't allowed the opportunity to press her further as you feel a nudge against your arm. Ned forces you to look ahead as the King can be seen dismounting his horse.

Ned kneels, and you and everyone else follows suit.

After a beat, the King's command all of you to rise, and soon you spot the carriage halting a few feet behind him.

You involuntarily held your breath as the door opens. The Queen emerges, she keeps her gaze ahead as she climbs down the steps.

Cersei looks the picture of poise and grace. She seems older, and somehow even more beautiful than you remembered. It knocked the wind right out of you, you had to look away. 

Your eyes are no longer on the Queen, but your chest aches all the same.

“Cat!” Your attention is pulled to the display before you as the King addresses your sister in law, pulling her in for an embrace that she doesn't appear to be prepared for.

“Nine years. why haven't I seen you, where the hell have you been?” Robert addresses your brother once more.

“Guarding the North, Your Grace. Winterfell is yours.” Ned replies, practiced and noble as he always was.

Robert then turns to you, a scowl upon his face, one that stuns you slightly. Your mind turns to Cersei, you consider what she might have shared with her Lord husband in your absence. 

She must have told him the real reason you left King's Landing, no doubt the King will want you punished for repeatedly bedding his wife all those years ago. but then the King's frown turns, and your mind ceases its torment. 

Robert lunges only to pull you in for an embrace, a gesture that startles you, your body remains tense until he releases you from his hold.

“I expected better from you, Y/n.” The King narrows his gaze in a puckish manner. 

“Unlike your damned brother here I thought you enjoyed the Keep. I was sure you wanted to serve in my Kingsguard.” He adds, and you force a grin, gallant yet strained.

“I admit that was a different time, Your Grace. These days, my passions lie elsewhere.” You reply, and you can hardly prevent the way your gaze flits towards the Queen for a moment.

Cersei has been stood beside her husband, staring at you relentlessly for the entire duration of this interaction. If the Queen has remained the same person she was all those years ago, then you know for certain this was her attempt to intimidate– but you were not so keen on letting her have the upper hand. 

You drill your expression, unfazed.

The King snorts derisively at your answer, but says nothing more.

═══════════════════════════════════════════

You had spent most of the afternoon, drowning in your cups. The knowledge that Cersei was only a few doors away was aggravating, everything you thought to have successfully repressed has now resurfaced.

Every inch of you calls out to Cersei, your very soul yearns for her. You craved the unbearable pain, and blinding pleasure that came with being around her.

You have laid awake many nights picturing the ways you would confront her. The things you would say to her. 

You fantasized about the possibility of finally being rid of all of your pain. To hurt her the same way she hurt you. Your heart, dense and cold, obstructed by all things Cersei. Within you, you carried everything you despised about the other woman– and all the things you adored.

The Queen was a mistake you couldn't erase, and simultaneously the best thing that has ever happened to you. You hate her, but you cannot stand to be apart from her.

-

The sound of commotion snatches you out of your thoughts. The voices that permeate sound vaguely familiar to you, but you are only able to place them once you take a glance out your window.

You spot Arya and Bran in the courtyard. Prince Joffrey standing over them, your face falls as you spot his steel unsheathed from his scabbard and in his hand.

Without another moment's thought you rushed downstairs towards the training yard, prepared to pacify the affair, however dire it may be, but it seems Arya has taken the situation into her own hands.

Bran is gone, but the Prince is now on the ground. It seems that Arya has managed to disarm the older boy, his steel thrown to the side in the dirt. 

Now she is threatening Joffrey with a wooden practice sword, her direwolf beside her, growling with intent at the Prince.

“Arya enough!” You intercept the blow, forcefully dragging your niece away from the boy.

“What the seven hells do you think you're doing?” You bark, and Arya drops the sword, her chest still heaving.

A young girl seething with unbridled fury was such an uncommon sight that it makes you grimace.

“He was trying to hurt Bran! I had to protect him.” Arya gestures to the Prince, the boy still whimpering in pain.

“Damn you and that stupid dog! I am telling my mother! I will report you to the king!” Joffrey hurls his threats, and Arya makes the juvenile decision to respond.

“Nymeria's a direwolf, not a dog!” She shouts and you sigh, placing a hand over your niece's mouth to silence her, an action Arya fights but your grip on her doesn't relent.

“My Prince, I am sure my niece meant no harm–” You try but the boy interjects.

“No harm?” The Prince hisses. “She nearly sliced my arm off!” Once again he whimpers like a pup that had just been trampled.

You take a step forward to examine the cut on Joffrey's arm, and it was only that– a minor cut, one that will heal without leaving as much as a scar.

Large footsteps approach, the Prince's sworn guard comes rushing to the scene, Sandor Clegane scowls at you before assisting the boy to his feet effortlessly with one hand.

“Some protector you are, dog. I almost died!” Joffrey then redirects his frustrations towards his guard.

He continues muttering insults as he retrieves his sword from the dirt, strutting out of the training yard.

Nymeria doesn't cease her growling until the boy was entirely out of sight, it was also only then you remove your hand from Arya's mouth.

“Have you completely lost your wits?” You gape, looking down at your niece disapprovingly, before kneeling to be at eye level with her.

“He was–” Arya starts, but you interrupt.“��I don't care what he did, Arya. You never attack a Prince.” You state firmly.

“You do something like this again and I will make sure you never get the chance to wield a weapon again, do you understand?” You assert, and your tone is harsh enough to make Arya wince.

She doesn't reply with words, she continues looking down at her feet as she nods.

“Let's go and get you cleaned up.” You state, you try to pull her by the arm but Arya doesn't budge.

“I was trying to be brave, like you.” She mutters under her breath, and you turn to look at the young girl once more.

“What?” You ask.

“Don't be upset with me, please, please. I'm sorry.” Then Arya states frantically, her voice small and frail– it shatters you.

“Oh, Arya– my sweet girl.” You say, kneeling once again. “I'm not upset, I was worried.” You pull her in for an embrace, your niece clutches you tightly in return.

After a prolonged moment, you cease the hug, wiping away some of the dirt from her face with the pads of your thumbs. 

Then you took a quick scan of your surroundings, to ensure that you were alone before speaking again.

“Our Prince is a bit of a cunt.” You finally quip, earning a chuckle from Arya.

“He is.” Your niece beams at you, in turn this makes you fill with relief.

“I am proud of you for disarming him. but next time, leave it at that. Do you understand the consequences that come with attacking a King's heir?” You ask, and you watch as a realization graces the young girl, she averts her gaze, this time with guilt.

“Never again, do you hear me?”

═══════════════════════════════════════════

You were exhausted from the events of the day, and yet it was not close to over. 

You decide to retire to your chambers, aiming for at least a few hours rest before the King's welcome feast later this evening.

Resting your hand on the pommel of your sword, you take large steps through the gallery. You crave the horn of ale waiting for you on your nightstand, the comfort of your warm bed.

You turn the corner, a figure appears before you and you swerve out of the way quickly enough to avoid whoever it was that decided to walk toward you in this exact moment from the opposite direction.

As you gather yourself to take a proper look at the woman who you nearly bumped into, your blood runs cold. 

“Your Grace, forgive me.” You state curtly, inclining your head at Cersei. 

Your hand remains resting on the hilt of your sword as you attempt to slip past her, but before you can successfully walk away, she has a hold of your arm, dragging you backwards to where you stood.

You yank your arm out of her hold, a scowl covers your features, but Cersei ignores your visible discontent as she speaks.

“That niece of yours tried to murder my son.” The Queen accuses.

“What?” You can't help the half-laugh that slips out of you. Cersei takes offense to this, her expression hardens.

“Joff will bear those scars for the rest of his life.” She is not backing down, and you can't pretend that you possessed the will to deal with her theatrics.

You only roll your eyes, finally slipping past her and into your chambers.

You step inside your room, but before you can close the door Cersei intercepts, forcefully pushing it open to let herself in.

She slams it closed behind herself.

“You dare walk away from your Queen?” She bellows.

This time you groan, collapsing onto your bed.

You ignore her statement, rubbing your hands over your face in frustration. “Oh, Cersei, it is a cut, it'll heal!”

A prolonged silence from the Queen, she only speaks again once you sit up in your bed.

“You've not changed a bit.” She remarks, treacherous emerald gaze meeting your pale greys.

“Neither have you.” You retaliate boldly.

More silence until Cersei is first to look away, clasping her hands infront of herself she assumes an impassive stance.

“I will have that girl punished.” The Queen threatens, her tone sounds spiteful. but you don't hide your incredulity.

“For what?” You ask, and Cersei's jaw clenches even tighter, you wonder if she might lunge at you.

“She attacked my son. the King's heir.” Cersei retorts, and you scoff.

“Is that what Robert’s teaching his sons? How to lose to a little girl?” You taunt, not backing down.

You knew Arya should receive consequences for her actions by right, but giving Cersei that satisfaction is the absolute last thing you plan to do.

“Or is it not the King's doing at all?” You ask again as Cersei fails to respond. You rise from the bed, stepping closer to the Queen.

“Is it Jaime's fault?” You tilt your head inquisitively, mockingly. 

You are close enough to smell the lavender oil on Cersei's skin. Her eyes flit to your lips for a fleeting moment, and yours do the same to hers. 

Then a madness overcomes you, prompting your next choice of words.

“I expect it is him you've been opening your legs for these days–” You utter, but you are swiftly silenced when Cersei's palm makes contact with your cheek.

She slaps you across the face, your head turns slightly from the force of it. Your face is now throbbing, raw and red with traces of Cersei's wrath. 

She goes to strike you again, and this time it is intercepted by your firm grip on her wrist. 

A fury reignites within you as Cersei tries to fight out of your hold, entirely allowing your emotions to guide your actions, your hand finds her throat. Before your rational mind can mitigate it, you have your fingers firmly wrapped around her neck. The back of her head slams against the wooden door as you forcibly pinned her upon it.

The Queen is clawing at your hand, struggling to take a breath as you restricted her airway. A real fear flashes across Cersei's face, and a part of you wants to watch her fall limp within your grasp, to quiet her once and for all, to destroy the cause of your agony. but you don't– instead you take a step back, releasing her. 

Cersei gasps as air sharply re enters her lungs, roughly wiping away the tears that have made it down her cheeks.

The Queen attempts to regain her resolve the best she can, and the look she gives you is not one of shock, instead it is pure disdain, and you look at her the same. Cersei doesn't speak, she merely shoves you harshly with both hands against your chest, as you stumbled back, she turns to open the door.

You collapse on your bed once more as Cersei dissapears into the hallway, the door shutting behind her. 

“Fuck.” You cursed under your breath. It seemed the Queen will never fail to elicit the worst from you– to make you act like an utter lunatic.

═══════════════════════════════════════════

The welcome feast has been dragging on now for what felt like an eternity. 

The King was no longer seated as his high table, instead he was in the center of the hall, shamelessly flirting with some of the servants.

You roll your eyes, reaching for the flagon of ale infront of you, as you attempted to lift it, it doesn't budge. You fleetingly wonder if the liquor had caused you to lose all strength in your arm, only to realize your brother was holding the jug firmly on the table so it wouldn't move.

You squint at Ned, and he glares at you in return.

“Enough. You'll drink yourself into an early grave if you keep this up.” Your brother warns and it makes you snigger.

“That is the plan, brother.” You slur slightly, but Ned makes the deliberate effort to ignore you.

You slump backwards in your chair, when you've realized you lost this argument, as you often did when it came to the lord of Winterfell.

You eyes fall upon King Robert once more, he is still in the middle of the room, surrounded by maidens and even more whores. 

This time he is no longer flirting with them, he is in a full lip lock with one of the women. He does this in the presence of the Queen, dishonouring her for all to see.

You grimace at the sight, an unwanted rage overcomes you. You can hardly believe this lecherous drunk was King of the Seven Kingdoms. Married to the most beautiful woman in all of the seven kingdoms, the only woman you have ever wanted.

You can't bear to look at Cersei's reaction to this, in fact you can hardly remain at this feast for a moment longer. You abruptly rise from your seat, Ned looks up at you, puzzled.

“May I please be excused?” You asked formally for the rest of the table to hear and your brother hesitates before nodding curtly in response.

As you walked back to your chambers you can't help but invision what your life would have been like if your brother had taken the Iron throne instead of Robert Baratheon. If you had remained in King's Landing– if you had wedded Cersei instead.

Perhaps in a different life. 

You and Cersei would be married, and you'd rule together. In another reality Cersei would be your Queen and not Robert's. She would bear your children, your heirs. You would grow old together and live out your days by each other's side. In a different life, you would have remained faithful to Cersei, you would have given her everything she desired and in return, Cersei would offer you her heart. 

You would have been happy.

In another life. 

By the time you reached your room, the tears had stopped flowing, but the collar of your shirt remained drenched.

As you shut your door, you unclapsed your doublet, lifting it above your head, tossing it aimlessly across the room. 

Now only in your tunic and breeches, you feel the urge to weep some more, but you refuse to allow your tears to fall this time. 

You take a seat on the settee, head in your hands. The effects of the ale already wearing off, a headache rapidly setting in, you realized that you needed another drink.

You get up to fetch the flagon from the small table but as your door flings wide open, nearly hitting you in the process, you freeze where you stand.

A familiar golden haired beauty emerges through the doorway, and you allow yourself a deep breath. Clutching your chest slightly to calm yourself.

“Your Grace, the hour is late.” You state dismissively, starting across the room to fetch your goblet.

“If you have come to order my execution for my behaviour this afternoon, best get it over with.” You quip, the liquor in your system doing all of the talking for you.

You hear the door shut, without looking back you assume Cersei had taken her leave but you are perplexed when you turn to see her still standing by the door, watching you set down your goblet.

You walk across the room once more to take a seat on the settee, you remove your boots, setting them aside.

Cersei has remained silent for long enough that you nearly forgotten her presence entirely. Her next ask startles you.

“Look at me.” Her commanding tone leaves no room to argue, you glance at her. 

Her eyes were swollen, her cheeks flushed. It is clear to you that she has been crying as well.

You rise from your seat abruptly, approaching her. “Are you alright?” You ask, and again the Queen says nothing.

She merely stares at you, hopefulness at your concern and despair at the fact that you needed to ask.

**

She lunges forward, before you can fully comprehend it, her lips crash against your own, she kisses you deeply, pure anguish and want. It snatches the air right out of your lungs, but you have no desire to pull away.

Your tongue makes contact with her own and Cersei moans, pulling you impossibly closer by the nape of your neck.

Your body pressed up against hers as she leans against the wall. You were now both panting into the kiss, all aggression and desire. 

You had not been with Cersei like this in a decade, and yet there was a complete lack of uncertainty. It felt right, you were certain that you are meant to be with her like this, until the end of your days. 

However, there still exists voice deep within you, whether it is pride or reason, you cannot say for certain. but it urges you to pull away, so you do.

The Queen chases your lips eagerly, but you pull back even further. “Cersei, stop. What is this, what are you doing?” You ask, every moment you spent without your lips on hers felt like pure agony.

“I just need you– please–” Cersei replies with a desperation you have never heard before, and this was enough to break you. 

Any semblance of dignity vanishes into the very depths of yourself, all that's left is your deep and tortuous want for Cersei.

You kiss her again, rough and urgent, you are panting and groaning into each other's mouths. Cersei's hands immediately move to the hem of your breeches, she unlaces them in record time, slipping her hand inside.

You nearly lose it all when she wraps her fingers around the base of your cock, stroking it with such dexterity you fear your knees may give out.

“Gods–” You grunt, bucking your hips embarrassingly into her touch. 

You find the strength to remove her hand from your breeches. Soon enough you slip them off, your slacks pooling around your ankles before you kicked them to the side.

You swiftly remove your own tunic as Cersei's trembling hands struggle to undo the laces of her dress. 

Your patience wearing thin, you flip her around, indecently ripping the fabric open with one swift tug. 

“Y/n–” Cersei scolds in response to your eagerness, glancing back at you with dissaproval, but her dress easily slips off her shoulders after that, her smallclothes follow suit.

The Queen is still facing away from you as you part her hair away from her neck, trailing open mouthed kisses against her hot flesh, as you reached a certain familiar spot, your teeth grazed the skin, before biting down on it briefly. 

This earns a louder noise from Cersei, she is still trembling as she turns back around to face you, grabbing you firmly to pull you in for another sloppy kiss.

Lips still interlocked, the Queen walks you backwards onto the bed, Cersei doesn't waste another moment, straddling you as soon as you settled your rear on the edge of the bedding.

Your cock now stiff as a rod, poking at Cersei's entrance. The other woman begins moving her hips as you kissed, rubbing her cunt on the length of your shaft, coating it with her slick.

Your breath quickens, the sensation was maddening, you needed to be inside her now.

“Gods, I missed you.” You let it slip as your lips parted for a moment, but Cersei doesn't respond. 

The Queen's grip on the nape of your neck moves to your hair as she grasps a handful of it, tugging your head back slightly. Her other hand travels south, she grips the base of your cock once more, this time lining it up to her entrance. 

She begins lowering herself onto your length, Cersei moves quickly, with every inch that enters her, she lets out a gasp at the sensation. Soon you are sheathed inside of her to the hilt, and Cersei throws her head back, she releases an unrestrained moan, her hands now firmly on your shoulders.

She attemps to push you back against the bed, but you refuse to budge. Cersei relents, kissing you again as she moves her hips up and down the length of your cock. With every moan from Cersei you retaliate with a groan.

The feeling of her walls fluttering against your girth made you dizzy. The Queen felt so unbelievably good wrapped around your cock, you had forgotten just how intoxicating it was.

Now that you were experiencing it again, you never wanted it to end.

 Vulgar noises of your coupling filled the room as Cersei moved herself desperately against your lap, your cock hitting just the right spots within her. 

The Queen can feel her release already approaching, entirely overwhelmed by this she falls limp against you, but you manage to support her weight with minimal effort. Her hips still moving at a steady pace until it finally hits her, her orgasm washes over her like a wave. 

Cersei cries out in pleasure, partially muffled against your neck, she holds onto you for dear life as her peak overcomes all her other senses, relentless and unforgiving. You feel her cunt clenching painfully around your cock, her short shallow breaths against your neck, she is trembling helplessly, and you never want to let her go.

“Seven hells.” The Queen breathes out, finally lifting her head to look at you.

Cersei's eyes were nearly glazed over, her chest heaving violently, but you were far from done with her.

You capture her lips with your own again, earning a content moan. You remained sheathed inside of her as you flipped your positions, now Cersei laid on the bed, with you on top of her. The other woman's gasp in surprise is muffled by your own mouth against hers.

Once again she moans into your mouth as you began your thrusts, deep and slow, you aim to feel every inch of her. Cersei wraps her legs around your waist, pulling you in even deeper.

The Queen gasps as your mouth found the swell of her breasts, your tongue leaving a trail of saliva as you expertly moved from one nipple to the other. 

Your thrusts grow harsh and inconsistent as you felt your own climax building. Cersei's back arches, a deafening moan rips out of her. 

You roughly placed your hand against her stomach, pinning her down against the bed as you continued to rut into her. Cersei was mewling and panting like a whore now as you used her for your own pleasure, heightening her own in the process. 

The Queen finds just enough strength to pull you closer, her lips now against your ear.

“Tell me you love me.” Cersei pleads, and this takes you entirely by surprise, you slow your movements but you don't stop.

“What?” You ask, shaky, breathless.

“Just say it.” The Queen repeats amidst another moan, she clenches around your cock and the sound that emits from you then is guttural, primal.

You oblige without asking further questions.

“I love you, Cersei” You speak, from the heart, damning the consequences.

With that, Cersei reaches her peak again, her nails digging into the flesh of your back as she comes. The feeling of her perfect cunt milking your cock, accompanied by her writhing body underneath you was enough to push you over the edge.

As you attempt to pull out, Cersei kept her legs firmly wrapped around your waist, holding you in place. You are not given the opportunity to question it as it was already too late, you moaned as you released your load deep inside her, painting her womb with your seed.

**

═══════════════════════════════════════════

Nearly a candlemark has passed since your coupling and neither you or Cersei have said more than a few words. 

Simply embracing each other under the sheets, she rests her head against your shoulder, tracing circles absentmindedly with her finger against your abdomen. 

This position was achingly familiar, almost as if no time had passed.

Cersei soon moves her hand further up, she traces her fingers across your bottom lip before running her thumb down the bridge of your nose. The sensation earns a chuckle out of you, you finally had to reach up to remove her hand, guiding it away from your face.

Cersei's stare betrays an intensity that makes your heart constrict painfully in your chest.

Still unspeaking, it was your turn to explore her body, but you don't get very far, your fingertips trace the faint bruising on her neck, the marks left by your own cruelty.

The Queen then shuts her eyes, she doesn't allow herself to look upon your guilt any longer. Wrapping her arm across your torso, nuzzling her face against your shoulder.

“I'm not letting you go– never again.” Cersei mutters, and the smile that tugs on your lips is one of relief and acceptance.

You don't supress the urge to plant a lingering kiss on her temple, one the Queen allows herself to melt into.

[juuuulez]

📰 | part two: capulet.

info: Carl Grimes x Saviour!Reader, female reader, father-figure Negan, enemies to lovers, forbidden romance, no use of (y/n) because immersion.

summary: During your first visit to Alexandria, when Carl misfires a gun, you’re instructed to “babysit” him. This does not go very well.

previous | next

I’m glad everyone liked the first part!! This one is definitely more juicy. Kids being kids. Writing the next part now, let me know if you have any particular requests!

Also (finally) titled!! Drawing heavily on Romeo and Juliet, except… more spiteful at the beginning.

A few days later, and you’re back.

The town of Alexandria is actually quite nice, when you aren’t being cooped up in a cell.

Your fellow Saviours seem to think so too, exploring the place, taking supplies they deem useful for the Sanctuary. After all, there’s mouths to feed, therefore you’ve stopped feeling bad for all these communities you bleed dry.

Well, you felt a little bad last night.

The lineup was rough, it always is. You hadn’t seen the brunt of it, instead sitting safe in the RV where Negan had all but interrogated you regarding your time locked up; coming from a place of concern for your well-being. But you stepped out just as dawn was beginning to hit, and saw the aftermath.

It was just for a few seconds, to retrieve a weapon from Dwight, but you felt a twinge of guilt as Negan taunted that poor boy.

At least he wasn’t wearing the stupid hat anymore.

Whatever, it didn’t matter. At least that’s what you told yourself. Guilt had no place in the apocalypse, especially not for the Saviours, a group of well earned apex predators in this bleak world.

That’s how you saw it.

You oversee the work of your people whilst Negan is talking with Rick. Everybody respects you.. or maybe everybody is scared of you. Scared of your father. Either way, it works.

You’re comfortable as a leader. Somebody who can give orders without hesitation. At the start, there was resistance. Who wanted to be ordered around by a teenage girl? But eventually everything fell into place, and people realised that you were a central part to this operation.

Then the sound of a gunshot rings through the air, putting everybody on edge. Weapons suddenly unholstered, dropping whatever menial task they were completing.

You command them to stand down with a wave of the hand, going to investigate yourself.

Fortunately enough, the situation has already been handled.

Or mostly handled.

“Just who I wanted to see.” Negan says with his usual prowess, however it’s dimmed by an underlying irritation. He brings you further into the room with a gloved hand on your shoulder.

He positions you there like a prize, something valuable. Or maybe a dangerous weapon. A constant show of ‘look at what’s mine, look at what she can do.’ You quite like that.

“Now, it appears that young Grimes is too trigger-happy for his own good,” Negan continues, to which you finally notice Carl standing in the middle of the room, “So why don’t you babysit him for me, darling?”

The boy is practically seething. That same expression you’d seen at the lineup, pure anger and rebellion.

You could feel yourself beginning to smile.

“Of course,” You agree, a grin spreading across your lips, “I’d appreciate a tour, to see if anything here interests me.”

There’s no reply. Carl glares at you, then shoots a pleading look at his father, but to no avail. Rick nods his head in the direction of the door, and you feel like you’ve just won the lottery. This was going to be good.

Now, you didn’t enjoy toying with peoples emotions, per-say. But getting them all riled up sure was fun.

And a teenage boy? This was like a gift from above.

Grown men grew tired of your commanding nature, they’d get violent, speak out of line. It was a dangerous game, one that you loved. Like a cat and mouse, or Icarus flying too close to the sun.

A teenage boy was much more in your ballpark.

“You play sports?” You ask Carl, who is walking a few paces behind you, begrudgingly following despite the fact he was meant to be showing you around. But you didn’t mind.

He doesn’t answer.

You turn to face him, shooting him a backwards glare of what the hell is your problem. “What, you took a vow of silence, or something?” It’s snarky, immature, prodding the bear.

But it works.

“No, I don’t play sports.” Carl answers reluctantly, his tone flat and unamused. It’s becoming more and more evident that when you’re in power like this, in control, you can be a nightmare.

You don’t bother to suppress your grin of satisfaction, turning back away from him, “Yeah, didn’t think so, stringbean. Bet I’ve got more muscle mass than you.”

This must do something, as suddenly Carl has closed the few paces between you, and is blocking your path from continuing. He’s in your face, closer than comfortable, but you love it.

“What the hell’s your problem?” He asks, clearly angry at your snide little comments. That righteous attitude is back. “You can’t come in here, and tell everybody what to do. We’re gonna fight back, and when we do, you’ll be sorry.”

You give him a firm shove, letting Carl stumble a few feet back, “Yeah, how’d that go for you back there, huh? Aim much?”

It’s a low blow, you know that, which is why it feels so goddamn good.

He opens his mouth to speak, but you interrupt him.

“Didn’t shoot me at the satellite station, either. I’m starting to think you’re more harmless than you’re letting on.”

“I’m not exactly in the interest of murdering children,” Carl retorts angrily, “What are you, twelve?”

“I’m seventeen!” You yell back at him, walking swiftly past the boy, but making sure to harshly bump your shoulders together. “Now show me your armoury. You’ve got something of mine.”

You’re walking too quickly for Carl to shoot back a comment, and he needs to awkwardly skip in order to catch up. This time he takes a few strides forward, making the effort to walk just fast enough to stay in front of you.

He wants to be in charge.

Luckily, you love to be petty.

As the pair of you reach the armoury, you swiftly side-step Carl, entering the room first, much to his dismay. You’re eyes are scanning the shelves, rows and rows of guns and weaponry, with one thing in mind. The bat.

“Too bad we’re confiscating all your guns, this is quite the collection,” You comment, finding a supply sheet to glance over, “Good job on that one, by the way. Aren’t you helpful?”

Carl essentially ignores your sarcasm, speaking from the other side of the room, “Looking for something?”

You turn, a momentary flash of confusion on your face, until you realise that he’s got it. The metal bat clutched in one hand, held up tauntingly. When you take a step forward to retrieve it, he only takes a step back.

“That’s not funny.” You say, a sense of agitation in your tone, that dominant and teasing persona gone in an instant.

It only causes Carl to grin, taking pleasure in this momentary inch of power he’s gained.

“You even know how to play baseball?” He asks, switching the bat into his dominant hand, pretending to slowly swing it.

“I do, actually,” You snap, reaching out to finally grasp the metal bat, taking it from his grip unceremoniously, “Wanna see? I can use your skull as the ball.”

This works to shut him up, judging by how Carl’s eyes narrow into a glare, but he doesn’t dare to say anything. You take this as a victory, once again knocking shoulders as you leave the small space, not bothering to shut the door behind you.

You’re not even a few meters down the street before there are footsteps again, Carl still following you, despite wanting otherwise. It makes that malicious grin to return.

“Aren’t you obedient?” You quip, not even bothering to look back at him as you speak, as if he isn’t worth the time. It’s a power trip, one you’re addicted to, one Carl is unknowingly feeding into. Or, maybe he does know, but can’t do anything about it.

Carl scoffs, “Coming from you. Do you always do everything Negan tells you to?”

It’s smart, getting you to roll your eyes in displeasure, that metal bat swinging by your side as you walk. “It’s called being a good soldier, like you would understand.”

“Yeah? Soldier, or pet?” He continues, and you can basically hear the grin in his voice.

The fuck does he know?

You finally spin around, grip tightening ever so slightly on the bat. Control is slowly slipping through your fingers, this stupid back and forth game beginning to get on your nerves, despite being the instigator.

“You wanna talk about pet?” You spit, closing in on his personal space, “Rick tells you to murder twenty people, and you do it? That’s called being a little bitch, okay, daddy’s boy?”

This works, as Carl’s face twists into a look of anger, his fists clenching at his sides.

But you continue, “This stupid group has had this coming for a long time. There’s no such thing as being the good guys, you’re just another bunch of stupid pricks, who need to be put in their place.”

It snaps something inside of Carl, because suddenly he’s giving you a harsh shove, where you stumble a few feet backwards. You mirror his childish temper, throwing your body at him with equal force, where the two of you awkwardly wrestle in the middle of the street.

You attempt to gain leverage, steeling your feet into the ground, bending your knees. Then, out of nowhere, you’re raising your arm with the bat, ready to try and dislocate his shoulder, or something. Anything. Just to show that you aren’t weak.

But before you can swing, there’s resistance, and you snap out of this little squabble to realise that somebody else is holding your bat.

“The hell are you doin’, girl?”

Negan swiftly lifts the bat from your grip, holding it at an arms length. You let go of Carl, whipping around to glare at the older man.

“He’s being a total jagoff!” You shout, twisting to see a similar look of discontent on Carl’s face, like he’s itching to leap back into your little fight.

It’s no use, because then Negan is holding your shoulder, giving you a gentle push in the opposite direction, “Truck, now. We’re making our departure.”

And you listen, despite everything telling you to continue. To prove yourself, maintain that power.

To make matters worse, Carl has taken this experience as some sort of mental victory, yelling out from the footpath, “Daddy’s girl!”

You can only turn, angrily giving him the finger as you storm off towards the gates, but it acts as fuel to the fire. Getting sick of that stupid expression, you turn back away, footsteps quickening in an attempt to seperate yourself from the ever so slightly humiliating experience.

Next time you’ll get him.

[five-rivers]

Gambler's Fallacy

AO3

Izuku’s expected path down, face-first into the concrete, halted.  He floated, staring at the retreating sidewalk, uncomprehending.  

“Sorry!” said an unfamiliar voice.  “I hope you don’t mind, I used my quirk on you!  Falling would be bad luck, wouldn’t it?”

“Um,” said Izuku, not sure how to explain that was the point to this very pretty girl with this super cool quirk, oh, no, why was she even talking to him?

She tapped her fingers together, and her quirk let him go.  “Good luck on the exam!” she said, walking away.

“Uh-um, y-yeah,” said Izuku.  

Crap.  Did that interaction count as good luck or bad?  Obviously, Kacchan literally running into him on the way in was bad luck, and tripping was bad luck, but a cute girl rescuing him?  And then Izuku completely humiliating himself by not being able to say thank you?  If only his quirk took other people’s actions into account more, maybe he’d be able to tell.  Especially when he was trying to save up his bad luck by pulling on the negative side of his quirk.  

Speaking of which, he had an entrance exam to get to, and this would be the biggest test of his quirk since the day with the sludge villain.  That day had been awful.  He’d burned through his ‘stored’ luck and then some when All Might rescued him, bit his tongue so hard he wasn’t able to ask the man any questions, and then on the way home, he’d run into the sludge villain again, but this time, it was attacking Kacchan, and he’d had to tip his quirk balance even further into ‘debt’ for the luck to stab the villain in the eye with his pencil.  When he finally got the chance to go home after that, when the heroes (except for All Might) were debating whether to berate him for quirk use, or interrogate him over his ‘clearly fake’ quirk, only constant vigilance kept him from being run over by a car or kidnapped.  

(Luck only took you so far.  Skill and hard work closed the gap.)

But he was far more prepared today!  The last time he’d spent a significant amount of luck all at once was when he met Mr. Yagi, who’d been organizing a community volunteer event to clean up Dagobah beach.  Izuku had… needed a pick-me-up after his quirk registration had been audited again.  He was glad he did.  Mr. Yagi was the sort of guy who was so uncool he sort of rolled over into being cool again, and he worked at Might Tower.  Izuku really liked Mr. Yagi.  Even if he did sometimes look at Izuku as if he were debating saying something life-altering.  

Point being, he had a bunch of luck saved up, and he’d keep saving it all the way until he was taking the exam, leaning on his quirk just enough to make himself moderately unlucky until then.  

It worked pretty well, in his opinion.  The random seating for the written exam and for the practical orientation both put him next to Kacchan, he somehow grabbed the attention of someone confident uptight enough to scold him for muttering in front of a whole auditorium of people, he kept getting hit by doors, the robot bus driver somehow decided to register him as a bush, instead of a human, he tripped getting off the bus, the uptight guy scolded him again, and then–

“Start!” screamed Present Mic, from the announcer’s box.  

Izuku didn’t have to be told twice.

.

Izuku didn’t actually mind having bad luck.  

Not usually.  Not as long as it was only a little bad luck.  After all, what you did with your luck was what dictated your fate.  Plus, most small unlucky events, like spills, tears, and lost items, could be countered with only a little forethought.  Izuku had two of everything that was really important, and carried a mini sewing and stain removal kit with him almost all the time!

But… good luck was freedom.  Good luck made him feel as if he was invincible, as if he was flying, a thousand miles up and only getting higher.  Good luck was amazing.  

Good luck was an almost ideal weapon in his hand the minute he stepped into the fake city, a piece of pipe that was just the right length, the right height, the right width for him to hold onto easily. 

Good luck was catching sight of other students hitting the weak points of robots so clearly he knew he would be able to target them as well.  

Good luck was partially-destroyed but still functional robots practically offering themselves up to him for points.  

Good luck was being able to dodge every attack and stray friendly fire without even trying.  

Good luck was spotting when people were in trouble before they even knew it, and pulling them out of the way.  

Good luck was seeing that nice girl trapped under rubble, and throwing his pipe, spear-like, at the zero-pointer and having it hit something so vital that its progress ground to a stop.  

Good luck was… rapidly running out.  Actually, he’d burned through his saved buffer of bad luck a while ago.  

Oops.  

He didn’t even see the bit of rubble that fell on his head.  

He didn’t see anything until hours later when Recovery Girl woke him up in the infirmary.  

He didn’t even get to talk to the nice girl again.  

But… he thought he’d done well.  He could only hope he’d done well enough.  

.

He had!

.

Izuku checked to make sure he wasn’t leaning on the negative side of his quirk too hard.  A quirk assessment?  A physical quirk assessment?  On the first day?  One with expulsion as a possible consequence?

He was going to die.  

It wasn’t like he’d neglected physical training.  Mr. Yagi had even given him some suggestions for it!  (It turned out that before he’d been a secretary, he’d been a personal trainer… who knew?)  But, naturally, he’d focused on his quirk, and his quirk was anything but physical.  In a class with Kacchan and people with enhancement-type quirks…

Kacchan promptly underlined the point by blasting a baseball hundreds of meters away in the ball toss while shouting “DIE!” at the top of his lungs.

He was really going to die.  

Unless… unless everyone else lost.

He raised his hand.  “Mr. Aizawa, do you mean we can do anything to make our scores better in comparison with our classmates?”

“As long as you don’t injure anyone, yes.”

Well.  He’d learned long ago that good luck for him sometimes meant bad luck for other people.  He… really didn’t want to be expelled.  But could he do that to his new classmates?  Could he sabotage them like that?

.

The answer was, no, he couldn’t.  But he could, apparently, get one of UA’s observation drones to go haywire, catching his baseball at the top of its arc and then zooming off to who-knew-where over a kilometer away at high speed.  

He could also promptly get plowed into by another drone, which had suffered from the same AI malfunction as the first, and have to go to Recovery Girl for the resultant broken arm.  

.

Sometimes, Izuku wondered if his quirk had a mind of its own, and, if so, what was up with its sense of humor.  

No one was expelled.  

.

Izuku stared at the numbered ball in his hand.  He’d decided to take it easy in the luck department today, not leaning on it either way, but, really, this was far too much, just to make things even.  

Next to him, stood Uraraka, who he might finally have a real conversation with.  Across from him, stood Kacchan, who was definitely going to take this opportunity to beat the crap out of him.  

Thank goodness nothing big was riding on this Battle Trial.  Even if All Might kept looking at him like he was going to say something life-altering.  

Actually…  Was All Might related to Mr. Yagi?  No, that was silly.  Just because two people worked in the same place and had similar mannerisms, and the same color of hair, and the same color of eyes, and the same smile, and similar heights, didn’t mean… um…  Hm.  

That was a thought for later.  

For now…

“My quirk is called Gambler’s Fallacy,” said Izuku.  “It lets me manipulate my luck.  I can store up bad things that happen to me, and then use them to make me lucky later, or, if I don’t have any luck stored, I can make myself lucky now, but I have to pay for it later.  I can also make myself unlucky on purpose, and store up the bad things that happen because of that.  But I don’t have anything stored up right now, since I spent it all yesterday, during the quirk assessment.”

“Wow,” said Uraraka, “that sounds really complicated.  So, you could just… make us win?”

“Not exactly.  If winning or losing was based entirely on chance, then, yes, but it isn’t.  This is mostly skill and ability.”  

“Mm,” said Uraraka.  “So we’ll just have to be more skilled!  Anyway, even if you can’t make us win, we’ll know that we didn’t lose just because of dumb luck, right?”

Izuku nodded.  “You’re right!  I, um, I do have a plan.”

“Let’s hear it!”

.

Izuku’s quirk apparently thought winning  was worth breaking an arm (again).  Maybe if he factored in Recovery Girl’s quirk, he could understand that.  

But it still hurt.  

(And Kacchan was still angry.  Izuku wished he’d stop blaming all of his bad luck on him.  Even if it was Izuku, this time.)

.

Getting trampled twice in one day, first by reporters, then by people running away from reporters, was definitely bad luck.  

.

“I tend to say whatever is on my mind,” said Asui– No.  Tsu.  She said to call her Tsu.

“Okay?” said Izuku.  

“Your quirk is very hard to understand.”

“Ah, yeah,” said Izuku, rubbing the back of his neck.  “It is.  I’m really glad quirks grow with you.  If I was able to push my luck then as much as I can now, I probably would have died.”  As it was, he'd gotten into a few bad situations over the years.  Once, while operating with neutral luck, he'd won a contest that was apparently more chance-based than advertised, and the results had been… interesting.

('Interesting' being code for terrifying.)

“Hah!” scoffed Kacchan.  “There’s nothing hard to understand about it!  He just sabotages everyone around him!”

“Like you’re any better,” said Kaminari, as Izuku slouched down in his seat, trying to disappear.  “If you don’t tone things down, all of us will be deaf by the time we graduate!”

“I could make you some earplugs, if you think that would help,” offered Yaoyorozu.  

.

As it turned out, being attacked by a whole league of villains during the first field trip of the school year was so absolutely, unmitigatedly bad that it topped off Izuku’s ‘gauge.’  The last time that had happened, he’d been in elementary school.  

It meant that he danced around the first attacks with ease, and when he did fall through a portal, it deposited him right outside a very clearly labeled maintenance door.  It was locked, but Izuku’s costume didn’t include a utility belt just for aesthetics.  He pulled a set of ‘universal’ keys out of one of the pouches, jammed the first one he grabbed into the lock, and grinned as he heard all the tumblers click home.  

Random chance was his friend today.

He ran up, into a sort of control room.  Several of the screens were blinking, warning that the system had lost connection to the main campus.  He cleared the warnings and swept his eyes over the controls.  There was a set of headphones on one of the monitors, and he put them on.  They’d been sized for someone bigger than him, but that was fine.  There were sounds coming through them, so… There.  He could switch freely between hidden microphones in a number of places, apparently.

More importantly, at the moment, he could control vital aspects of a number of the simulations.  He got to work, draining the shipwreck zone, strategically flaring the fires in the conflagration zone, activating a landslide in the landslide zone, ‘rebuilding’ collapsed houses in the typhoon zone…  Anything he could think of, to damage the chances of villains and let his classmates escape.  

Then, his elbow hit the microphone button, switching what the headphone channel to the central plaza just in time to hear ‘Shigaraki Tomura’ order ‘Nomu’ to kill Mr. Aizawa.  

.

All Might burst through the doors before Izuku could even begin to come up with a plan to escape the frankly horrifying Nomu, and never before had Izuku been so relieved to feel his luck drain away and equalize.  

All Might was here - and that was apparently equal to the villains in the eyes of his quirk.  They’d be safe, now.  They were saved.  

Izuku almost cried.  

Then he really did cry as Nomu and the portal villain actually proved to be a challenge.  If Nomu could hold All Might still, and the portal villain could portal one of All Might’s limbs to Shigaraki Tomura…  Or even if the portal villain could close a portal with something in transit…  

But that didn’t happen.  

Instead, All Might punched Nomu through the roof of the USJ.

Izuku tracked Nomu’s meteoric rise with a sense of wonder.  His quirk was great and all, but he’d never, ever be able to do anything like that.  

The rest of the teachers piled through the hole All Might had made in the side of the USJ, and the portal villain swept himself and Shigaraki Tomura away.  Izuku, finally, let himself relax, loosening his grip on his quirk.  

He… didn't think that anyone had died.  That was as lucky as they could possibly expect to be.

.

The problem with the sports festival was that the positive Izuku’s quirk was only effective for short periods of time.

Could he constantly maintain a low level of good luck, like he could with the bad?  Technically, yes.  He’d been tempted to do just that more than once.  But if he ever lost grip on his quirk while he was carrying around a big luck debt…  Well.  It was better to be owed luck than to owe it.  When not being actively managed, his quirk tended to just equalize.  

Could he save up and then slowly spend his good luck?  Again, technically, yes, but… and this was something Izuku was embarrassed to admit…

He was bad at spending good luck slowly.  In fact, not only did he usually push his good luck to happen faster than it usually would, when he was using that side of his quirk, he tended to overshoot.  By a lot.  Hence incidents like at the end of the entrance practical.  

(He was glad he hadn’t overdrawn his luck at the USJ.  He’d probably have had Nomu fall on him or something.)

If he wanted to do well in the sports festival, he couldn’t do that.  It wouldn’t do him any good to win, say, a relay race, like they’d done for the second event  a couple years ago, and then step on his shoelace and concuss himself before he could do anything for the next event.  

So.  He had to figure out how to either regulate his quirk use better, or how to pass at least one event without using it.  Preferably both.  

.

Izuku kept his quirk in neutral until the minefield.  Who decided that a minefield was a good idea for a school sports festival?  Well…  Plus Ultra, he supposed.  

He had an idea.  

He had an idea he needed to be lucky for.  But he'd only have to be lucky for a minute.  Maybe even less.  

He put his scrap metal shield aside, and started stacking mines.  When he figured he had enough, and had them in more or less the right shape, he picked up his scrap metal and, using it to shield himself, jumped on the mines.  

He went soaring.  It was exhilarating.  It was terrifying.  It was working.  

Kacchan and Todoroki were in sight.  He was gaining on them.  He was–

Getting hit by a bird. 

He tumbled sideways, away from Todoroki and Kacchan.  Barely, he managed to get the shield under him again, before he hit the ground and another mine went off, sending him shooting in the other direction.  He landed back in the path Todoroki and Kacchan had cleared, which was weird if his luck had run out…

It hadn’t run out.  

Then where had the bird…?  Why…?

It didn’t matter.  What mattered was that he wasn’t going to try that again, but he need to get a move on if he wanted to finish this race.  He wrenched his quirk back to neutral, and started running.  

He came in third, and collapsed in the waiting area.  Yeah.  Running.  Being exploded.  Still hard.  

It took a while for everyone else to cross the finish line.  A while during which Izuku wondered why he’d been hit by that bird.  Maybe Kouda…?  No, he was nowhere nearby, and he usually didn’t make his helpers commit suicide runs which… that probably was, unfortunately.  Was his quirk just broken?  He didn’t like the thought of that.  His quirk screwed him over in a lot of ways, but it had never backstabbed him or failed to work.  

But as soon as Midnight announced the results…

Yeah.  

His quirk wasn’t broken.  

(He’d have to burn some incense for that poor bird, though.  Yikes.)

He, in third place, had a headband worth two hundred points for the next event.  Kacchan had one worth two hundred and five.  

Todoroki’s was worth ten million.  

.

Izuku’s calvary team was made up of Uraraka, Tokoyami, and Hatsume, an unfamiliar girl from the support course.  Hatsume was the rider.  Izuku didn’t have any offensive quirk that being rider would let him leverage, Uraraka didn’t want to be in a position where she would have to use her quirk on herself, and Tokoyami and Dark Shadow were strong together.  Hatsume, meanwhile, had all sorts of unbelievable gadgets that she could operate from the rider position.  

Between her and Tokoyami, their ability to collect headbands shouldn’t be bad.  While everyone else went after Todoroki and Kacchan, they should be able to snag smaller point values.  Once they got a comfortable number, they could use Hatsume’s jetpacks and hide out in the air until the clocks ran down.

“I’m impressed,” she said, after Izuku finished explaining the plan.  

“It’s nothing fancy.”

“Not that, third place.  I’m impressed you’re letting someone else take the spotlight.”

“Well,” said Izuku, “I’m… probably not going to be a spotlight hero, honestly.  My quirk isn’t all that fancy.”

“Hm.  Maybe.  I feel like we’ll be surprised.”

And maybe she was right.

The more chaos inherent in a system, the more Izuku’s quirk could do.  The cavalry battle had a lot of chaos.

So, when Izuku flared his quirk to give them just that little edge, trying to keep their points out of Iida’s hands–

Rin’s team and Kamakiri’s team slipped and fell as Honenuki overshot his quirk use, becoming immediately disqualified.  Monoma brushed against Todoroki… while he already was holding Kacchan’s quirk.  The explosion wasn’t the biggest Izuku had ever seen, but it wasn’t small.  Kaminari, startled, shocked Iida, who stumbled, and almost capsized their whole team, letting Kacchan almost grab the ten million point headband, except that Todoroki suddenly caught on fire.  

Izuku shut his quirk off.  He’d used more luck than he intended, but he still has some for later, and for now…

“Take us up, Hatsume!”

“Thought you’d never ask, third place!”

.

When they landed, they hadn’t finished in first place, but they were far from dropping out, which was a true relief.  

The third event was single combat, which, hm.  Yeah.  His odds weren’t good on this.  He was planning on losing a lot of the recreational games between the second and third rounds, but the stakes of those were low, so he wouldn’t get a lot of luck from them.  In a bare concrete ring, one on one, skill against skill, with almost no outside variables…  It was possible for his quirk to make someone trip over their own feet, or get weird muscle spasms, but under these circumstances, it would be expensive.

Well, there was a little interlude even before that, so he was going to go freshen up…

.

Neither Izuku nor his quirk could decide what kind of luck overhearing all that counted as.  First Todoroki trying to have some kind of rivalry heart-to-heart with Kacchan, where he heavily implied he was the result of a eugenics project, and then whatever that was with his father.  Should he report this?  Who would he even report this to?  Who would believe him?  

He was kind of freaking out.  

And Todoroki’s quirk.

“I thought I was the only one who had self sabotage as part of my quirk,” he whispered.  

Actually, he was pretty angry about that.  Edging into fury, really.  It wasn’t like Todoroki was the only one who’d been dealt a bad hand when it came to fathers, but Izuku wasn’t refusing to use his quirk over it, even though his father’s permanent departure had been the inciting incident for his quirk’s first activation.

(His father abandoning them had, actually, given Izuku a small reserve of good luck that took several days to naturally deplete.  It was something Izuku was perversely grateful for, knowing what his quirk might have done to him otherwise.)

But what could he do?

Except, maybe…  He’d used his fire instinctively, in the cavalry battle.  Maybe if someone could pressure him…

Could Izuku do that?  

No.  Probably not.  Not without a lot of luck. 

… this was going to be painful later.  

.

Of course, he couldn’t beat sense into Todoroki unless he actually made it to the second round of battles.  Making it to the second round of battles seemed… unlikely, at the moment.  His quirk couldn’t protect him from his own stupid decisions, after all.

He was walking towards the edge of the ring, not in control of his body, barely in control of his quirk, which he had turned on as much as he could.  

He tripped.  Over his own feet, as it so happened.

Before Shinsou could react, he was back on his feet and attacking.  Shinsou’s story sounded… sad.  Lonely.  But Izuku had lived the same life!  He’d been called bad luck and a vampire ever since he’d first fully explained his quirk!  He wanted to commiserate!  To comfort!  To empathize!

But, right now, it was time to fight, and he threw Shinsou out of the ring.  

.

Unfortunately, getting out of Shinsou’s grip had come at the cost of his remaining luck.  That meant that if he used any for the fight with Todoroki - a fight he was almost certain to lose anyway - he’d be paying for it later.  

But could he really leave this alone?  Being a hero was risky.  Being a hero while using only half your quirk was worse.  

The match started, and Izuku jumped.  He was lucky, of course.  Todoroki had pretty good control of his ice, but there were, naturally, random peaks and valleys in the less-controlled parts, and Izuku happened to fall into a valley.  He also managed to break off an ice spike on the way down.  

Lacking other weapons, he threw it at Todoroki.  

“You know,” said Izuku, managing to hide from ice behind yet more ice, and acquiring a few more projectiles while he was at it, “if you used your fire to melt these, you wouldn’t have to dodge!”

This actually stopped Todoroki dead in his tracks.  “You–”

“I overheard your conversation with Kacchan!”  Izuku dodged again.  “Do you really think you can be a hero using only half a quirk?  When all the rest of us are trying our–”

He was forced to dodge again.  This went on for some time.  Izuku, barely manage to dodge, Todoroki whipping another, more fragile, glacier at him, Izuku throwing ice and words he barely heard himself back at him.

Izuku, though… He was wearing down.  The temperature was getting to him, and Todoroki had winged him a few times.  

“I won’t do it!” declared Todoroki through gritted teeth.  “I won’t use his quirk!  I’ll show him–”

“It’s not his!  It’s yours!  Use your quirk, Todoroki!  Show me your power!”

Through the ice, Izuku saw orange flare from the tips of Todoroki’s fingers.

The thought crossed Izuku’s mind that suddenly heating up this much cold air might not go very well.  For the very first time in his life, Izuku’s survival instinct decided to do its job and he threw himself out of the ring just in time for Cementoss to raise the blast walls to contain Todoroki’s explosion.

“Uh,” said Midnight a minute later.  “Todoroki, wins?”

Izuku was just as surprised as she was that he hadn’t been turned into a fine paste.  Of course, that could still happen.  He had a massive bout of bad luck coming up.  

Still.  Lying here next to two Pro Heroes, he was probably safe.

.

Izuku tripped going down the stairs leaving the ring.  

“How do you break so many bones going down stairs?” asked Recovery Girl, incredulously.  

Izuku grunted.  Broken bones could be healed.  So could frostbite.  

But, for him at least, the sports festival was over.  He just had to hope he’d made a good impression.

.

(Todoroki joined him in the infirmary an hour later.

“Bakugou is extremely violent,” he said, by way of explanation.

“Yeah, he’s kind of…  Yeah.”

“You’re still friends.”

“Uh,” said Izuku.  “Maybe?”

“What’s your phone number?”

Somehow, Izuku wound up adding Todoroki to the class group chat.)

.

“Who sent your recommendation?” asked Uraraka, over lunch.  

“Native!” said Izuku, vibrating with excitement.  His quirk was kind of boring, visually, and hard to understand, so he hadn’t expected to get any offers at all!

“Native?” asked Uraraka, her face dropping.  “Isn’t he kind of, um.  His whole image is a bit…”

“Appropriative?” filled in Iida.  

“That’s a misconception,” said Izuku.  “He actually is native.  His father is Japanese, obviously, but he’s Ainu, and his mother is from an indigenous North American tribe.  They met at some kind of conference for displaced indigenous peoples, I think?  The documentary was really interesting, but it’s been a while…  I think there was later some kind of controversy with his mother, but I don’t really understand American politics…”

“Oh!” said Uraraka.  “I didn’t know that!  I guess I should try to research, before just assuming things.”

“It’s…  It’s a common misconception,” said Izuku, waving his hands.  “A company he’d investigated for illegal quirk experimentation ran a really nasty smear campaign against him, and, uh, his public persona isn’t really great.”  Which was the polite way to say that he got irritated at reporters (and everyone else) really easily.  “The important thing is, you know now.”

“Mhm!  I guess so!  That’s a really good way to put it.”  She leaned forward.  “I really like your hero name!  It’s super cute!”

“Thanks!” said Izuku, brightly.  “I’ve wanted to use it since I was a little kid!”

.

The ride to Hosu was painfully awkward.  Mainly because every attempt Izuku made to try and start a conversation with Iida fell flatter than a pancake.  

Not that he blamed Iida!  He probably had a lot on his mind, after all.

.

“He-hello, sir!” said Izuku, bowing deeply to Native, who had been leaning up against the front desk of his agency, talking to the secretary.  “I’m Clover!  Y-your intern!  Please take care of me!”

“Hey, hey,” said Native, “there’s really no reason to be like that, it’s irritating.  You need to loosen up a little, kid.”

“Y-yes, sir!”

Native sighed.  “Okay, anyway, you good here, Satsumi?”

“Yes, I think I have all the information,” said the secretary.  

“Great.  So, I guess I can give you the tour and the intern talk.”

Native’s agency wasn’t anything fancy.  A lot of things in it were worn out.  Old.  But, then, after the smear campaign, it was probably hard for him to get sponsorships.

“So, Clover,” said Native, after he had given him a rundown of the temporary dorms and the main common areas, “why did you decide to intern with me?”

“W-well,” said Izuku, “for a couple reasons.  The first is that you’re the only one who requested me, specifically, as opposed to agencies that just have general agreements with UA, so I figured there was probably a reason for that.”

“Uh huh,” said Native, sounding unimpressed, “what else?”

“Well, you also have a strictly mental quirk.  Not a lot of heroes have that, not the ones on UA’s open internship list.  Ragdoll and Mandalay from the Wild Wild Pussycats are the only other ones, and… I’d be worried about being a liability in a rescue situation.”

“Anything else?”

“I don’t think so?  Of course, your record was–”

“Nothing else that might have been in the news?”

“Um.  No?”

Native nodded. “I’m surprised anyone took me up on my offer this year, honestly.”

“Be-because of the smear campaign? I, um, I never believed it.  I remembered your interview when you talked about your parents, so…”

“Ah.  Okay.  That makes sense.  Sorry.  Just had to make sure you weren’t one of those weirdos who try to congratulate me for ‘sticking it’ to an already oppressed group.”  He sighed.  “You’d think we’d have solved at least some of these problems, since we got superpowers, but no, we just came up with even more ways to be awful.”

“O-oh,” said Izuku.  “Sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” said Native, waving off the apology.  “So.  Tell me about your quirk.”

.

Native’s quirk, compared to Izuku’s, was simple.  It affected his perception.  Not his senses themselves, but the way his brain processed the data from those senses.  His eyes and ears weren’t any sharper than a normal person’s, but what he could process about what he could see and hear was.  And he could do it fast.  He could glance at a full page of writing for a second, and know everything that was written on it.  

It wasn’t terribly like Izuku’s quirk, and didn’t affect the outside world, like Izuku’s did, but like Izuku’s, the activation and management of the quirk were all in his head.  Which meant that he could advise Izuku on how to better use it.  

Unfortunately, Native seemed more interested in the stockpile aspect of his quirk.

“So,” said Native, “hypothetically, if something bad happened to you that had nothing to do with luck, would that count?  Like, if someone decided to hit you.”

“Um, not really.  Like, whenever someone throws a punch, there’s a small amount of chance involved in it hitting at all, but that’s, um, negligible, as far as I’ve been able to tell.”

“So you couldn’t bank luck by, say, purposefully getting assigned crappy paperwork?”

“Uh,” said Izuku, “no.  Not unless the paperwork was randomly assigned and I was leaning on the negative side of my quirk to get it.”

“Okay.  And, then, what if you traded the paperwork to someone else, afterwards?”

“I think I…  I’m not sure?  If I’d set the trade up before hand, probably, um, it’d just do whatever would get me the bad paperwork?”

“What if you needed the bad paperwork for some reason?”

“Then I’d have to use good luck, otherwise I wouldn’t get it.”

“What if you needed something bad to happen to you for some reason?  Like, you wanted to break your arm or get sick to get out of a school assignment?”

“Oh, I actually tried… something like that a few times.”  Not to avoid school work, but to avoid bullies.  “It only worked once, and I really regretted it.”

“Got really sick, huh?”

“Yeah,” said Izuku.  

“Okay,” said Native.  “I’ve got to go out on patrol soon, but I’ve asked Satsumi to give you the basic operational rundown.  Pro-tip?  It’s always the secretaries who are really running the show.”

“I-I’ll remember that, sir!”

“Yeah, yeah.  Anyway, enjoy the break, because I already have some training ideas for tomorrow.”

.

“So,” said Native as Izuku ran through his costume checklist.  “The thing is, even though our quirks are pretty different, there are still some similarities in– Hey, are you paying attention?”

“Yes, s-sir!”

“Uh huh.  There are some similarities in how we have to fight because of them.  Both of us have to rely heavily on the environment and respond to changes in it quickly.  Me, because that’s the only advantage I have, you, because even if your quirk gives you the best opening possible, you still have to move to take advantage of it.  So.”  He gestured at the crowded room, packed full of various random items.  “That’s what we’re doing.  Simulating a changeable environment for you to keep track of.  You ready?”

“Yes!”

.

“I’m going to take you out on patrol today,” said Native.

“R-really?”

“I wouldn’t say it if I wasn’t going to.  There’s a limited amount you can learn from sparring and helping Satsumi with the paperwork - The paperwork is really important, though.  If you screw it up enough, it can break you.  Mainly because of insurance problems.  You don’t want insurance problems.  Or Hero Commission problems.  If they decide they don’t like you, they’ll jump on anything they can to get rid of you.”

Izuku made note of this important fact.  

“Anyway, unless I give you permission, or you’re directly attacked, you are not to engage any villains or criminals, got it?  And if I tell you to run, you run.”

“I-I’ve got it!”

“Cool.  So.  Ready to make your debut, Clover?”

“Yes!”

“Great.  Oh, and bring those marbles.  They worked well for you in yesterday’s session.”

.

The first few hours of patrol went more or less the way Izuku expected it to.  There wasn’t a whole lot of crime in Hosu at this time of day.  Native caught an older teenager trying to break into a car, and gave him a warning for a first offense, they were called to a four-year-old’s somewhat awkward and chaotic quirk awakening - which Izuku helped with! - and a welfare check for an older couple who had missed a book club meeting (they were fine, they had just gotten the date wrong).  Otherwise, it was just walking around Hosu, including some really sketchy alleyways, Native pointing out things to keep an eye on and how to spot trouble in specific places.

But, then… things exploded.  

It wasn’t like Izuku was unused to explosions.  He’d gone to school with Kacchan.  But this explosion was bigger, and had a different character than Danny was used to.  It was also, thankfully, further away.  

Still, the middle of a city like this was not a good place for an explosion.  He started forward, towards the source of the sound, but Native caught his arm.  

“Never,” he said, pulling out his phone (a HeroGrade 32!  They weren’t available to the public, yet!), “never run blind into a situation when you can gather info first.”

“But–” 

“There are other heroes with closer routes,” said Native.  “We can be more useful if we know what’s going on first.  Crap.  Looks like a mass villain attack.”  He flipped his phone to face Izuku. A HeroNet video was playing on it.

He caught sight of exposed brain matter and gasped.  “Nomu?”

“You know one of these guys?”

“No,” said Izuku, “but they look just like one of the villains that attacked the USJ!  Maybe they’re relatives?”

“Any weaknesses?”

“No, they were really strong.  All Might had trouble, even.”

“Crap.  Hopefully, these guys don’t have the same kind of quirk.  Come on, now that we know what we’re up against, the faster we get there, the better.”  He started running.  “I want you to work with on-site sidekicks clearing civilians from the area.  You can use your quirk, but if your stockpile runs out, evacuate with the civilians.  If you get cornered, I give you permission to fight, but only if you get cornered.  Otherwise, run, got it?”

“Ye-yes!” said Izuku.  It was easier for him to keep up with Native than he’d thought it would be, but he didn’t quite have the lung capacity to respond with full sentences.

They turned into an alley and– 

Native stopped dead, scanning the area.  

“Uh, Native?” said Izuku.  “Is–?”

Native pulled him to one side as something fell on them from above.  No.  Not something.  Someone.  Someone– Vest, bandaged arms, scarf, swords–

Native, naturally, processed the information much faster than Izuku.  

“Stain!”

Oh. 

Izuku pulled on his quirk instinctively and reached for his belt, grabbing the first thing that came to hand and throwing it at Stain.  The handful of marbles hit the side of Stain’s beaten katana and knocked it aside enough for Native to dodge.  

But Stain had another knife, and it flicked against Native’s stomach, cutting through his suit and drawing blood.  The wound looked shallow, though, so–

Stain licked his knife, and Native stiffened mid-step and started to fall.  Izuku caught him, then pulled him back, out of Stain’s immediate reach.

“I-I can’t move!” said Native, sounding shocked.

“A… sidekick?” said Stain.  

“He’s just-”  Native’s breath caught.  “He’s a student.  An intern.  I’ve only known him for a day.  Don’t–”

“A day is more than long enough for the rot to creep in.  Well, boy, do you stand by this fake, or will you give up his lies?”

“Clover, run!” 

“I-” said Izuku, “I won’t leave you!”  He also wasn’t sure if he’d make it, even if he did run.  Stain was good, as shown by how he’d still managed to stab Native, even though Izuku was using his quirk, and with the way the alley was constructed, they were standing in a corner, the direct path to the street blocked and blinded by buildings.  

“Then you, too, will be culled.”

Izuku jumped back from the lunge, unfortunately sacrificing his phone to deflect the blade.  Hopefully, the text he’d been making behind his back had gone through… he might not be connected to HeroNet, but he did have a network, and he knew at least two of them were in this city.

He hoped this worked.  

Then, faster than could be believed, it did.  Iida came racing around the corner and–

–apparently didn’t notice Izuku and Native fighting for their lives at all, but Izuku was willing to give him a pass, because he was a) there, b) clearly really upset by what happened to his brother, and c) took Stain’s attention off of him and Native.  Whatever.  But he also narrowly missed getting decapitated, and only avoided getting paralyzed by Stain because Izuku had picked up Iida’s helmet and beaned Stain over the back of the head with it.  

“What are you doing here?” demanded Iida.  

This was such a ridiculous question that Izuku didn’t answer it.  He was getting attacked by a serial killer.  That should’ve been obvious.

“Take Native and leave, this is my business.”

“You take Native and leave!” 

Iida could maintain a viable escape speed while carrying Native, unlike Izuku, and then Izuku could also run, no longer having to worry about whether or not he was leaving someone to their death.  Unfortunately, Stain did not wait for Izuku to explain this to Iida.  

What followed could have been a slapstick comedy.  Stain lunged, but put his foot down on a marble, which let Izuku and Iida dodge.  He recovered quickly, however, and swiped at Iida, who he called a fake hero - this was technically correct, as neither Iida nor Izuku had their licenses yet - but the blade was deflected by Iida’s armor, and all the blow accomplished was to knock a piece of Iida’s armor loose.  

(Izuku had to wonder if Iida’s costume manufacturer had skimped on the connective parts of his armor.  Parts of a costume shouldn’t just come off like that, except for capes, for safety reasons.)

But loose metal junk was one of Izuku’s favorite weapons, and when the bracer landed in his hand, he didn’t waste time throwing it at Stain’s face.  Then he pulled out his other favorite weapon.  A telescoping baton.  

He didn’t have it during the USJ, but after the sports festival…  Yeah.  He’d realized he needed something, and Mei had been all too happy to fulfill that need.  Literally too happy.  Powerloader had nixed most of her ideas and given Izuku a standard baton until he could work out potential bugs.  

Anyway.  

He alternated between throwing trash at Stain (the alley had a lot of trash) and trying to smack him with the baton.  Iida, meanwhile, tried to kick his face off.  The only reason they weren’t dead - or paralyzed like Native - was that Stain kept slipping on marbles and getting weapons stuck in the alley walls.  They were not, in any way, winning.  

Then Todoroki arrived like a divine spirit descending from heaven, and froze Stain solid.  

Well.  He didn’t freeze Stain immediately.  There was quite a bit of back and forth, because it turned out that the dodging technique Izuku had lucked into during the sports festival was something Stain could do at will.  And he tried to kill Todoroki too, a few times.  And there was some stabbing involved, but with Todoroki there, they could freeze the blood, and Iida was only paralyzed for a little bit, and all the while everyone was yelling about their personal philosophies, and heroism, and All Might, and–

His point was, after Todoroki showed up, it felt like the fight went really fast.  

But with Stain frozen, Izuku felt like he could relax just a little…

… and lose his grip on his quirk, which was very far in the red.  

Claws closed around his torso, and he was swiftly lifted from the alley.  Swiftly enough that his head cracked on the side of one of the buildings and he lost consciousness.  

.

Later, he learned that the nomu (which was apparently a class of being and not a family or personal name) had carried him around, apparently confused, for fifteen minutes before a flight-capable hero named Gran Torino rescued him.

He was, naturally, brought to the hospital, and, equally naturally, was the most injured out of the four people in that alleyway (not counting Stain, who they had really beaten the crap out of, apparently).  

He was relieved to hear that everyone had lived, and the nomu attack had only resulted in a few serious injuries, due to the strong hero presence in Hosu.  

He was significantly less relieved to hear that the police were thinking about charging him with vigilantism.  

.

“What the hell are you talking about?” asked Native, who had evidently overheard the police chief while taking a walk down the hallway.  “Clover had my permission to fight, if he was cornered.  Which he was.  I don’t know about the other two, but legally speaking, my intern is in the clear.” 

Izuku sighed in relief.  He didn’t think he and his mother could afford to go to court. 

“And kid?”

“Y-yes?”

“Stop using your quirk while you’re this beat up.  I know it’s instinctive, but I don’t want you to wind up getting an air embolism or something stupid from the kickback.”

“Oh,” said Izuku.  “Yes, sir.”

.

In preparation for the first term’s final exam, Izuku eased himself back into days where everything was just a little bit awful.  

He tore a hole in his favorite sweater.  He fell off a building during the Rescue Training Race.  Mr. Yagi kept staring at him with that weird expression when he went to volunteer.  He got every question he guessed on wrong on the mock exam.  He let himself get fleeced by Uraraka in small-scale gambling games.  He lost every round of rock-paper-scissors he played.  His mother sneezed and accidentally cut off way too much of his hair while giving him a trim, and Monoma started calling him a sheared sheep.  All Might kept staring at him with that weird expression during heroics lessons.  He lost a lot of in-class fights for silly reasons, like the elastic in his pants giving way, or, in one case, random neutrino interaction with the program controlling a simulation.  

It was good practice for when - not if, when - his quirk decided to screw him over in the middle of a real fight.  

But, maybe, Izuku should have realized that decisions about the final would be made significantly in advance of the final actually happening, and he wouldn’t have kept his quirk going until the last minute.  

Maybe then he wouldn’t have been paired with Kacchan.  Maybe then, they wouldn’t be facing All Might himself.  

Maybe then he wouldn’t be lying on the ground, bleeding, with Kacchan screaming at him to take his ‘stupid bad luck deku self’ and go away.  

In the end, however, Kacchan was the one who stomped away.  Izuku was left to slowly sit up, still feeling stunned.  Part of him couldn’t believe Kacchan still held a grudge over childhood quirk slip ups, especially considering what he had done to Izuku with his quirk.  Part of him… very much could.  

Kacchan was a jerk.  

Although… Izuku probably should have tried to come up with a plan more palatable than ‘run away.’  He’d known that Kacchan would never accept anything less than a perfect victory after the sports festival.

He shook his head, even though that made his ears ring, and pulled a coin out of one of his suit’s pouches.  In theory, this should work.  He had pretty good evidence of this usually working, for less vital things.

He flared his quirk and flipped the coin.  Heads, he’d go with his original plan, and try to escape.  Tails, he’d try to back up Kacchan.    

Heads.  

Well, then.  

.

It turned out that Izuku’s quirk was pretty good for stealth, given a large enough playing field.  

.

Izuku let go of his quirk as soon as he stepped through the gate, pleased to note that he still had some luck left.  Intending to keep it that way, and not spend it trying not to get murdered by Kacchan, he decided to jog back to where the other groups were waiting. 

Judging by the explosions behind him, this was a wise choice.  

He didn’t go back to his usual low grade bad luck until he was home safe, with the knowledge that he would be going to the training camp, and Kacchan wouldn’t be.

.

Except it turned out the students who had failed were going on the trip after all.  Yay.

.

Low grade bad luck was not supposed to include Shigaraki Tomura crashing a shopping trip, and yet.  

At least the ridiculous threat to his life - how had Shigaraki even recognized him?  He’d spent most of the time in the USJ in the maintenance room! - meant that he had a bit of extra luck to lean into, and he was hoping that Mr. Aizawa, or, heck, even All Might had decided this was a good day to shop, too.

But as the conversation wore on, it became obvious that his current quasi-kidnapped state was a direct result of his last kidnapping.  Shigaraki wanted to know “What did you do to my nomu?” and “What did you do to Stain?” and, most importantly, “Why do people pay attention to Stain and not me?” 

Which, in Izuku’s opinion, was a pretty petty thing for a supervillain to worry about, but this supervillain did have a dangerous quirk pointed at Izuku’s throat, so he wasn’t about to say that.  

“W-well,” he said, instead, “Stain is… understandable.  He has goals.  And even if you don’t agree with his goals, they’re pretty clear.  What he wants is… normal.  And the source of his conviction– It’s All Might!  It’s like that for a lot of people.  Even if the way he’s going about fulfilling his goals isn’t something people can accept.  You…  I don’t think anyone understands what you want.  What your, um, ideals are…”

“Ha,” said Shigaraki.  “Ha.”  

Izuku didn’t dare move.  He didn’t dare swallow.  Shigaraki’s middle finger was so close to his throat…

“I get it now,” he said, a horrible smile-like thing on his face.  “It’s all so clear now.  It all makes sense.  It’s so obvious why the hero killer is so irritating.  It’s all because of All Might.”  He laughed again.  “Right?  Right.  That’s the conclusion.  Man.  Of course it was All Might.  It’s always him.  The reason all these idiots can smile– It’s him!  Him, smiling, as if there’s no one he can’t save!”

At this point, Izuku started to tune him out, because it was hard to pay attention to something as trivial as words when you’re actively being strangled.  

And then, right when he was sure he was going to die one way or the other, Uraraka showed up.  

.

“I think I hate that guy,” said Izuku to Uraraka, later.  

“Yeah,” she said.  “Me too.”

.

Well, the training camp was going well.  And by well, Izuku meant he sure was training.  A lot.  

He was also, for some reason, catching a small ball-punching child who had been knocked off a wall by a pervert.  

They really should come up with some method to stop Mineta before he took things too far…  Some of his stunts were getting scary. 

But that was a task for tomorrow!  The task for today was listening to the story of a horrible family tragedy and then passing out.  

But then it turned out that the task for tomorrow was more training, and then–

And then the Test of Courage was crashed by a bunch of villains.  

.

The forest was filled with toxic gasses and fire, and there was a grade schooler somewhere on the mountain, but this was fine!  Totally fine!  Izuku had this handled!  And there were actual adults, trained heroes, who were not paralyzed, here, so, really, this was more like the USJ than the fight with Stain!

… Shockingly, this observation didn’t make him feel better.  

Finding Kouta did make him feel better.  

Encountering Muscular seconds later didn’t.  

Nor did discovering that the villains planned to kidnap Kacchan and Tokoyami.  At least Kacchan was safe back with the other people who’d failed the test.  Tokoyami, not so much.  

He had mixed feelings about the results of throwing the nearest stick at Muscular.  He’d prefer that he not be known as the hero who habitually put out people’s eyes, but if he complained about it, that would mean he survived to complain about it.

He took the opportunity to run.  

.

Izuku would very much like to know why Kacchan was out here and not safely back in the buildings with Vlad King and Mr. Aizawa.  

.

Why was Moonfish here?  Didn't Shigaraki know the reason Moonfish got caught was because he tried to eat his accomplice?

.

There was a shape-shifter involved.  This explained nothing.  

.

Why didn't this guy become a stage magician or something?

.

Izuku managed to catch the right orb and break Kacchan free, but even the best luck in the world couldn't save you from stupidity.  Stupidity in this case being Kacchan immediately shoving Izuku away and getting caught by the villains again. 

So.

Kacchan got kidnapped. 

The villains left.

A tree fell on Izuku.

He was, of course, sent to the hospital.

.

In the hospital, he wondered if Kacchan’s last words to him before he was hauled into that portal were right.  If he was just bad luck.  If he should just stay away.  

If Kacchan's shove had kept *Izuku* from being taken.  

.

They were on a rescue mission, and none of that mattered.  They were going to Kamino Ward.

.

They were hiding behind a wall about a meter high.  It had been much taller a second ago.  

Izuku's quirk was screaming at him.  It had never done that before.  

They could hear All Might and the villain talking, and it was terrible, terrible what he'd done to Ragdoll, but… it filled in so many gaps.  It explained the nomu.  It explained Shigaraki’s hatred of All Might.  It explained why this villain was so powerful.

But.

None of that mattered right now.  What mattered was saving Kacchan. 

.

They were soaring high above the battlefield, and Kirishima held out his hand - the chances were one in a million or less, but– 

Kacchan was with them, and they were running.  

They made it out, made it away, and Izuku kept a tight grip on his quirk, because he wouldn't, couldn't, let any bad luck happen now.  Not when it could spill over onto that battle.  

Then he saw the screen.

Izuku looked at All for One, standing in the ruins of Kamino Ward, standing above All Might, Mr. Yagi, who struggled to stand, to make one more attack, protect one more person, and he knew–

All for One was a person with a lifetime’s worth of good luck.  

He was practically made of luck.  From his quirk, which had to be the best quirk Izuku had ever heard of - the ability to take and give quirks?  Really?  That was a thing? - to having found the right quirks to live for centuries, to surviving that ‘last’ fight with All Might that he’d mentioned, to flying under the hero world’s radar for so long.  He’d won the lottery of life.  

If Izuku ever got luck like that, it’d kill him.

He slowed, stopping behind his classmates and–

And he turned.

And he ran. 

He ran, and cranked his quirk up as high as it would go.  Made himself as lucky as he possibly could.  The luck, not having anywhere else to go, spilled out, touching everyone around him with its glow.  

The small cluster of cancer cells in a man he passed spontaneously died.  

A woman fumbled her phone and sent a text message that would one day radically change her life for the better.

Hospitals nearby recorded a practically unheard of rash of Lazarus Syndrome cases.  

Rubble from the battlefield shifted just enough that a family of four were able to crawl out of the ruins of their living room.

Uraraka's father won the lottery- a fact he wouldn't notice for another week, too worried about his daughter to check his prize.  

Damage in Iida Tensei's spine inexplicably reversed itself.  It was only by a small amount, but even if he'd still never walk, he'd be able to move and feel his legs.

None of the attacks All for One launched hit his target.  Not a single one.

Izuku was a shooting star.  A brilliant light, burning into nothing.  Izuku had never before accumulated so much debt on his quirk.  One way or another, he knew he never would again.  

He ran across fields of rubble that should have sent him sprawling.  He dodged stray attacks from a combatant who might not even register his presence.  He got closer and closer, impossibility unscathed, until he slid between Mr. Yagi and All for One just as Mr. Yagi was caught under the crushed walls of a building.

He bowed, the crown of his head touching broken concrete.  "Please!  Please don't kill him!  I- I- Take my quirk, do anything you want to me, but please don't kill him."

"No!  Young Midoriya!  Get out of here!"

"And why should I take your quirk?" asked All for One, sounding amused.  

"Because- Because my quirk is luck.  I just got across this battlefield, unscathed.  If you take my quirk, you'll never have to worry about- about the kinds of injuries you have again." That was a bit of a guess, but if he had to risk things on a guess, it would be now, with his quirk blazing inside him.  "No one would get lucky enough to even touch you.  Please.  Take it."

Because All for One's quirk had to work one of two ways.  Either it took a quirk as it had been when it first manifested, or it took it as it currently was.  

Izuku's quirk had taken into account his prior luck when it first manifested, and he was building up a massive debt, now.  His quirk was the perfect poison pill.  He just needed All for One to take it.  

"Well," said All for One.  "I don't know about sparing All Might, but I could never refuse a quirk offered up so nicely."

Izuku felt All for One's hand on his head.

What followed was agony, and after that, an aching, hollowness, and the sound of someone crying.  

Was… was Mr. Yagi crying over him?  That was silly.  He wasn't dead, and his plan was going great.  

"Now," said All for One, "All Might-"

A horrid orange light and a deafening crack filled the air, and when Izuku could see again, the top half of All for One's body was gone, and there was a smoking crater a few meters behind the legs.  Everything smelled faintly burnt.

"What," croaked All Might.

"Oh," said Izuku, faintly.  "I always worried something like that would happen to me."

He promptly passed out.  

.

Izuku stared up at the ceiling of his hospital room.  This would be the last time he could blame getting hurt on his quirk.  His quirk, which was well and truly gone, now, along with Ragdoll’s and countless others.  Not that he could’ve gotten it back from All for One if his plan hadn’t worked but…

He was quirkless now.  

Kacchan had always been a jerk, and there were more than a few people in his class that were jerks along with him, really believing that Izuku was giving them bad luck every time they failed a test.  But he’d had a few casual friends in middle school despite that, and except for the teachers who thought he’d been falsifying his quirk, they usually stopped Kacchan before he went too far.  

But he knew how they all talked about quirkless people.  He knew the statistics.  He… hadn’t really been thinking of the consequences when he came up with the plan.  Not that he regretted it!  He didn’t.  But he knew it would be hard to be a hero without a quirk.  

Or would it?  Would living like this be like his quirk was always in neutral?  Or would it be something entirely different?  It already felt like something different.  It felt… weird.  Not being aware of how his luck was going.  Like being blind.  And he knew his luck was just random, now.  Knew that bad luck wouldn’t mean good luck to follow, and good luck didn’t mean bad luck to follow but…  Even thinking that felt alien to him.  

He could have good luck forever.  He could have bad luck forever.  That was statistically unlikely, of course.  Either way, he had no control over it.

“Oh, Izuku!”

“H-hi, Mom,” he said, and let his mother fuss over him.  He wasn’t up for much conversation at the moment, unfortunately.  

Behind her, Mr. Yagi, walked in and quietly shut the door.  

“Um,” said Izuku, “a-am I in trouble?  I mean, I know, I know that I technically killed someone with my quirk, but, uh.  I did do that.  Oh my gosh.  Oh my gosh, you’re here to arrest me, I–”

“Nonsense, Young Izuku!  If anyone tries to charge you for that man accidentally killing himself with his own quirk, I will simply eat them.”

“And that’s if they get through me, first,” said his mother, pleasantly.  

“Oh,” said Izuku.  “So, why…?”

“Two reasons,” said Mr. Yagi.  “First, I wanted to thank you.  I’ve spent my entire career trying to get rid of that man.”

Izuku nodded.  ‘Get rid of’ was pretty ambiguous, here, but Izuku was the last person who could blame him for trying to kill the guy.  

“The other thing I wanted to talk to you about…”  Here, Mr. Yagi got that look on his face.  “I want to talk to you about a quirk called One for All.”

[krillest1]

Week 6: Feeling Bad Feels Good

HEWWO It has been another strange week. I'm slipping away from normal interaction more quickly than I thought. This week, on a related note, I got anxious a few times just being around people. This is an ill omen, and usually precedes quite a bit of dysfunction in my life. There is, however, much to be grateful for. I have the first glimmerings of an out from my current job (which I hate). I also finished the bible this week, and consumed all sorts of fun media. I am a prolific consumer, which I'm sure will come up more fully in a future post (if this continues...). Feeling uncomfortable provides a good chance to step back and let go of those deeply-rooted-ego-things, to orient myself towards the interesting, and be taken up in a righteous anger. Just kidding about the righteous anger part. A couple of weeks ago, while talking to someone I don't know very well, I brought up the point that most structures/things in society bottom out at feeling good. They were not terribly interested in this point, so I thought I'd interrogate it a little further here

FEELING GOOD Being an (often wrong) observer of people, I've noticed that they often feel good doing 'natural' things. Socialization is a pretty good example here. We talk about interacting with people as natural, but the reason people engage with others (I think) is that it feels good. No man is an island, because islands are sad. Going to church, for example, provides a chance to interact with others, to feel part of a larger narrative, blah blah blah, doesn't matter, the point is that they feel good. In a similar vein, people feel good being touched, or touching, or laughing, or drinking, or doing whatever. A related point: the idea of being neurodivergent here is pretty interesting. There's a certain population for whom the 'natural' things do not feel good, and are not opened up to them in the same way. I think (more on this later) that without these good feelings, the things we do start to feel arbitrary. Should we chalk this up to the atypical being 'unnatural,' or should we object to the 'natural' as a category? I'm not sure, but I like the framing. To return, and maybe be a bit more consistent in the approach: do our actions 'bottom out' at feeling good? Aristotle comes to mind here. In Nicomachean Ethics, he talks about the role pleasure plays in the good (and remember that the good in this context is a mean (actually it's only a mean for stupid people, but whatever) that ultimately aims at our happiness). While I can't speak to the specifics (I need the mean, not contemplation), Aristotle defends the idea that pleasure accompanies 'the good.' Pleasure actually emerges as something which... not quite interrupts, but completes an action. It's the end of a process, not the process itself, or something along those lines. I hate to say it, but this is the framework we're running with. Forget the 'aiming at a mean' stuff, and focus more on the idea of pleasure accompanying the good, and pleasure as interruptionish. I do not want to imply here that pleasure is the good (neither, I think, does Aristotle); instead, I'd like to gesture towards the fact that the things we talk about as being good (as being happy, as being natural (is our natural state happy? I think these two get conflated)) are accompanied by pleasure... most of the time

FEELING BAD My body is not structured for pleasure in this way. Aristotle would probably diagnose me with akrasia, but as a committed materialist the idea of a 'will' feels too vague. Before the analysis, though, an explanation. My body is an uncomfortable thing to be in. Why start with the body? Because I take it that pleasure and the body are interrelated in some important way. My body, on the other hand, does not get pleasure from things like touch. My hands, for example, are so sweaty that touching another fills me and them with a sort of repulsion. I'm sure mine is learned, but the disgust in the other is not. Touch, in other words, is not a source of pleasure for me. Even if it's not using hands, a hug, a headpat (anime coded, what the hell), and even 'bones' (the bumping-of-fists-as-greeting-or-celebration) feel wrong to me. A similar thing happens with socialization. Being alone feels bad, but so does being around other people. I am not neurodivergent, but that population came up above and I think bolsters this point. For some people, in short, the natural is not pleasurable. The good/the right is also not pleasurable, or at least not available in a similar way. Sometimes, though, feeling bad can feel good. I'm not talking about anything as explicitly sexual as masochism (though there's something quite interesting going on there, sweeten your mouth with some Deleuze). Instead, I'm talking about the secondary feeling-good that comes from my feeling bad. Sometimes, for example, I notice that I'm making someone I'm talking to feel bad/weird. This, in turn, makes me feel bad. I then, however, feel good that I notice this feeling bad, and I feel good that I cannot fit. It forces me outside, and things seem strange and exciting from the outside. This is, after reading what I've read, too romantic. I am a strange and disturbing thing. This does not feel good. What does feel good is being thrust into the unknown, and being forced to evaluate things all the time. If things bottomed out at feeling good for me, I don't think I'd be as interested in the world/my unknowing as I am. Maybe there's some weakness of will here, and maybe I'm doing a disservice to those who are well adjusted and evaluate the world. Who knows. I should also note that even though I find unknowing interesting and exciting, I am an idiot. This feels bad. I'm currently working on a strategy, however, to make this bad feel good. Nice.

TYING TOGETHER I've been throwing terms around willy-nilly today. I've also done some tricky things with the idea of the 'natural' and the 'good.' I'm hoping to trace the relationship between those two concepts a bit more closely here, before an undoubtedly fascinating close. The reason I tied the natural, the good, and the pleasurable together is that I think people often talk (no language discussion here, much too much) about the three as being related. To return to the church example (sorry, I just read the bible), people feel good at church because they are doing a 'good' thing and feeling this type of good is natural. I should not here the distinction between the natural and the pastoral that Christianity emphasizes, and maybe push back against the idea of natural pleasure being embraced by Christianity. Still, we can make an appeal to a meta-approach, and say that man is a social animal rewarded (with delicious chemicals and receptors) when (s)he interacts with others. Ok, not super clear, lets try again right Here. Wanting pleasure seems, to me, to be natural. Happiness (to do Aristotle a disservice) is the aim of our actions, we get some pleasure related to happiness. So far so good. When, however, we are poorly designed (not quite unnatural, but not capable of extracting pleasure) things get a bit more complicated. We can appeal to reason to care for others in some way, but even this is complicated. This is another post, but the way we care for others maybe should not make us feel good. Comforting others maybe ought to be uncomfortable, and maybe is a process that consistently falls apart. We mourn with those that mourn, we don't get them to stop mourning. Not sure, I've lost the thread again.

DENOUMENT I am ashamed of this post. I spent a lot of time trying to understand Aristotle, but I'm way off here. Even though I claim not to care, I want to appear as something smart and capable. I'm working, however, on gratitude in my unknowing (this is the trick to feel good about feeling bad about being an idiot referenced above). More generally, things are going alright. There are times when I feel very scared about the future and my failures. This assumes some way things ought to be though, and I'm working on not thinking of things in those terms. Rent Strike released an album a week or two ago, go listen to that it's pretty good. I feel that this week was particularly rambling. I'm also, relatedly, working on seeing the unknown in its clarity; I ought to be more careful with what I write and say. I (unsurprisingly) need to feel the weight of language more often. I am going to quit my job, I think, which hopefully means I'll be unemployed for Halloween. I'm hoping to keep reading, keep being grateful in my unknowing, and keep seeing people in their strangeness. Love ya.

[its-queenofthesilence]

I Cannot Live Without My Soul! Part 1 of ?

Synopsis

"You know…ever since this all started, I keep thinking what would have happened if he chose someone else. If he decided to go after anyone else instead of her. Maybe we wouldn’t be sitting here right now; maybe we would all be dead…something tells me though, we were going to end up here regardless."

"Either way…. I don’t think anyone could have predicted what was about to happen next.”

OR: No matter how fast you run or how much you lie, the past has a way of catching up to you. For AndrAIa, that moment has finally come.

Chapter 1: A Story Told That Never Really Ends

Nanoseconds: Seconds Microminutes: Minutes Millihour: Hour Second: Day Cycle: Week Minute: Month Hour: Year Day: Decade

In the dim light of the interrogation room, he can’t help but fiddle with the cuffs of his uniform. He’s been here so many times in the past, but never for something like this. He is not sure what he is waiting for or how long he has been waiting. He might have been sat for eight millihours or just two microminutes, he’s not really sure. What he is sure of, is he cannot take the waiting any more, and he feels his stomach twisting and turning as it threatens to release his breakfast onto the floor. 

He’s ready to bolt towards the door when it swings open and a tall woman with pink skin and red hair tied back into a tight bun steps into the room, dressed in a silver guardian suit. He doesn’t know her personally but he’s seen her a few times, here and there during his time in the supercomputer to know who she is. Echo Volt. One of the highest ranking members of the Guardian Collective, right under Turbo. Yellow eyes narrowed, and a pursed look on her face, she waits no time sitting down across from him, dropping a thick folder of files across from him.

She says nothing as another man, dressed in a bronze uniform, likely her subordinate, steps into the room, holding a box labeled “Mainframe” on the side and what has to be a .wav recorder. The man leans down to give the box and the recorder to the woman who murmurs a small thank you, taking it without hesitation and depositing it onto the table. Neither pay him any mind as she flips through the file she already set down before opening the box. He realizes now, he can see written on the side is not only the word Mainframe but “Box 1 of 236”. His tongue feels heavy.

“You are Guardian 40 of the 52nd Division, Level 3 Systems Officer, Robert Syntax, correct?” she asks, not bothering to look at him. 

“I-...it’s Bob, actually.” he says. Why was he nervous? He had never been nervous about meeting with his superiors. It wasn’t like it was the first time he had ever been in the hot seat; User knew how many times he had been reprimanded and written up for dumb things he did during Cadet school. But this wasn’t like cadet school, he wasn’t being interrogated because he and his bunk mates had teepeed the Dean's office. This was….indescribable. She looks up sharply, eyes narrowing further. 

“Soldier, this is an official Guardian investigation which directly involves you and that little backwater system of yours. We are not friends, I am your superior. I’ve read your record and I know you have a tendency to be smart mouthed. I am going to ask you questions, and you are going to answer to the best of your abilities, with no backtalk, understood?”

The confident part of Bob that was quick witted and calm under pressure had shriveled upon and died in the last few cycles, leaving behind a cynical man in his place.

“...Understood.” 

“Good, now I will repeat: You are Guardian 40 of the 52nd Division, Level 3 Systems Officer, Robert Syntax of the Guardian Collective, correct?” she says, pulling a pen out from her breast pocket and marking something down on a sheet she has pulled from the file folder on the desk.

“…Yes.”

“Good.” She notes something else, from his position across the table he can’t make out the notes she’s writing but can see a sheet sticking out of the folder with the name Dot Matrix on it, the ‘atrix’ part covered by the folder. It made sense, they probably interviewed everyone in Mainframe at this point, or at least anyone remotely related to the incident the council was now calling the “Matrix” incident. 

She stops writing, setting her pen aside and grabs the recorder; he realizes now that it’s already on, the red light blinking. She moves it closer to the middle of the table, fussing with the placement for a few minutes before she’s finally satisfied with where it’s sat. She rises for a moment, readjusting her chair as she sits again and crosses her legs and turns to look at him directly for the first time truly since she walked into the room.

“Right. Now, I have already interviewed your friends, and your fiancé, as well as the accused and the... .well him, since Turbo insisted. Give me, in your own words, a recount on what happened here tonight. And please don’t lie, I am many things but I am not an idiot and I have ways of finding out the truth.” she says, fingers tapping the table. He shudders because she knows what exactly the council is capable of, even if they liked to pretend their more inhumane methods of extracting the truth were mere rumors rather than fact. 

“I…I think if you want to know what happened tonight, you need to go back to the beginning, to the wedding when this all started.” The lump in his throat which had been small and easily ignorable was now growing and tightening as emotion threatened to spill from his lips. He fought to push it down; he couldn’t cry, not now.

“Then by all means, go ahead. I am in no rush, we want to get to the bottom of this and any information that can help shed light on what happened would be appreciated.” She leans back in her chair, eyes forward and hands in her lap, silently gesturing that the floor was his. He licks his lips out of nervousness and tries to push out the anguish he feels.

“I don’t…I assume I don’t need to tell you about the wedding, or about what happened right after. It started when Megabyte announced his intent over the intercom: he wasn’t back to take over the Mainframe or infect the supercomputer. He was back to enact his revenge against us; to hunt us down one by one in the confines of the Principal’s Office. It was to be our coffin."

"You know…ever since this all started, I keep thinking what would have happened if he chose someone else. If he decided to go after anyone else instead of her. Maybe we wouldn’t be sitting here right now; maybe we would all be dead…something tells me though, we were going to end up here regardless."

"Either way…. I don’t think anyone could have predicted what was about to happen next.”

Next | Previous | Beginning (Here)

[booasaur]

NCIS: Hawai’i - 1x17

[whumpzone]

Linden & Colton - 18

(masterpost)

and so the slow process begins

CW: pet whump, dehumanisation, discussions of intelligence

-

Pet- Colton, Colton didn’t realise he’d been asleep until he woke up. He had dreamt of nothing. How he had slept after the stress of yesterday was beyond him.

He suddenly saw Master in his room, a place he’d never been before, stood in the corner waiting for him to wake up and face his punishment. He cried out, pulling himself up and raising his hands protectively.

But-

He blinked. It was a shadow. The gap between the old wardrobe and the wall. Tall, thin, quiet. Just like Master. But Col was alone and he let out a long breath.

Master had probably heard him yell, though. He’d be here soon. So Col wasted no time and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He turned back to tuck his little teddy bear Chu under the covers, where Colton felt it was safe, and headed out into the corridor. Here, he was fair game. He didn’t know why Master never entered his room, but he had stuck to it vigilantly so far. It only made Col feel more aware of his own vulnerability as soon as he stepped through the door.

Master was downstairs, doing a puzzle in the local newspaper, and he looked up as Colton approached. His face brightened into a smile, the biggest he’d ever seen. Master never smiled like that. Col had to fight against the urge to freeze or drop to his knees.

“Good morning, Col,” he said, showing all of his teeth.

Oh, god. Master wanted him to reply. He wanted words, now. He finally knew that Col had been hiding them all this time, and he wanted to delve in, find out how he could twist them and use them to stroke his own ego and entrench his slave’s subordination.

Or perhaps he just wanted to hear his Pet wish him a good morning for the first time. Stop fucking overthinking.

“Good morning,” he ducked his head in reverence, “Master.”

“Wow. I still can’t believe you can speak. I’m so- I’m so proud of you, Col.”

What? Why? “…Please forgive me for not speaking sooner.”

“It’s my fault,” he sighed, which made Col tense up even more. “I just- wow. Where to start? Well, come, sit, have breakfast with me. Cereal?”

He gestured at the box already on the table. Colton obediently sat and took it in his hand with almost no trouble. Master noticed, and nodded happily. He was certainly pleased. It still made Col very uneasy, but he did seem to be doing something right.

He had never heard Master speak in such an excited tone, before. But he was silent while Pet- Col- ugh- made himself his breakfast. He could feel Master’s eyes on him. He was allowed to take the first bite, and then the interrogation began. It was obvious Master had a lot of questions.

“So- okay, first, what made you speak, yesterday? I never asked.”

Colton chewed and swallowed. It helped his throat feel a little smoother, although it was still very rough from disuse. His voice was small and unsure. “You… I saw- I saw Jaffa. At the bottom of the stairs. But I didn’t mean to- I’m n-not accusing you of anything, I know you wouldn’t hurt her I just, I wasn’t sure if you had… seen her, Master.”

He flicked his eyes up to Master, to gage his response. He had just accused Master of being a bad pet owner. Of being neglectful of Jaffa. Master seemed to parse this information, and then smiled.

“She does blend in, doesn’t she? Too bloody well sometimes. I’m so glad you stopped me. And that was so, so kind of you Col. Well done.”

He just nodded, and turned his face away. He supposed…. Master saw it as him looking out for Jaffa, rather than undermining his intelligence. That was a lucky escape for him. He knew that with his old master, any sign of insubordination would have been swiftly beaten out of him.

“Colton,” Col looked up. Master looked scary. Why was he smiling that like? What was he thinking? Col didn’t feel any closer to understanding him. “I know this is new, and I know you’ve not spoken in months. I won’t make you do loads of it, okay? We can take it slowly.”

“Thank you, Master,” he hazarded, although he didn’t see why Master hadn’t just forced him to speak from day one, if he wanted it this badly.

“God, but it makes me realise, I know so little about you. And now- I can ask. And if you want, you can reply. I’m really happy.”

“There’s nothing to know, Master. I’m just a Pet,” he mumbled. The spoon faltered in his hand. Cutlery was still a challenge.

“I know you’ve got a busy brain in there,” Master pointed a slender finger at his slave’s head, to emphasise his point. “I know you’re bursting with thoughts and ideas.”

This made Col look up, properly. An accusation like that came with dire consequences. “No, n-n-no, I’m not, I promise, I exist to serve o-only, I’m just a dumb Pet. Yours to use as you please.” Spoken exactly as his old master had taught him. Well- he would have been belted for stammering. He was out of practice.

Should he kneel? Well, yes, he should, but was it right, when he knew Master liked him on the furniture? But, god, he had to prove his point, he couldn’t let Master think he was starting to rebel, or forget his place.

Bitterly, he thought about how he knew this would happen. This was why Pets didn’t speak.

“Whoa, okay, it’s okay. I didn’t mean to scare you. I just meant- you’re not stupid, are you? I can tell. And that’s a good thing.”

Col just stared at his hands. He wanted to pause time, step out of his body, and float away. Somewhere without any questions, or expectations, or constant riddles. He was stupid. He knew that much.

Master’s voice brought him back to reality. Glancing at him, Col saw his smile had grown even bigger. His skin prickled.

“I think you’re Welsh.”

“M-Master?”

“You definitely are. You’ve got an accent. You’re Welsh, Col. Wow, now I’m kind of sad. Like, how on earth did you end up here?”

What was he implying? “I’ve… always been a Pet,” Col tried, but it was clear he didn’t believe himself, and from the way Master’s eyebrow slowly raised, he didn’t believe him either.

Colton had always been dimly aware that there was an other him, who had taken up the before-time. He was the one whom his old master had had to train so effectively, he was the one who had all the bad thoughts and urges. Col knew he didn’t start as a Pet. Or else his old master wouldn’t have had to torture him like that for so long.

He was a ghost in Colton’s brain, and Col didn’t know if he was locked away or completely dead. Were parts of him still hiding somewhere, curled up in a place that old master couldn’t ever reach? Or had he been completely laid out and hacked to pieces, until only Col remained. Thinking about it made him want to burst into tears. Some nights, when his mind was loosened by sleep, he felt like he missed him so much.

. . .

Linden didn’t push it. He knew most Pets didn’t retain any memories from before their conditioning. He shouldn’t have asked, really. Just… the realisation that Col had a background, he had lived before becoming the trembling man before him, made Linden ache.

He still wanted to curl up whenever he thought about how long he left it before he realised Col could speak. He hadn’t wanted to push him, there were a myriad of ways he could have been made permanently mute, and he had pretty much fallen into a routine at this point. But the knowledge that all this time, Col was patiently waiting for the chance to talk, probably wondering why Linden wouldn’t let him- oh, christ. He was so embarrassed and ashamed.

He suddenly had so many questions all on the tip of his tongue, that he couldn’t think where to start. He also really didn’t want to bombard the poor boy. But still… just a few, surely, wouldn’t hurt?

“So obviously I’ve named you Colton, but, if you actually do have a name, please tell me. We can use that one instead.”

Colton shook his head. “My name before was- was Pet.”

“Pet?”

“Yes, Master. Or bitch, or, um, mutt. Or toy.”

He hid it well, but Linden could see the shame in Col’s face. At least that meant he realised how fucked up it was.

“Those aren’t fu- those aren’t names,” he growled. “That’s just plain cruel. You don’t deserve that. Do you like being Colton? It’s not too late to choose another name for yourself, love.”

Col waited until he had swallowed down another spoonful of cereal before he spoke. That seemed good, to Linden. He didn’t feel pressured to reply immediately.

“Colton is a nice name, Master. It’s not my place to have likes or dislikes but I, uh, I am happy with it.”

Another quick glance at his face. Linden was getting used to them by now. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Jaffa rolling around.

“Likes, dislikes, they’re fine. Don’t worry about that. But if you like the name, then it’s yours until you say otherwise. Oh, and- don’t worry about calling me Master. Honestly.”

Col stopped chewing, his shoulders hunching up suddenly. “I’m sorry, M-, uh, sir, sorry. I didn’t realise I shouldn’t, I’m sorry, I know- know that’s not an excuse. I’m sorry.”

“Hey, it’s okay, it’s okay,” he soothed. Sir was fine, he decided. From the way Colton had panicked, he didn’t want to push it any further. “You didn’t know.”

“Thank you, I’m- I’m sorry, sir.”

“You’re fine, you’re good. You’re doing great with talking, Col. I’ll put the kettle on.”

He had long learnt to pick his battles. Hearing Colton talk about being a toy to be used made him fucking sick, but he could tell that sentiment was deeply, deeply ingrained. He knew a recital when he heard one. Those weren’t his words. They were a tiny window into whoever had fucked him up like this.

. . .

Master was sir now, when Colton spoke. Col could learn that. But it didn’t change anything, right? Master still wanted him, didn’t he?

-

as usual, the first half of the taglist:

@newbornwhumperfly @whumpadump1939 @firewheeesky @whump-me-all-night-long @captainseconds @grizzlie70 @unicornscotty @lave-whump @princessofonward @cupcakes-and-pain @bumbumbea @whumpfigure @yet-another-heathen @secretwhumplair @whumps-up @as-a-matter-of-whump @getyourwhumphere @itzagoodthing @whumpymirages @soapparentlyilikewhumpnow @zipadeedooda-drabbles @penny-for-your-whump @briars7 @legallylibra @angel-stars @loyds-of-registry @tears-and-lilies @badluck990 @rosesareviolentlyread

@vickytokio @neuro-whump @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @whumpsy-daisies @control-whump @theydy-cringeworthy @starnight-whump @cursedandtired @jo-doe-seeking-inspo @justabitofwhump @glamrockgregory @rippedjeansandfadeddreams @genesissane @justbreakonme @addyez @httyd-chocolate

[mypoisonedvine]

𝙧𝙞𝙫𝙖𝙡𝙧𝙮 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙧𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙡𝙧𝙮 || niki lauda x reader x james hunt

𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮 : flirting with james shouldn’t have been a problem, because you and niki weren’t even that serious anyways, right?  well, it turns out you are serious, but it also turns out not to be quite the problem you expected.

𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩 : 2.8k

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 : smut (threesome, dubcon (slight), oral f and m receiving, dp/anal, spitroasting, slight degradation/dumbification, overstimulation, spanking), touch of angst, possessiveness, niki being mean (guys, it’s niki), pwp

based on a request by @creme-bruhlee which was based on a thing I told him I was working on which I wasn’t actually working on yet but then I casually wrote in one sitting when I was supposed to be doing my sleepover gah

                       You certainly didn’t like James Hunt.  After all, you were all but contractually obligated to hate him in solidarity with your boyfriend and his biggest rival, Niki.

But you did appreciate James— for his undeniable talent as a driver, and for what he brought out in your boyfriend.  Not just on the track, but at times like this as well.

It started rather innocently, at least as innocent as any press event could be.  Niki wore you proudly on his arm, for most of the interviews: you knew that a lot of this for him was simply a publicity ploy to improve his image, but it honestly didn’t bother you that much since it was partially for publicity on your part as well (you had your own career to advance, after all).

What bothered him, though, was when James started to suddenly chat you up, undeniably flirty but just to the level that it could almost be construed as polite.

He waited until Niki was pulled away for an interview and stood just behind the camera, asking you a million questions and finding dumb excuses to touch you: first it was something in your hair, then admiring your bracelet (Niki gave it to me, you told him; Twice now he’s shown that he has fine taste, James winked in reply) until he finally stepped closer and rested his hand on your lower back.

“Let me show you what a real driver can do, sweetheart,” he offered lowly, leaning in so close that his lips brushed against your temple, and you caught Niki leaving the interview suddenly in the corner of your eye.

“And let me show you what happens when you can’t keep your hands to yourself,” Niki interrupted, shoving James back off of you before hitting him square in the jaw.  You gasped, as did the many reporters and drivers watching, but soon Niki’s attention was turned back to you, fire in his glare.

“Hey, I was just trying to be personable—” James defended as he held his face in his hand, but Niki ignored him, grabbing you by the wrist and dragging you behind him out of the press tent.

“Looks like the infamous Hunt/Lauda rivalry has come to a bit of a head, possibly over Lauda’s girlfriend—” you heard one of the reporters explain to a camera, but soon the buzz faded to silence as Niki took you further away.

“Where are we going, Niki?” you asked nervously, trailing behind him as best you could.

“Somewhere private where you can learn your lesson,” Niki answered, making you swallow dryly.  He wasn’t the sort of person you wanted to be in trouble with.

He found an empty garage and all but tossed you inside, pinning you to the wall at each shoulder.  

“The fuck do you think you’re doing, letting Hunt put his hands on you like that?” he hissed.

“I didn’t let him, he just did it!” you defended.

“Then you tell him to stop!” Niki explained, exasperated.  “Instead of standing right there, right in front of my face and doing nothing!  You can’t imagine how it feels to see another man put his hands on you— and that man...”

You hadn’t realized he cared about that sort of thing; you hadn’t realized he cared about you that much.  “I’m sorry, Niki, it won’t happen again.”

“You’re right about that,” he hissed, “it won’t happen again because you’re going to bend over that toolbox and learn not to test me."

You opened your mouth to protest and yet you were already doing it, feeling your cheeks burn as he pulled your dress up and rubbed his calloused hands over your ass and thighs.

A yelp jumped from your mouth when he hit you, but your thighs clenched together, too. "Now would be a good time to start apologizing," he suggested coldly.

"Niki, baby, I'm so so sorr— ah!" you whined again when he hit you even harder, the sound of his skin on yours echoing around the garage.

"Do you want to flirt with him? Would you rather be his flavor of the week?" Niki interrogated.

"No! Just want you, I swear," you promised, biting your lip to hold back a moan when he hit you twice in a row.

"You'll have me," he promised. "You need to remember who you belong to."

If you weren't so desperate you would've probably protested to that language, but your panties were soaked from almost nothing at all and you were in no position to debate with him.

The sound of his uniform unzipping was like music to your ears, and you purred a little when he pulled your panties down your thighs slowly. "Are you enjoying this?" he realized. "It's supposed to be a punishment and still you're soaking wet. Is that for him or me?"

"You, Niki, fuck me, please," you whined, the sound shifting into a gasp as he pushed inside you roughly, a little too deep and a little too fast for how little you'd been prepared. It was usually some level of struggle to take him but this was a very new circumstance: now he was fucking you with a point to make, with a message to send. And you got that message loud and clear as he mercilessly pounded into you, nearly knocking over the toolkit you were bent onto. "Fffuck," you stammered, holding onto the aluminum for dear life while he grunted behind you.

"You can moan louder than that, no need to suppress yourself," he encouraged.

"They could hear us, they're not too far away—"

He spanked you again and you cried out, realizing he likely wanted them to hear you; he wanted those reporters to make sure everyone knew that you were his. "Tell them who's fucking you so good, hm? Tell them who you belong to."

"Niki," you sobbed, "yours, baby, I'm yours..."

Just then, the door to the garage swung open and you gasped at the sight of James Hunt. You tried to kick Niki away and cover yourself but he didn't budge— he didn't even stop fucking you, much to your humiliation.

"I'm a little busy here, James," Niki explained with a smug grin.

"I can tell— listen, if you're gonna make us all hear this, could you at least do it right?" James frowned. "Your girl has many talents but acting is not one of them."

"Are you saying this is a performance?" Niki realized.

"You'd be able to tell the difference if you'd ever heard a woman actually finish but with you, that's impossible," James laughed. "Smart move going from behind, though, spare her from having to look at—" James motioned to his face broadly— "this whole situation you have going on."

"If you think you can do better, Hunt, I'd love to see you try."

You started about a thousand questions but didn't finish any of them, and James grinned as he shut the door behind himself. "I told you I'd show you what a real driver can do, didn't I?" he addressed you, crossing the room to where Niki had you pinned down.

Before you could say anything (not that you knew what to say), James grabbed your hair and kissed you, not quite rough yet but completely dominating as his tongue slid over yours and tickled the roof of your mouth.

"You wouldn't be doing that if you knew where her mouth had been, James," Niki chuckled.

"That sort of shit doesn't bother me, Lauda," James explained once he'd broken his lips away from yours. "It's called confidence in my masculinity, look it up sometime. I know exactly what's been in her cunt, too, and I'm still gonna show her how a real man eats pussy."

You got a little nervous at the sound of that, but wetter as well.

Niki circled to face you, clutching your jaw and examining your expression carefully as James hungrily licked and sucked at your cunt.

"If you're going to eat her cunt then let me fill it with my come first, give you a little taste of victory, eh?" Niki joked, but James pushed him away and you whined slightly when your boyfriend's cock slipped out of you... but it was only a moment before James knelt behind you, swiping his tongue over your swollen bud and drenched opening as you purred.

"I hope your jaw isn't too sore, Hunt," Niki sneered.

"It's not," James assured with saccharine faux-sweetness before diving back in to taste you further.

James stopped to lean his head out to the side. "Think she likes the sound of that, Niki— she clenched down on my tongue real tight."

"If you come for him, you won't like what I'll do to you," Niki warned you harshly. "You won't sit right for a week, at least."

"Oh, I see," Niki smirked. "You want me to tear up that little ass... should've known, you have that look about you: the kind of girl who acts innocent in public but turns into a whore when the lights go out."

Yet again James caught you reacting to what Niki said, though this time he didn't need to announce it since your own moan gave you away.

"Go ahead and fuck her then, Hunt, and get her ass ready for me," Niki instructed. You were surprised when James obeyed, standing up and unzipping his uniform as well to start rubbing his cock over your dripping pussy.

"You want it, sweetheart?" James taunted. "Ask very nicely."

"Fuck me, James, please," you sighed, and he was much more gentle than Niki had been as he filled you, letting you savor every inch of his length.

"Sounds so lovely when you say my name like that, do it again," James demanded, slowly beginning to rock into you.

"James," you breathed, gasping when Niki pushed his cock against your lips; you could taste yourself on him and it turned you on even more.

"I think we can find a better use for your mouth than boosting James' ego, yes?" Niki groaned as he started to fuck your mouth, holding your head steady. "Certainly he doesn't need any more of that."

You moaned loudly around Niki's cock when James circled his finger around your tighter rim. The first knuckle pushed in and you felt your knees wobble. Then back out again, then to the second knuckle-- each twist of his finger he went a little deeper, he even went so far as to spit on your hole which made you choke from more than just Niki's cock down your throat.

"Your girl's gotta sweet little cunt, Niki," James groaned as he fucked you faster. "You should let your pit crew use her, too, give 'em a morale boost."

"Maybe I will if she doesn't behave for us today," Niki considered, weaving his fingers into your hair to start fucking your face more roughly.

Your legs threatened to give out with the way James was fucking you; your eyes rolled back in your head with a suppressed moan as Niki kept using your mouth.

Around the same time Niki pulled his cock out to rub it over your face, James pulled out to slap his swollen head on your clit.

Another finger pushed into your ass and you made a sound that you hardly recognized as your own. "If I had known you liked it up the ass so much, you would've never taken it anywhere else," Niki promised with a growl.

Once James decided both your holes were ready, they seemed to have no trouble at all manhandling you into the position they needed— surely it was the first time you'd ever seen them work together— and soon you found yourself balanced on James' lap while Niki found his place behind you.

"Do you think you can take us both, sweetheart?" James taunted as you felt both of them teasing your holes.

"Well, I've never been fucked by two massive dicks before," you admitted, "and you have big cocks, so..."

"I'll miss that wit of yours when you become a mindless, drooling fuckdoll in the next two minutes," Niki stated plainly.

It only took ten seconds.

Your hands weakly held onto James' shoulders as you bounced on top of him, moaning lowly as you were filled beyond what you thought possible. Niki had to hold your waist to help guide you, occasionally thrusting forward to fill your ass with every inch of him.

"Ah, fuck," you moaned, reaching beside you to grab Niki's forearm in an attempt to stabilize yourself.

James tore your dress down the front and latched onto your tits, sucking hard and even letting his teeth graze one nipple while Niki used his free hand to pinch the other.

Even when your eyes fell shut and your brain was totally empty, you could tell them apart just by touch. It was Niki sucking a mark on the side of your neck, but James grabbing a rough handful of your ass. It was Niki that reached around to rub your clit, but James that nibbled and sucked on your earlobe while whispering things so dirty that your face burned hot.

"We can both feel it when you come, do it again," Niki demanded just before your third hit you.

"Give us a good squeeze, sweetheart, wanna feel that cunt milk me," James agreed.

"I-I'm coming," you gasped as your head fell back, both of them laughing and cooing proudly.

"There she goes."

"Good fucking girl."

"Gets tighter every time."

You only regained your ability to tell who said what when you felt Niki's lips against your ear, his voice soothing your aching, quivering body. "You want to be full of come, don't you?" he presumed, and you nodded sleepily. "We'll fill you as deep as we can, and you need to keep it in you for the rest of the day."

"Yes, Niki," you agreed softly.

They picked up their pace and you felt like a ragdoll as they thrust into your limp body, chasing their highs as recklessly as always until you lost your voice from moaning so loud.

James finished first, though you imagined this was one race he would’ve preferred not to win.  He bit down on your shoulder as he filled you, hard enough to leave a mark which you knew would anger Niki when he realized it.

"Tell me who you belong to," Niki pleaded one last time, coming inside you the moment you answered "you, Niki."

And then it was just the three of you, standing there in a sweaty jumble of limbs, catching your breath and trying to process what had just occurred.

“Do you think we can get out of here without too many reporters seeing?” Niki asked James.

“I’m going to worry about getting out of the girl first, then the building,” James decided, and the two of them helped lift you onto your numb legs, your body slow to recover from the onslaught of sensations that had been forced on you this long.  If anything was more jarring than being filled by both of them, it was both of them pulling out at once.  Come leaked out of you from more places than you cared to admit, and since James had torn your dress, Niki gave you his uniform to wear which left him in only the undershirt and boxers he wore beneath.

“I can’t believe I’m getting your spunk on my uniform right now, Hunt,” Niki grimaced, making James laugh as he zipped himself back up.  Funny enough, he looked the most normal after all this of the three of you; maybe because he always had that ‘just had some freaky sex’ look about him.  You and Niki were a bit newer to the game, so you didn’t wear it as well, but honestly you thought he looked pretty cute with his curls all messed up from when you’d run your fingers through them.

“Well,” James announced with a puffed chest and proud smile, “next time you two are having a lover’s spat, give me a call and I’ll lend a hand or cock as needed.  But I think I’ll take my leave now.”

What do you say after something like that?  Apparently the answer is nothing, considering you just nodded slightly and Niki gave him an awkward wave as he disappeared out the door with the nonchalance as his arrival.

Plunged into silence, you glanced over at Niki who was already staring at you.  “So?” he asked.  “Was he better?”

“No,” you answered right away.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Relief washed over you when he pulled you into an embrace and kissed your forehead; you couldn’t think of the last time he was so affectionate.  “Let’s get back to the track and find you a new dress, hm?” he suggested.  “One that James Hunt absolutely won’t get his hands on.”

[anonymousfiction211]

Could you possibly make a fluff fic for loki? Just a soft maybe trauma healing story that ends with a kiss or comfort snuggles, you choose :)

A/N: Hope this is what you were looking for!

Warnings: Mentions of torture (but not what happened), insecure reader

Nightmare The same nightmare, again. Your eyes snapped open, but you didn’t see a thing. The room was pitch dark and your eyes were still adjusting. You sat up straight with your back against the bedpost. Trying to catch your breath again, your throat felt soar and you figured you might have been screaming. You brushed the tears from your cheeks. Once you were a bit calmer you looked around the room again. You yelled again when you saw a figure standing in the doorway.

‘Shh.. sorry, sorry. It’s only me. Loki’ he said, taking one step further from the door. Not wanting to startle you any further.

For a moment the both of you didn’t say anything.

‘May I come in?’ he asked softly.

‘Yeah’ you answered hoarsely.

Loki opened the door further and walked inside, closing the door behind him. He took a few steps towards your bed, but still kept his distance.

‘What are you doing here?’ you asked him.

‘I- I was on my way to my room, when I heard you scream. I knocked a few times, but you didn’t answer. So, I opened the door. Sorry if I passed some boundaries. I only wanted to know, are you okay?’

You only listened to half he was saying. Your thoughts were still occupied by your nightmare and before you knew it you were sobbing all over again. You didn’t even hear Loki walking towards you. You only realized that he sat down on the bed when you felt his hand on your thigh. You quickly retracted your legs, pushing them towards your chest. Your head hung on your knees and you were repeating ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry..’ over and over again.

‘(Y/N)’ Loki said. But you didn’t react. You kept crying and apologizing between the sobs. Loki shuffled a bit closer towards you and put one hand on the side of your face. He wiped away the tears and looked you straight in your eyes. ‘Darling, you’re all right. It’s going to be okay’ he gave you a small smile.

Something in you just switched. Instead of getting away from his touch, you reached for him. Loki immediately sat beside you and put his arms around you. He pulled you closer and held a strong grip, while you silently sobbed in his chest. He didn’t say anything, he caressed your back, and held you close against his chest. You didn’t know how long you stayed like that, could be minutes, could be an hour. But Loki only loosened his grip once he felt you stopped crying and started to pull away slightly. He, however, didn’t let go, still keeping you fairly close. You settled with your head on his shoulder, his two arms around you and you put a hand across his stomach. Feeling his peaceful breathing was relaxing.

‘You want to talk about it?’ Loki asked after a while.

You nodded your head.

‘(Y/N), I think you should’ he said sternly.

‘It’s just a nightmare’ you answered reluctantly.

‘It didn’t sound like just a nightmare’

‘It’s.. just.. I –‘ you started to stammer.

‘Take your time’ Loki whispered to you.

You inhaled deeply and felt Loki’s hands rub against your upper arm. Taking another deep breath you were thinking about telling him, if you should be telling him. After all, nobody knew.

‘It’s my powers’ you started. You were grateful that Loki didn’t start to interrogate you immediately, but waited patiently for you to continue. You tensed up and felt Loki pull you closer against him, if that was even possible. You snuggled closer, put your head on his chest and intertwined his legs with him. It was like you were hanging onto him for your life, but he didn’t seem to mind. ‘I wasn’t.. born with them’ you finally said.

‘Before I was with the Avengers, I was in the hands of this terrorist group. I was made, trained to..’ you trailed off. You closed your eyes, waiting anxiously for a reaction from Loki.

‘And these nightmares are about the training you went through’ Loki asked. You nodded in agreement. It wasn’t training, it was literally torture. ‘How long have you had them?’

‘Since I can remember. But not always. It’s ehm.. comes and goes, I don’t know how to really explain it’ you said.

‘You don’t have to. I understand’ Loki said. ‘Do you want to tell me more about it?’ he asked.

You shook your head ‘I- I don’t want to relive it’

‘It’s okay. You don’t have to, but if you ever want to talk about, know that I’m here’ he shushed you when he felt you started to shiver slightly. ‘Can I do anything for you? Are you thirsty?’ he asked.

‘Would you get me a glass of water?’ you asked. A bit reluctantly, you didn’t want Loki to let go of you. But he did and walked towards your bathroom. How he even got a glass in between, you didn’t know. But he came back with a glass of water and handed it to you. Meanwhile you sat down on the side of the bed, with your feet on the ground. Loki sat down next to you and watched as you finished to glass in one go.

‘Why haven’t you told anyone?’ Loki asked.

‘I don’t want them to think that I’m weak’ you said while looking at the ground.

Loki chuckled ‘the way you beat up those three guys last mission, no one here would even think for a second that you are weak. You’re strong, almost as strong as us gods’ he smirked at you, making you laugh slightly.

‘You won’t tell them? Would you?’ you asked, you weren’t ready for everyone to know yet.

‘Of course not’ Loki smiled. ‘I think you should tell them eventually, but only when you are ready to do so’

‘Thanks, Loki’ you said.

‘I do have one condition, tough’ Loki said. You looked questioningly at him. ‘If you have another nightmare, you come find me, text me or call me. I don’t care if it is in the middle of the night or in the middle of the day. Please, let me know. I want to help you through it’ he said.

You teared up again, but now for a whole different reason. ‘You really wouldn’t mind?’ you asked.

‘I only mind if you didn’t. You shouldn’t go through this alone’ he said.

‘Thanks, I’m actually a little relieved that someone knows now’ you said.

‘Do you know what triggers your nightmares?’ he asked.

‘Well, no. Sometimes it random. But right now, almost the whole team is away and I guess I felt alone’

‘I was here’ Loki said, he looked a bit hurt by your comment.

‘I know, but you were reading in the library tonight and I didn’t want to disturb you. The last person who did that ended up with green hair for a week’ you smiled thinking about Tony with neon green, on his way to pick up Pepper for some big date.

Loki laughed ‘One, Tony completely deserved that for being an ass. And two, you could never disturb me. I enjoy your company far too much, and I think pink would suit you better’ he winked at you. You blushed at his words and laughed nervously. You always kept your crush on Loki a secret, but right now it was getting harder not to show how much you like him.

‘Now, you should get some sleep. The team won’t be back for the rest of the week, so tomorrow we’re going to do something fun and you will need your energy’ he said.

‘Something fun?’ you asked curiously.

Loki laughed. ‘Yes, but I’m not going to tell you what’

‘Why not?’ you pouted.

‘I have my reasons’ Loki said, keeping your mind occupied with good times and him was one of them. He stood up, so you could get in your own bed.

‘Loki?’ you asked, not wanting him to leave.

‘Yes?’ he said.

‘Would you, maybe, stay with me? Until I’m asleep’ you whispered. You were afraid he would say no, but to your surprise he flicked his hands and was in his pyjamas. He grabbed the blanket and laid down in your bed next to you. His arm wrapped around your waist and he pulled your back close to his chest. His chin was resting on top of your head.

‘Is this okay?’ he asked.

You snuggled closer against him. ‘Yes, thank you’

‘Don’t thank me, yet. I will not let go of you until the team is back, actually not even after that’ he mused. He kissed the top of your head. ‘Sleep well, my darling. And I promise I won’t let anything happen to you’

Permanent taglist: @delightfulheartdream @the-best-phineas @pescadoavocado @theaudacitytowrite @theestorm @justacripple @taurusbeing

[delimeful]

nothing in this world (i wouldn’t do) (2)

warnings: mild blood/violence/injury, demon slaying, miscommunication, impromptu first aid, mentions of spiders, virgil tempting fate with his internal dialogue again

-

Whenever Virgil wasn’t sleeping, he was on the move.

At first, it had been because he didn’t trust himself around towns for too long, and there was always the chance of a real demon slayer getting wind of that ridiculous rumor and trying to track him down and kill him for it, even though it totally wasn’t his fault.

But then, as time went on, his bizarre pseudo-popularity seemed to have a different side effect.

Namely, every time he managed to save another human and hauled them back to the nearest town, he’d be practically swarmed. Antsy townsfolk would hurriedly inform him of the horrible tragedy they’d heard about up north, or the mysterious disappearances by the woods between this town and the neighboring one, or any sort of rumor that they thought a “demon slayer” should know about.

Where exactly were all the real demon slayers when people needed them? Why was he, an actual demon, seemingly more accessible for seeking help?!

Still, he wasn’t exactly doing anything else with his life (his unlife?), and if there were less demons, that meant the world would be safer for Thomas, didn’t it? So off he went, taking the less-traveled paths and following vague leads right into more danger.

His latest case had been a requested one, from a weaver in the last town. She had received a letter from her brother saying that he planned to come visit, and weeks later, he still hadn’t appeared or replied to her many return messages. The worry seemed to weigh her down like a physical burden, and he’d agreed perhaps more easily than normal.

Now, he was wedged into a shallow crevice in the mountainside and sorely regretting that decision.

The issue wasn’t the demon, no. He’d actually been making good progress on getting deeper and deeper into its territory in the past few days.

The issue was that he wasn’t the only one hunting it.

First, it had been a gaggle of young teens, and he’d been so alarmed that he’d almost dropped right out of the trees and ushered them back out of the woods. The less humans traipsing around this deep in demon territory, the better.

Of course, that was when he’d managed to spot the swords strapped to their sides, and suddenly, never appearing before a human again was looking more and more appealing. He’d immediately switched gears from tracking to stealth, and honestly, should have just turned tail and left then.

Instead, because those kids were around Thomas’s age and he still needed to find that weaver’s brother and also he was a sentimental idiot, he trailed them at a distance, always staying downwind and poised to bolt.

They handled themselves well at the beginning, and then the environment began to warp around them, and then it turned out there was more than one demon nesting here, and Virgil had been on the brink of jumping down and interfering, swords or no swords, when--

Between one blink and the next, one of the demons was cleanly beheaded.

The demon slayer-- for what else could he be-- smiled brilliantly as the body disintegrated to ash, holding a hand out to help one of the teens to their feet.

“It seemed like you all could use a little assistance,” he’d said, turning to face one of the other demons with a confidence that visibly unsettled it. Above, a circling crow cried out raspily. “My dear Missus informed me of your call for backup.”

If the stranger’s swift execution hadn’t tipped Virgil off, the way the baby slayers looked up at him with blatant awe was clue enough. This slayer was powerful and charismatic, whereas Virgil was neither of those things, so he was going to stay right here in his crevice until the whole situation had sorted itself out.

The three other demons seemed to have no such qualms, lunging at him in a semi-coordinated attack. The slayer handled them with terrifying ease, and for a moment it seemed that the battle had been settled, as simple as that.

Of course, that was when the landscape twisted further in on itself, buzzing like a disturbed wasps nest, and Virgil realized abruptly that this was the first time he’d seen so many feral, newly-created demons in one territory.

A stronger demon was keeping them all in line, like the queen of a hive. And it wasn’t at all pleased about the intrusion.

The slayer seemed to have caught on as well, his sword held aloft in threat. “Looks like the real fight starts now,” he said with a sharp, cocky grin.

Mere minutes later, the smile had grown considerably more strained.

Coincidentally, he’d taken considerably more damage in that time as well.

The slayer had given as good as he got, but against a demon’s healing factor, it wasn’t good enough. He was losing.

“Get out of here!” he instructed, and the baby slayers hesitated, clearly torn. He shot them a dazzling grin, hiding all signs of fatigue even as another blow rattled his sword. “Come now, don’t you know an order when you hear one? I don’t want any distractions while I handle this gruesome ghoul, so back to town with you!”

He cut off any further arguments by pointedly leading his attacker astray, giving them ample time to flee. Virgil felt some of the tension fade from him as the baby slayers got away cleanly, leaving just the slayer and the queen.

Really, he shouldn’t want the slayer to survive. Not when having a slayer that strong anywhere near him, or even in the same country as him, could easily be a death sentence. That didn’t change the jolt of panic that went through him when the queen finally gained the upper hand, knocking the slayer back into sheer cliff face hard enough to snap something.

… A slayer that protected others from demons so wholeheartedly was one that would protect Thomas.

The queen advanced towards the slayer, wounded and weakened but already gloating about how his flesh would be more than enough to completely rejuvenate her. Her entire focus was on the human’s fallen form.

Virgil dropped down on top of her soundlessly, claws piercing through muscle and fat until he’d torn her nearly clear in half. She shrieked in outrage, but a skull-crushing stomp was enough to knock her unconscious for at least a few moments.

The slayer, exhausted, half-crumpled against a tree, and his shoulder very clearly dislocated, looked up at him for a moment with something like hope.

When they met eyes, however, that was swiftly extinguished in favor of wary frustration.

“Another demon?” he complained, trying rather unsubtly to grasp for the sword that the queen had knocked free of him. “Exactly how many monsters can one fit on a single mountain?”

The sword was entirely out of reach, but Virgil kicked it a little further away for good measure. The slayer shot him a petulant glare.

Virgil pointed at a scrap of bloodied cloth left behind from one of the baby slayers, trying out a questioning rumble. Backup coming for you?

“I’m offended that you think I would answer that,” the slayer responded, nose upturned, “or any other monosyllabic interrogative questions, for that matter.”

Virgil growled low in his throat, frustration bubbling up. If he ditched the slayer here without backup, there was no guarantee that someone would find him before the morning came, and Virgil was relatively sure that the demon he’d just stabbed through wasn’t the only threat up here.

Not to mention the cold. He hadn’t thought the nights were cold enough to harm people yet, but demons seemed a lot more durable, and the slayer was shaking just slightly. He remembered the few times he’d had to sit out snowstorms while traveling back home up the mountain, and couldn’t help but feel sympathetic.

So, leaving the slayer behind to fend for himself wasn’t an option. That meant doing something insanely, dangerously stupid: taking the guy with him.

Precautions first, then. He was pretty good at hiding himself from other demons by now, but human scents were a lot more trackable.

Virgil scooped the slayer sword up off the ground by the hilt, grimacing at the burning sensation it emitted. The slayer’s jaw dropped.

“Hey! You can’t just take that!” he cried indignantly, starting off on a tirade about craftsmanship and integrity. His rant cut off sharply as Virgil raised the sword and brought it down on the queen’s neck.

His motions were stilted compared to anyone who actually knew how to use a sword, but it hardly mattered. The sun-blade cut through easily, decapitating her in one motion and leaving only ash behind. He took a moment to hope for the soul of whoever she’d been before being turned, and a longer moment for the weaver’s brother, who was surely dead. Exhaling lowly, he planted the sword blade-first in the dirt.

It was tempting to keep it; he’d certainly wished more than once for an easier way to deal with his adversaries than the bloody scraps he normally got in, but there was no way he was bringing a demon slayer and a demon killing sword with him. That was just asking for trouble.

“That demon did all the work in an honest fight against me, and yet it’s the backstabber turning against his own kind who actually gets to eat me? That’s sad, even for a demon,” the slayer bit out, still trying to inch his way back up into a standing position.

Virgil ignored his muttering and took a testing breath in through his mouth. The slayer was definitely bloodied, but most of the major injuries mustn’t have broken skin, because the smell wasn’t too bad. It probably helped that he’d managed to avoid being injured in this fight, and so didn’t have a desperate need to heal like normal. If he was lucky, he wouldn’t even need a nap to make up for it.

He reached out for the slayer’s collar, already mentally plotting out the most efficient way to a distant abandoned bear den when a piercing shriek sounded, and his vision was suddenly full of flapping feathers. He staggered a few steps back with a surprised yelp.

“No! Missus Fluffybottom, you beautiful fool!” the slayer cried out, sounding incredibly distraught.

Virgil swatted outwards and managed to catch his furious assailant on the second try, his hand easily big enough to grasp it. He drew it away from his face for inspection, and realized that the screaming and wriggling bundle of fluff was actually a young crow.

“Scourge! Fiend!” the crow yelled at him in a belligerent tone that was uncannily similar to the slayer’s. He blinked down at it, befuddled.

“Wait! Don’t hurt her,” the slayer said in the most subdued voice Virgil had heard from him all evening. He looked up and found that the slayer had managed to climb to his knees, but wasn’t struggling to move further. “She’s a simple bird, no threat to you. You’ve already got your prize, haven’t you?”

There was something uncomfortably desperate in his gaze, and Virgil realized with a start that the slayer absolutely believed he was about to kill his bird in cold blood. He opened his hand, bracing for another assault, but the crow kicked off and flew right to the slayer instead, nestling against his collarbone. “Roman, Roman, Ro-man!” it crooned.

“Get out of here, you finicky little fowl, go! Shoo!” the slayer-- Roman?-- commanded, to no avail. He glanced up at Virgil, lifting his good hand and turning his bad shoulder slightly as though to shield the little creature.

Virgil averted his eyes from the bird, hopefully conveying how much he didn’t care about her. If he had enough self control to not murder-kill people despite it being all monsters like him wanted to do, he wasn’t going to snap because a bird the size of his palm repeated some swears in his direction.

Back to business. He grabbed the back of the slayer’s outfit and pulled, hauling him up onto one shoulder like a sack of potatoes. … Or like a sack of other, non-food items. Virgil sighed through his nose. Whatever.

Roman sucked a breath in through his teeth as his injuries were jostled, and then immediately started squawking in protest upon realizing the indignity of his position. The crow-- apparently dubbed Fluffybottom-- repositioned herself to a perch on Roman’s calf and joined in on the complaints with her own raspy calls.

Virgil ignored them, already focusing on the trek ahead.

---

By the time they reached the cave, Roman had long stopped muttering creative obscenities under his breath.

The slayer might have actually fallen unconscious, but Virgil wasn’t going to jostle him around just to check. If he stopped focusing on their surroundings, he could easily hear Roman’s heart beating, the blood pumping beneath his skin, tantalizingly out of reach--

… He had mostly focused very hard on their surroundings. The point was, the slayer was definitely still alive, which meant him passing out during their travel was fine. Convenient, even.

It certainly made it easier to squat and carefully lower his body onto the cave floor without worrying about any sudden thrashing on Roman’s part. Laying flat on his back with only the slightest crumple to his brow, the guy looked a lot less intimidating. He was probably Virgil’s age, honestly.

He also looked unsettlingly corpse-like at the moment. Virgil considered for a moment, and then sidled over to Roman’s side, tugging his injured arm out of the curled up position it had taken. He carefully maneuvered it until it was straight out, forming a right angle with Roman’s side.

Then, he pulled, applying a slow, steady pressure. The misaligned bone shifted back into place with a sickening clunk, and Roman cried out as he regained consciousness. Virgil released him, and he instantly cradled the limb to his chest.

“What in the name of--,” he started, and then seemed to remember it all at once. Or the wave of pain from all those other injuries hit him all at once. One of the two.

Either way, he sagged back against the ground, squinting at Virgil suspiciously as he bustled around the small space. Missus Fluffybottom landed on his forehead, making him look even more ridiculous.

“I notice I am not devoured,” he finally spoke, almost conversational.

Virgil ignored him in favor of moving to arrange some firewood near the mouth of the cave.

“Not even a teensy bit,” Roman continued, making a show of inspecting himself for missing flesh.

Virgil continued to stack rocks around the wood. He was beginning to regret waking the slayer up, dislocated shoulder or not.

“Now, my silent saboteur, I want you to be honest. Are you planning to turn me into some sort of spider?” the slayer asked, and that was enough to finally make Virgil turn with an incredulous raised eyebrow.

“What?” Roman defended, pinkening. “That’s a real thing that a demon did to some people! And you seem... spider-y.”

Virgil scowled at the insulting way the comment was phrased. Spiders were cool and helpful and oh yeah, they didn’t annoyingly needle him while he was busy keeping them alive. He abandoned the fire to stalk closer and drop to a squat by Roman’s legs, dodging a wild kick easily. He pointedly tore a long swath of white fabric from the slayer’s overlayer.

“Hey! Do you even know how long embroidery like that takes--,” Roman cried, and Virgil smacked a hand over his mouth, drawing close and hissing quietly. The sound was close enough to a shush to get his point across, going by the way the slayer huffed indignantly but didn’t speak when Virgil pulled his hand away.

He did whine in protest when Virgil grabbed his injured arm, but then he went still and silent, like he thought any sudden movements would end with the whole limb removed. Virgil wrapped his forearm in the fabric, and then looped the extra around his shoulder, maneuvering him as painlessly as possible, and tied it off.

Roman’s silence suddenly felt distinctly different.

Virgil pulled him up into a sitting position by the front of his shirt, and tightened the knot slightly. The sling looked just about as good as could be expected, given the circumstances.

“You are actually a demon, aren’t you?”

Speech was one of those human things that Virgil still hadn’t recovered, but he thought that the sarcastic fang-bearing smile he directed at Roman spoke volumes all on its own.

“Then why are you tenderly nursing a demon slayer back to health?” he retorted, sounding bewildered and incredulous in equal measures.

Why are you pushing your luck? Virgil thought back, clicking his teeth in irritation and shoving the slayer back into a prone position.

Roman let out a high pitched wheeze, his good arm coming to cradle his ribs defensively. “Or not-so-tenderly, I suppose. The question stands!”

Virgil rolled his eyes and returned to the half-built fire. He’d pestered the only doctor in town for first aid lessons for months, he wasn’t going to stop practicing medicine just because of a little thing like being turned into a demon that craved human flesh.

To his surprise, the silence lingered as he worked, long enough that he turned and cast a suspicious glare over his shoulder at the slayer, who jolted nervously at his attention.

“Wh-what?” he asked, fiddling with the torn edges of his sling. “No escape attempts here, haha!”

“...” Virgil squinted at him and his blatant fake laugh for a long moment, trying to figure out just what was wrong with the scene.

Wait. Where was the bird?

A chill ran down his spine, and he twisted to stare at the mountainside beyond the cave entrance. No raspy-voiced baby crows in sight.

It had to have gone for help, knowing exactly where Virgil and its slayer had holed up. Roman knew he’d realized it, was watching him with the wary expectancy of a cornered hare in front of a trapper.

A surge of furious panic did bubble up in the back of Virgil’s mind, but he quelled it with relative ease.

If backup was coming, then the human was no longer his problem.

Pleased at the neat way the situation had resolved itself, Virgil tapped two fingers to his temple in a gesture of farewell and scrambled out the cave, scaling the cliff face and resolving to put as much distance between himself and this region as possible.

With any luck, he’d never run into that particular slayer again.

[in-ky]

Hi! I’d love a story about Negan being a serial killer who only kills “bad people” (like in Dexter) and maybe he saves the reader from her ex who’s about to kill her and Negan can save her and takes her in because she’s a mess but she’s actually a killer herself (who kills rapists etc/ only the bad ones) and Negan and the reader start fighting and then get caught up in steamy hot sex 🥵 thank you!

Savior - Negan Killer AU

Warnings: Warnings: GORE + violence, smut, domestic abuse, swearing, dirty talk ig? idk how to tag this lol

A/N: hey! i struggled over this one for a while lol. ive only seen like. 3? episodes of dexter so. i really hope this meets your expectations! also forgive any mistakes its late, im tired, and i wanna get this up lol. also, is negan batman? maybe. 3.7k words

"Will, stop you're hurting me!" I hissed, grabbing at his wrist. He tugged me out of the bustling restaurant and into the dark street.

"I don't really give a shit," He snarled, throwing me into a secluded alleyway a few buildings down from the restaurant. Will had taken me out to a business dinner with his boss in hopes of showing me off and making a good impression. But things didn't quite go according to plan. "You embarrassed me in front of everyone!" He pushed me against the brick wall of the closed department store.

"What was I supposed to do?" I sneered, trying to wiggle away from him "He kept commenting on my body, saying how he wished he could take me home at the end of the night and do all kinds of 'unspeakable things to me'."

"You were just supposed to shut up and take it!" Will said, voice filled with rage "But no, you and your untamable fucking complex just couldn't handle a compliment. You threw your drink in his face! You're lucky he didn't fire me right then and there. You made me look like some pussy who can't control his whore."

"You're an asshole." I shouted, tears welling at the edges of my eyes. Will's face contorted further into a look of pure, unadulterated hatred.

"What the fuck did you just call me?" He seethed, clasping his hand tightly around my throat and constricting his fingers around my airway.

"I said you're an asshole who cares more about his dead-end career than his fucking girlfriend." I croaked. I hated him. I hated him so much. My vision clouded with the combination of disgust, loathing, and lack of oxygen, so I hit him where I knew it hurt. "There's a reason you needed me for arm candy tonight. It's 'cause you're a boring, piece-of-shit, lowlife who has no skill whatsoever. How does it feel knowing you need me to make something of yourself?" With that, he threw me to the ground by my throat. He wasted no time and pinned me to the cold concrete. His knees dug into my shoulders and his hand flew to his back pocket, whipping out the switchblade he carried as a precaution against mugging. My eyes widened as they caught a glint of the moonlight off the sharp knife. He brought the blade up to my throat and slapped me over the cheek harshly with his free hand.

"You better take back those words, bitch," He hissed, pressing the blade into the soft skin of my jugular "or they might just be your last." A dribble of blood ran down my neck with the pressure. Realization flashed through my mind. I could die right then. That could have been my last moment. Was I scared? No. Why wasn't I scared? Maybe it had to do with the shadowy figure that was slowly approaching us from the ally entrance.

There was plenty of time for me to warn Will that someone was coming. But I didn't. Instead, I stayed quiet and watched as the shadow figure pulled Will from my body with ease and tossed him to the side. Everything was kind of a blur. I was still oxygen starved and filled with a whirl-wind of emotion. I heard Will cry out in surprise and indignance. The shadow figure said nothing. It saw the switchblade with a steady line of my blood. It kicked Will in the chest, knocking him to the ground. Then it lifted up a baseball bat over its head and cracked it down over Will's skull. He continued to beat Will until he stopped squirming. The shadow figure paused and swung the bat over his shoulder. I had regained my breath and pushed myself to my elbows. The shadow noticed me moving and took a few heavy steps in my direction. I squirmed away slightly, instincts telling me to get away from the thing that had just pulverized my boyfriend. The shadow entered a stream of moonlight. It was a man. He had peppered hair and a blood-speckled face. He had dark brown eyes and a small smile perched on his lips.

"You okay, sweetheart?" He said. His voice was deep. I was partially surprised. He wasn't a bulky man. He was tall and had a broad frame, but his limbs were long and his body was lithe. He wore a leather jacket and his boots were slick with what I could only assume were Will's brains. I didn't want to look at his bat.

"W-Why did you do that?" I whispered. It was all I could muster.

"He was going to kill you." The man sounded confused, like I was supposed to know who he was and why he saved me.

"You don't know that." My voice was quiet. My eyes were glued to a spot behind the man, unblinking. He let out a throaty chuckle and dropped to a squat, leveling with me.

"Doll, he had a knife pressed to your throat," His words were gentle "Looked like he was gonna fuckin' kill you." He hesitantly reached out two fingers in the direction of my face. I didn't move. He was wearing leather gloves. The ridged fabric ran along my injuries. "Seems like he did some damage before I could step in. Damn. Sorry about that. Listen, I live a few streets down. If you want, I can get you cleaned up."

"Okay," I said softly. I let him help me up to my feet. He guided me along with one arm while holding his bat with the other. As we walked out of the alley I couldn't help but look down at Will, or what remained of him at least. His forehead was split in half, a pool of chunky blood bubbling on the ground. I clenched my jaw and forced myself to swallow the bile that had risen in my throat. And yet, I didn't feel sad. I didn't mourn him. Maybe it was shock, maybe it wasn't. "Thank you?" I murmured, though it was more of a question. The man and I stepped out onto the street and I was grateful there was no one around to see us leaving the scene of a very heinous-looking crime.

"No problem, doll," The man hummed, setting a brisk pace down the sidewalk. "The name's Negan, by the way." Cool. Negan: my Savior.

~~~

"So you're like Batman?" I asked Negan as he dabbed the blood away from my neck. He gave a short chuckle and tore away the sticky part of the band-aid.

"I guess you can say that," he mused, splaying the bandage over the cut the knife had left "but I specifically go for people that I know have hurt others. The baddies, if you will."

"Is that legal?" I tilted my head, crossing my ankles as they dangled over the bathroom counter. My palms were flat on the surface of Negan's marble sink top, fiddling with the wrappers of the medical supplies he had used to clean and bandage my small cuts and bruises.

"I haven't been caught," Negan shrugged "besides, it's less work for the police. They don't have to do any interrogation bullshit or anything. I usually catch people in the act, like tonight. Then I do my thing."

"Do you kill everyone?"

"Only the bad people," He reminded, tossing away a bloody tissue "only people who have hurt others. But, yes, usually the offender ends up on the business end of Lucille over there." He pointed out the door into the living room, where the still-bloody bat rested against a chair. I furrowed my brow.

"Well, doesn't that make you a bad guy?" I pressed. He tapped my knee and I dropped down to the tile floor, tucking my hair behind my ear and gathering some of the scraps.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you still kill people, right? Even if they're bad? So doesn't that still make you a killer?" Negan was quiet for a minute. "Let's put it this way," I continued "What would you do if you came across someone who was like you; someone who hurt the bad people. Would you still kill them. They're hurting people." Negan took a deep breath and let it out with a contemplative sigh, itching his bearded chin.

"I'm not sure," He mused "I've never really thought about it before. See, I don't consider myself a bad person per say. Yea, what I'm doing might be considered fucked up. But I'm doing it for the right reason. I'm protecting people by attacking their attackers. In the end, someone's saved." He brushed off his hands and led me out of the bathroom, flicking the light off. "Would you rather me not have saved you tonight?"

"No," I said immediately "thank you. Really, thank you. You saved my life. Will is...was...always a dick, but I never thought he'd actually hurt me. I guess that proves people can have a whole bunch of layers." Negan nodded and moved to the kitchen. He raised a bottle of whiskey as an offering. I shook my head but he poured himself a glass.

"I was just doing my job," Negan grinned sympathetically "I'm sorry your boyfriend was an asshole who tried to murder you." I shrugged, amusement in my eyes.

"Eh, it happens to everyone." I smiled as he let out another laugh. I felt as if I shouldn't be laughing, but at the same time, everyone has their own responses to almost getting stabbed to death in an alley. So I let myself have this moment. Besides, Negan was a good guy to be around. He made me feel safe, comfortable, secure. Everything I needed right now. "So, Negan, what do you do? Surely vigilante-ing can't pay well, and this apartment is really nice."

"I'm a retired baseball player," Negan said, sipping his whiskey and settling into one of the armchairs in the living room "Hence the bat."

"Were you any good?" I asked. He let out a loud scoff.

"Was I any good?" He mocked "Sweetheart, I have a whole damn trophy room. I was fucking amazing. I just got old."

"So you're rich with no real job, you kill bad guys, and you have a massive ego," I listed "You really are like Batman, aren't you?"

~~~

Negan let me stay on his couch that night. It was leather, like everything else that man seemed to own, but it was comfortable. I woke up to the smell of bacon filling the air. I groaned and rubbed my fists against my eyes, clearing them of sleep. I stretched my arms above my head in a yawn and rolled off the couch, stumbling into the kitchen. Negan was hunched over the bubbling pan, dodging pellets of grease as they shot up at him.

"Smells good!" I purred, closing my eyes and taking a deep inhale.

"Good," He grumbled "You better fucking enjoy it because I've gotten burned at least three times." I laughed and walked up to him examining the small red patches that dotted his arms.

"You didn't have to make me breakfast you know."

"Yea, but I wanted to make sure you were comfortable," He sighed, turning off the stove and scooping the cooked bacon onto a paper towel. "Besides, I was craving some bacon when I woke up. I haven't had someone to share a meal with in a while."

"Well, if you want, you can come by my house for dinner." I offered, crunching down on a piece of bacon "I've been meaning to whip out the family alfredo recipe for a while, maybe a hot date would give me that incentive." I gave him a playful wink and he chuckled.

"Sure thing, doll," He hummed, putting the pan in the sink "I love me some fucking spaghetti. I'll see you around seven?"

"Sounds good."

~~~

I ran down the sidewalk, chest heaving. There was enough darkness to cover me, but I still kept my head down to prevent recognition. I held my hands close to my stomach, praying that the blood on my fingers wouldn't drip on the pavement and leave a trail. I had been on my way home from the store when I heard some commotion coming from an alley. My first instinct was to run, but then I heard the girl crying for help. Negan came to mind, what he did, how he helped people. I couldn't turn away. I marched down the alley and saw a greasy man pinning a woman to the wall of a building. Flashbacks of the night before hit me like a train. I looked on top of the alley dumpster  and saw a crowbar perched on one of the lids. I grabbed it and stormed up to the man, whacking him upside the head with the weapon. I kicked him to the side and brought the crowbar over my head before swinging it down. It connected with his face in a sickening 'thwack.' I thought of Will. I thought of what might of happened if Negan had never stopped him. I thought of all the times that bastard had gotten drunk and told me I was nothing. I let the rage bubble up and fuel my beating. By the time I was pulled back into the moment, my muscles were screaming, the woman was gone, and the man's face was unrecognizable. I tossed the crowbar into the dumpster and ran back home.

Dried blood is extremely hard to wash off. It sticks to your skin in flakes, creating a pattern of red veins crawling over your hands. Fuck. I scrubbed as hard as I could under the rushing water of the sink, pumping more and more soap into my hand. It was under my fingernails. It was stuck in my palm prints. Shit, did I leave fingerprints at the scene? Would they be coming for me? With a hiss, I rubbed even harder at my skin, small flecks of blood turning the sink water red.

Suddenly, my door opened.

"I'm ready for my s'getties!" Negan boomed with a wide smile. My head whipped around, looking at him with wide eyes. His grin faded and he crossed the room in record time, grabbing my wrists and turning the sink off. "Is this fucking blood?" He snarled, bringing my hands up to my face. I clenched my jaw and dropped my eyes to my feet. "Jesus, who's is it? Answer me!"

"I-I heard someone screaming on the way home," I said quietly, eyes still downcast "I thought I would help..." His jaw went slack and he let go of my hands, running his fingers through his hair.

"Jesus fuck, you can't just go around killing people!"

"Why not?" I snapped, eyes meeting his "You do it all the time? What's the difference? Why can't I help people?"

"Because it...Because you just can't!" Negan growled, shaking his head.

"Why are you so special?" I hissed back, drying my hands off on a towel before tossing it at him "It's not like you can get a permit for fucking murder. Why do you do it, anyways? Is it some perverted thing? Do you get off on saving people from attackers?"

"Watch yourself." Negan warned, eyes darkening.

"Pfft, or what?" I laughed, tossing my head back "What are you gonna do, kill me? I'm not afraid of you, Negan." As soon as the words left my mouth, he charged me. His hand flew to my throat, squeezing my airway lightly. His hips pressed me against the counter. I let out a small gasp when he shoved his face next to mine.

"Oh, but doll, you really fucking should be." He spat, curling his lip "I could snap your neck right here, right now." He gave a small squeeze to emphasize his words. I let out a strangled moan. We both froze. "Are you turned on right now?" He muttered, furrowing his brow. I licked my lips and squirmed in his grip, pressing my thighs together slightly in an effort to alleviate the warm pressure growing in my belly.

"No," I lied, voice weak. A sinister grin curled over the bottom half of his face and he licked his tongue over his teeth.

"And I'm the perv, huh?" He sucked on my earlobe and peppered kisses down my jawline "Sweetheart, tell me, do you want me to fuck that pretty little pussy of yours? Do you want me to make you cum harder than you ever have?" I whimpered at his dirty mouth. "Use your words, doll, or I'll leave right fucking now."

"Y-Yes!" I breathed as Negan's lips sucked on the sweet spot right beneath my ear.

"Yes, what, princess?"

"Yes, I want you to fuck me, please!" I groaned, clawing at his shirt. He let out a short chuckle, muttering something about how needy I was, but I didn't care. Right now, the only thought running through my head was that I needed Negan. I needed all of him. And damn me if I wasn't going to get it.

We clawed at each other's clothes like rabid animals. Once we were completely bare, Negan moved his kisses down my body. His large, calloused hands kneaded my breasts, twisting my nipples between his thumbs. My arms flew around his neck and I dragged my fingernails up his back. He shivered against my touch and slid his hands further down my body. They settled firmly on my hips as he captured my lips in a fervent kiss.

"Fuck, sweetheart," he grunted, pulling back for air. I looked at him. His tawny eyes were now black, pupils far beyond dilated with lust. Both of our lips were swollen and red from the intensity of our kisses. Negan's chest inflated and deflated quickly as his eyes roamed over my body. "You're so damn perfect." I smiled sheepishly and pulled my bottom lip between my teeth, looking up at him through lidded eyes.

"You're not so bad yourself," I reached out my hand and used my pointer finger to draw a line from his collar bone down the center of his chest and through his navel, finally ending right over his pulsing cock. He sucked in a breath as my fingers closed around him. My thumb swept over the hot tip, gathering precum on the pad of my finger and rubbing it around.

"Shit," He hissed as I slowly pumped him "I'm not gonna fucking last if you keep doing that." He gently pried my hand away and took a step closer to me. I could feel his hardened length resting against the inside of my thigh. The thought of him being so close made a burst of heat rush down between my thighs. Negan took a long finger and ran it through my folds, collecting my wetness. I moaned as he teasingly dipped the first knuckle into me. He pulled back and let out a low whistle. "Damn, girl," he chuckled, raising his finger to my face "You're fucking dripping. Who's that for?" His slick-coated fingers glistened in the light of my apartment. I let out a deep groan as he slid them between his lips and sucked.

"You, Negan!" I whimpered, wrapping my legs around his waist "It's all for you." A wolfish grin spread over his features as he tugged me off him and pulled me down off the counter. He spun me around and pressed gently between my shoulder blades until my chest was flat against the cold surface.

"Then if you don't mind," Negan cooed, lining himself up with my entrance "I'm going to take what belongs to me." With that, he slowly pushed into me. I gasped at the stretch, balling my hands into fists as he continued to split me open.

"Fucking shit," he groaned once he bottomed out "you're tight as hell. I bet you've never had a dick as big as mine." He pulled out slightly and I let out a moan at the growing emptiness inside. The moan soon turned to a yelp when he brought down his hand against my ass. The smack was loud and he rubbed the red spot tenderly. "Have you?"

"N-No!" I gasped when he thrusted into me for the first time "Never. Fuck, you feel so good." Negan's thrusts sped up, his hips snapping against my ass in an obscene rhythm. Grunts and moans of pleasure slipped from both of our lips as he plowed unapologetically into me. I could feel every inch of him. He was hitting every spot, dragging against my walls in a sinfully perfect way.

"You're doing so good," He purred, kissing and biting my shoulder "So good for me. You're so perfect." I tossed my head back and he grabbed my chin, tilting my face towards him so he could give me another bruising kiss. I could only keep up for so long, though, and the white bliss of pleasure he was giving me soon became overwhelming. My jaw went slack and my head dropped against the cool tile of the counter in an attempt to ground myself in the moment. "I want you to cum, doll, cum around me. Wanna feel those walls squeeze me." His thrusts were starting to become sloppy and I could tell he was getting to his end. One of his fingers danced down my spine and found its way to my clit. He circled it with just enough pressure to get me to the edge that I was so willing to jump off. "Now." Negan growled. I obeyed, feeling the band in my lower abdomen snapping violently. We reached our releases simultaneously. My walls clenched around him, milking him of every drop. I screwed my eyes shut and screamed his name, holding in a large breath as the world around me spun. Negan eventually pulled himself out and collapsed on top of me. We both were breathing heavily, sweaty bodies entangled as well as we could over a counter. I swallowed, my throat dry from panting through my orgasm. When my eyes fluttered open, I could see Negan's thumb tracing circles over the love bites that were starting to darken on my shoulders.

"Are you going to kill me?" I rasped, running a hand through my wild hair "I guess I'm a bad person now." Negan chuckled, still out of breath.

"I think I'll make an exception," He mused, pressing a sweet kiss to the shell of my ear "I don't think I'm ready to let you go just yet."

[fiveapocalypse]

Honey and peppermint.

Five Hargreeves is a trained assassin from the temps commission but when a nasty stomach bug goes around the city, it’s up to three and four to make sure he gets the care he never received.

Takes Place After S2 but I will NOT be deadnaming Viktor. An alternate universe where the apocalypse was averted ! Enjoy. @five-hargreeves-defense-squad (here you go, Arlo)

The coffee is cold.

Usually, that meant that whoever had it last simply forgot to empty it. The problem, however, was that no one in the house drank coffee more than a prickly time traveling assassin and the fact that the coffee left in Five’s mug is ice cold, not even room temperature, makes Allison worry as she dumps it out into the sink, and cleans the mug afterwards. Why would Five simply leave his coffee out like that? Why would he leave his coffee at all? Chewing on the inside of her cheek, Allison glances upwards, towards where she’s sure Five’s room is, and after debating whether to enter and confront him, or hold a secret family meeting to discuss if he was suffering from some sort of time travel related illness, Allison eventually chose the former—carefully stepping towards her oldest-littlest’s brother’s room.

It’s an ache in her heart to see how unchanged Five’s room is. The posters still stay up on the walls after they had gotten Five an actual whiteboard to write his equations down on, he still kept his toy cars and building blocks, and there was a half finished Lego spaceship on his desk—courtesy of Viktor who had bought the Lego set for Claire but had gotten two for the price of one. Five had insisted he didn’t play with such kid things anymore but seeing how her brother had started to build the ship, only to leave it unfinished, gnawed at her even more. Five never left things unfinished. He was too anxious for that, scared that something would happen if he didn’t do everything at that exact moment. Though her brother tried to deny such claims, everyone saw how fidgety and upset he got when people left things unfinished. Be it food, games, television, hobbies, Five would always frown and hurry to finish whatever it was that they had left behind.

Walking into the room further, Allison gets ready to knock on the wall, thinking Five had just escaped out the fire escape like he always did when he wanted to be alone. This, however, was proved false when a quiet sniffling noise caught her attention the moment she knocked on the open door. Brows furrowed at the sight, she stepped closer towards the lump shaped object on the bed, half convinced that it was a few pillows tied together and a recorder of someone sniffling to trick her. She wouldn’t put it past Five to do such things if it got him out of an interrogation. There was a stomach bug going around after all. Still, she inches towards the bed, where the quiet sniffles are coming from and hesitantly reaches over to pull the covers away, hoping that if it was Five, he didn’t go biting her hand clean off or something. Her brother was always so stubborn in accepting help that finding him upset was a miracle, trying to help him and being allowed to was an even bigger one.

“…l…ly?”

She pauses, hand twitching, and then the voice gets a bit louder, hoarse as if the person had been crying or screaming all night. “Ally—" A sudden cough wracks the lump and it’s enough for Allison to pull the blankets off, hand covering her mouth at the sight. No, Five wasn’t dead or bleeding out or some random bunch of pillows tied together—instead, he was hunched in on himself, face all blotchy and eyes bloodshot, red rimmed. His arms wound up around his stomach and there was snot dripping from his nose that he pitifully wiped at. At the loss of his warmth, Five scrambled to grab the blankets back, falling to the floor when Allison moved back in alarm, taking the blankets with her. Instead of cursing, or hastily standing up and snatching them back, Five gave a groan, which soon devolved into a quiet hiccuping noise and suddenly—it clicked.

As kids, Allison remembers how Five was always in the infirmary. He was smaller than the rest of them, didn’t eat very much, always slept longer than they all did, and woke up extremely early (sometimes crying, sometimes unable to fall back asleep) but what was worse than that were days where he got sick. He sought comfort from everyone, popping into their rooms all blotchy faced and red eyed, sobbing if they kicked him out. She knows this because she’s the only one who didn’t kick him out—well, her and Viktor and sometimes Luther and always Klaus that is. Ben didn’t want to get sick, Diego was always grumpy when you woke him up. Hence, everyone else became the Five defense squad, with their brothers only joining them in the mornings, fully rested and ready to tackle whatever trouble Five had gotten himself into.

This time, it’s a common case of a stomach bug.

For Five, however, it was much, much more.

Carefully, Allison crouched down, maneuvering her brother to lean against her. The moment Five felt another person was close, he clung almost immediately, burying his face into the crook of her neck. Allison doesn’t have the heart to move when he sniffs and probably gets snot and tears all over the back of her shirt. Whatever. It was washable. Making sure Five was okay was more important. “Shh, it’s okay, Ally’s here, see?” She makes sure Five can feel her pulse, one hand reaching up to feel his forehead. He tries to pull away, squirming, but Allison wraps an arm around his waist to keep him still. The moment her hand touched his forehead, she was immediately pulling away, hissing. Her brother was burning up, like some sort of furnace. “You’re burning up, Five, Jesus! How is your brain not mush by now?”

All Five does is hold onto her tighter, murmuring quietly. She can only catch a few words. “M’sorry….didn’t mean to leave…I didn’t, I wasn’t—” he takes a shuddering breath that breaks in the middle into a hiccuping sob. It makes them both flinch. “I’m sorry!” Immediately, Allison pulls away, which makes Five scramble, eyes growing wide at the loss of contact. The tears at the edges of his eyes slip down his cheeks without him wiping them away.

Allison’s heart twists and tears itself apart.

“Hey, hey…” she whispers, holding Five’s wrists, hands going up and down his arms. It makes her brother blink, nails digging into the carpet. “I’m here, it’s okay, you’re okay. We’re in the academy, in your bedroom.” Glazed over green eyes follow the sound of her voice, but Allison knows Five isn’t looking at her. His bottom lip is wobbling.

“Ally?”

Those clouded eyes stare straight through her. “Ally, I can’t see,” another sob and then Five jerks curled in on himself, harshly breathing. “It hurts.” Allison can only whisper soft words, looking between the hallway and the whimpering Five on her lap. Every time his fists clenched, blue light flickered and popped around his veins.

Allison pulls out her phone, speed dialing the first number she had. “He—” the voice on the other end doesn’t have time to finish greeting her when Allison blurts out—

“Where did you put your pills, Viktor?”

A sudden pause happens, and then—with a quiet voice, Viktor replies, “Five’s sick?” His voice is shaky, shuddering breaths drawn in, “I can come over if you need, just—”

“No! I—” Allison pauses, peering down at Five burying his face into her stomach. He shudders when he hears another voice and sobs about how he shouldn’t have come back to 2019 at all because Viktor hated him for pulling him away from Sissy and—“I think if you come, he’ll just get overwhelmed, you know, with the whole—you know what.” She doesn’t need to say the words for her brother to understand and Viktor releases another shaky sigh.

“Yeah…I…yeah.”

It takes a moment or two for him to get things together. “I think you’ll find some in my dresser. I don’t take em anymore, obviously, but you know…He—”

“I know.”

Allison hates to interrupt, hates to play the bad sibling, but she can't focus on Viktor and Five so with a quick ‘thank you,’ the actress hangs up and pulls Five up to his feet by his armpits. Setting him down on the bed, she wraps the blanket around him, curling it tightly. “I’ll be back, okay?” It hurts to see Five grab at her wrist, shaking.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, don’t—I’m sorry.”

He tries to pull her over, but Allison pulls her wrist away, making Five make a noise of surprise, immediately curling in on himself, and apologizing again. “No, you’re okay, I’m fine.” Allison cups his face, kisses his forehead so he at least knows she won’t be gone forever, and marches to Viktor’s room, trying to ignore the way Five rocked back and forth, crying.

The pills are indeed in her brother’s dresser, and shaking them, Allison is relieved to find that it isn’t finished. Hurrying downstairs, she fills a cup with water and takes careful steps back to Five’s room. “Hey, buddy…” Allison whispers, watching Five’s head whip towards her. His fists clench, blue light popping and flickering and quickly, Allison crosses the space between them and places a hand over his glowing blue ones. He looks at her, her hands, and slowly—the blue dissipates.

Allison breathes a slow sigh.

“Drink this, okay?” She holds up two pills, along with a glass of water, and watches Five take them warily. Sitting next to him, Allison holds an arm up, and Five takes the invitation to curl up against her side, gripping her shirt with one hand tightly. She makes sure he drinks the pills given, and is relieved when there’s no more glowing blue light around his clenched fists.

Against her, Five whimpers another apology. Allison twitches. “I stranded you,” Five’s voice is hoarse, “I stranded you and then I erased Claire from existence and then I told you to leave your husband forever and I—” Whatever else he was going to say is cut off by his hiccuping sobs and with a quiet sigh, Allison pulls him closer, and runs a hand through his hair.

Five keeps apologizing, until his words slur together, and his head lolls forward slightly. She glanced at him, watching him struggle to keep his eyes open, and adjusting herself against the corner of the bed, Allison barely looks up when someone clears their throat in the doorway.

“I can take over if you want.”

A hello waves at her as Allison snorts. She tilted her head, and Klaus shuffled inside, sitting on the opposite side of the bed. With her brother’s help, she moves the half asleep Five on the other side and for a moment, her brother panics, only to cling to Klaus like a lifeline, sniffling all over again. “I’m sorry.” Five buries his face into Klaus’s chest next, chewing on his shirt subconsciously. “I made things worse.”

Klaus only hums, wraps his arms around the boy and shrugs. “I don’t think you did anything wrong, you saved us, didn’t you?” From beside him, Allison rubs Five’s back, he’s almost close to sleeping.

Their brother scrunches up his face, gripping his shirt.

“I….u….I, I stranded you.”

“And you saved us from the first apocalypse, give yourself some credit, hm? Ben says so.”

Five peers up at him, at the both of them, trying to protest, but his words fall flat, barely leaving his mouth, and Klaus bundles him up in his blankets a bit tighter as he closes his eyes. “Night, Fivey,” Klaus whispers, and beside the two brothers, Allison stands up, maneuvering Five’s legs to be on the bed.

“Three?” The boy grabs her sleeve, hidden in his blankets and Klaus’s gangly arms. “Four?” And Klaus himself hums, keeping him close.

“Yeah, Mi Hermano?”

There’s a pause before Five mumbles, letting Allison go.

“Please don’t die again, please.”

Klaus takes over when Allison freezes, her mouth agape, eyes slowly glossing over. He pulls Five close, humming loudly. It tends to drown out whatever self deprecating thoughts Five ended up stewing in.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Fivey.” He relaxes when Five’s sniffs turn into snores. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Hopefully, neither he or Allison got sick after this.

[theenderwalker]

re: DSMP "unsolved mysteries"

I've seen lots and lots of posts about the "unsolved mysteries" on the Dream SMP that focus on the TNT on top of the prison and the missing nukes. One of those I am very confident was implied canonically to be Ranboo, and the other I'm confident in my theory that it was him. Putting it under a read more bc its fuckin Long, but its worth the read! Word count: 2482

First: TNT at the prison.

This was implied to be Ranboo across a couple different streams, albiet subtly. I'm not surprised it went a little bit under the radar, but it's simply untrue to say we have no indication of who it could be.

This point doesn't hold true across everything of this nature, and if it did, it would be a dead giveaway, but I think it's relevant here for a couple reasons: Ranboo was online at the time of the explosions. Tommy tends to reflexively open the tab menu during his lore streams, almost as a nervous habit, so we saw multiple times that Ranboo was online, and would seen it have even if Tommy had chat turned off. Online at the time were Sam, Dream, Tommy, Foolish, and Ranboo. Foolish could not have been the culprit, as he was live at the time. In the case of this incident, it would have to be manually triggered by someone. Afterwards, when Tubbo was doing his "interrogations", his first bit of evidence was checking who was online when it happened. For these reasons, I feel this is a valid point for this incident.

That night, Ranboo was live on the SMP. This stream is notable for most people because it was when Ranboo did the odd code in his inventory, that read "He is in control" (or he is in control of me, if you count the to do list). Many people focused on this as a indication that Dream controlled Ranboo to set off the TNT, but this line of thinking was abandoned over time, especially as we saw the implication that the message was actually referring to the Enderwalk, talking about Ranboo stopping himself from doing anything to save Tommy from the prison during that week. However, other details in that stream also hinted it was Ranboo. Most notable to me was Ranboo reading chat or a dono asking him what he had done that day, and him answering that he had "probably gone mining," with some uncertainty. Later that same stream, he went down into his mines , found no ingots in the furnaces, and commented "maybe [he] didn't go mining", and that he wasn't sure what he had done that morning. This comes across to me as an indication that he had a blank spot in his memory that day--that he had been Enderwalking. He drew attention to this here, where he otherwise wouldn't, because it implies he was Enderwalking while he was visibly online, on Tommy's stream, where he would have been able to set off that TNT.

Ranboo was one of the only people on the server with a positive relationship with Dream, of any sort. It is true, especially at this time, that many people had negative opinons of Tommy, but Ranboo was the only one who didn't outright hate Dream... in his Enderwalk state. (with the sole exception of Punz, if you think the vault confrontation was staged, but that's definitely theory territory.) Dream has repeatedly stated that he finds Tommy "fun" and enjoys fucking with him. Tommy was locked in the prison after Ranboo could no longer visit, so assuming he has no supernatural means of communication with Dream (which is likely, as we have no real indication otherwise), he would have been acting without instruction. What better way to help Dream out than getting him his 'plaything' for at least a week?

Alternatively, you could frame it as a distraction or a break in/out attempt... which also doesn't make sense for anyone but Ranboo. Either way you frame it, Ranboo is the only person who makes sense without having to stretch their relationship with Dream into something it isn't.

Tubbo's investigation was the only real in character investigation into this incident we saw. He started out investigating people who were online, which is why I believe it's uniquely relevant to this incident. As I mentioned earlier, Foolish's alibi was that he was live. Ranboo's alibi was that he was mining. If you recall, the day Tommy was locked into the prison, Ranboo acknowledged that he did not know what he had done that afternoon, and that he distinctly had not been mining. This investigation didn't get much further than this because Tubbo refused to acknowledge that Ranboo could have done something like this. Because Ranboo has hidden his enderwalking so well, no one has any reason to believe he would do something to intentionally hurt one of his friends, or to help Dream.

Canonically, there isn't much evidence outside of Ranboo's comments to the audience because the characters absolutely cannot find out that it was Ranboo. He cannot be revealed as a traitor, narratively. Not yet, at least. So all of the evidence has to be directed towards the audience, which leads to it falling into subtext more often than not. The Enderwalk arc has the potential for an absolutely disastrous reveal at some point, where others discover exactly what he has done. It's unlikely that something like this will be confirmed explicitly until that point, but I believe the details I have explored above are foreshadowing, and will be explored again at this reveal. This point applies to the nuke, as well--perhaps even more so for reasons I will explore below.

Second: The missing nuke.

This one treads a little more into theory territory, but I think some of the subtextual implication is in this one too, it's just a bit further apart. Instead of being implied in streams the day of the incident and one week later, these implications are a little bit further out. I don't think I'm necessarily stretching by making these connections, though I can see why someone may think it's a stretch.

Ranboo was not online during this stream. This is why I think that's only conditionally applicable to the last point--Tubbo does not check tab habitually, and he had chat turned off intentionally. The tab list isn't necessarily canon to this stream. If we go by that, Jack Manifold is physically the only person who could have taken the nuke. The only other people online were Philza and Foolish, who were both live. Since this wasn't taken into consideration for the investigations, it's not relevant here.

Out of character, Jack took the nuke. Jack did not stream his perspective of this incident, he hung behind when Tubbo went ahead to start building the silo, and when the two came back together later, it was gone. This was intentionally done, as Jack usually streams his perspective for lore like this. If he had been the one to take the nuke, we likely would already know. His secret plans are not a secret from the audience, they are a secret from other characters--this leads me to think that in character, he did not take the nuke.

Very few people knew about the nukes, so we already start with a pretty small pool of suspects. One of these people was Ranboo. Even if Ranboo did seem to forget what Tubbo told him, the nuke would have been taken while he was Enderwalking--y'know, when he remembers everything, or at least remembers more.

The backbone of this theory, and the reason why I even began to consider it, is that Ranboo has a very solid and clear motivation to want the nuke. Ranboo has been helping Dream. The nukes were made specifically to be a deterrent/protection against Dream. If Ranboo takes one of the nukes, Dream now has access to that nuke, and the playing field has been re-balanced. Essentially, it's creating Mutually Assured Destruction between them. To take it one step further, only one of the nukes went missing. Tubbo was left with one nuke, and Ranboo and Dream have one nuke. Why not just take both? Well, leaving both parties with a nuke essentially ensures neither side will use it. It protects Dream, but it also helps to maintain (a semblance of) peace. Neither side can use their nuke without the other retaliating in kind. This leads to tensions, but prevents outright warfare from either side. It's not pretty, but it aligns with Ranboo's broader goals of keeping the peace.

So we've got the motivation, it makes sense. But that's not enough to make the claim on its own. What's the evidence?

This is a touch convoluted, so I get why it doesn't necessarily come up in relation to this as evidence often, but it's pretty solid to me. Especially compared to how vague most of Ranboo's subtext can get.

It's in the lessons! The highest number of lesson we were given was 94, though when Ranboo was repeating it outloud, he said 93. He later clarified saying 93 was intentional. This stream was on April 23rd. 93 days earlier, to the day, was January 20th--the day Dream was locked in the prison. 93 lessons for 93 days. If we take this to imply the lessons were daily, starting when Dream was locked in the prison, each lesson corresponds to a specific day. March 26th was the day the nuke went missing. 67 days from January 20th is March 27th, the day after the nuke disappeared without a trace. Neither Jack nor Tubbo had any real leads on the nuke. Lesson 67, the day after the nuke was stolen... "Leave no evidence of what you have helped with." This EXACT thing is why the nuke is so hard to pin down. There was no real evidence left. This lesson lining up so closely to the nuke's disappearance is not a coincidence. Further, at this point Ranboo no longer had contact with Dream. He had locked himself out of the prison and couldn't visit. If the lessons are daily, the things he writes down are things he's figured out for himself. The lesson being the day after the nuke was stolen makes sense, when framed like that. He stole the nuke, left no evidence, and wrote that down because it worked.

All of the hints/foreshadowing for the eventual reveal of where the nuke disappeared to has to be done in retrospect, and it has to be either from Ranboo, or from some other source that knows more than the characters. Which leads into my second bit of evidence: the Tubbo Texts. Across like, a week of streams (starting on April Fools Day), spooky half transparency cryptic text appeared on screen periodically, that c!Tubbo was unaware of. Those texts have never been explored in canon, it seems that none of the characters are aware of them or of their contents. So they are posed directly to the audience. The second one in particular stands out to me here:

"Quick, I don't have much time. Stay away from the North. A strange metal weapon washed up. It poisons the nature, the water. No it's not. That's it, we are leaving."

The 'strange metal weapon' seems to refer to the nuke, the poison being the radiation. Geographical direction is rarely paid any mind on the server, but north is distinctly the direction of Techno, Phil, and Ranboo's house. I think I remember Ranboo telling Sam he lives "up north" while trying to visit the prison. The arctic commune is the only notable northward location. The nuke disappeared, and reappeared in the north, in the direction of Ranboo's home. The rest of the texts refer to the north as well. We don't know where Ranboo's base of operations is in the Enderwalk, but we can assume he has at least one, and we can assume the nuke is hidden there, if he has taken it. If Ranboo has taken the nuke, it makes sense for it to be in the North.

Ranboo has proven he can take things without any evidence left behind. Remember his first beacon, that disappeared like, a day after he set it up? He never tracked it down, just replaced it. Within a couple days, he made a comment about his pickaxe durability being suspiciously low... maybe because he was using the stolen beacon to mine far from his home base so it wasn't noticeable that he had been mining. That's beside the point. I mean this to say, he knows how to take and hide things, he knows how to keep secrets, and he almost definitely has at least one secret base we've never seen onscreen.

So maybe Ranboo took the nuke, maybe he set off the TNT at the prison, that's cool, but why have they abandoned the plotlines? Why have we never gotten more explicit answers? Why won't they come back to it?

Ultimately, it seems a lot of these plans have been pushed back and delayed for one reason or another. Beyond that, an untimely reveal of either of these things to other characters would be a huge letdown. The arc seems to be building to a catastrophically large reveal, and each thing that gets revealed before then makes it much less impactful. Keeping it subtle towards the audience, while still offering some hints, stops a certain degree of the chat spoiling "metagaming" we see sometimes, that makes some streamers have to fully ignore their chats during lore streams.

This part is very much my own opinion, but I don't believe the missing nuke plotline will be resurfacing until after Dream is out of prison. Ranboo has no reason to reveal he has it until it will be put to use, either as a nuke or as a threat, and that won't happen til Dream is out of the prison and the nuke is in his hands instead.

The TNT on top of the prison will be an insanely gratifying reveal if it comes out with the rest of the enderwalk stuff. Any of this taken out of that context just kinda falls flat. So people know Ranboo set off the TNT, or know he has the nuke. How does that propel the plot? Ranboo won't do much of anything about it. People will distrust Ranboo, sure, but they won't know the depth of the issue, and that just makes the reveal frustrating. It will be revealed in time, I'm sure, but I think the enderwalk arc has to reach a climax first, or it's just disappointing.

I agree with the general frustration that these plotlines appear to be dropped or greatly delayed, but it's a symptom of a bigger pacing issue than solving either 'mystery' on its own will fix. And the answers aren't as obfuscated as they first may seem, it just takes a little digging!

[pondghost]

bonus girls:

Every once in a while, this little legion team pops back into my head because I like background characters too much

I call them Legion Rebels because that’s what they are(?): defectors of the legion (or drop-outs, kicked-outs, war criminals, or not actually heroes at all).

It starts with a green lantern named Jordana Gardner. All the lantern corps have been dismantled and banned from earth for years after being declared a universal enemy. No one knows where they are or what happened to them, they’re just missing and presumed gone forever. But this is information Jordana doesn’t know. She’s from another galaxy, she barely even knows what earth is when she finds herself mysteriously called there by her ring one day, and as soon as she enters the atmosphere, the legion subdues and takes her in for questioning. It’s not an easy battle though, it’s quite the scene, and anyone near legion headquarters had heard or saw it firsthand.

The interrogation goes on for days and there’s lots of rumors in the hallways about the lanterns attacking earth again. This is despite what Jordana keeps telling them: that she came alone and doesn’t know the first thing about any of the corps. After a week of questioning, Jenni Ognats feels sympathy for their prisoner and decides to stay and see if she can get Jordana to talk to her one-on-one. She understands what it’s like to be a prisoner and is silently starting to believe Jordana is just as innocent as she keeps insisting.

Meanwhile, a few floors away, Jacques Foccart and Lyle Norg are in a lab having an attempt at a secret meeting. Lyle is trying to strengthen his powers and the only one he trusts to tell is Jacques. They disagree on the matter though; Jacques doesn’t think Lyle should be testing on himself and that he’s fine the way he is. Lyle replies that Jacques doesn’t understand because he has no powers of his own. It hurts, but he’s right; Jacques isn’t a superhero and never wanted to be, he’s just an engineering student. Lyle apologizes for hurting his feelings and shows Jacques the serum he intends to inject himself with, trying to make it sound less dangerous than it actually is. They don’t get much further into their conversation before the room starts to shake—alarms blare—and the two boys run out as the walls start crumbling around them.

Just outside the headquarters, Glorith and Brek Bannin are outside licking their wounds after being rejected from legion tryouts. They were both deemed too unstable and to come back a year later after more personal training. The legion will take in people with potential, but they require their members to have a strong sense of control over their abilities before they do, which Glorith and Brek do not. Glorith’s powers are often controlled with her heart instead of her head, and Brek is still learning to adjust with his new prosthetic arm.

Glorith admits she is scared to go back to Zerox and tell her mentor, the White Witch, that she was rejected. The White Witch had sent her to earth to learn to be a hero and Glorith isn’t sure if she’ll have a place back home anymore after failing her first and only mission. Brek feels similarly, the legion was meant to be his chance to get away from his family and all the trauma back on his home planet. Back on Tharr, Brek isn’t anything special, but on earth, he thinks he can be someone.

The two aren’t alone for long because Ral Benem, Brek’s only friend on earth, is quick to join them after hearing the news. Unlike them, Ral made it past the first step of legion admission and is meant to start off-world training in just a few short days.

Before Ral is able to break the news, the earth shakes as an unidentifiable source fires targeted blasts from above, aimed more at the building than all of the superpowered people outside of it.

Back inside, many heroes are rushing to get out and join the (what they can only assume to be) battle. Jenni is left making a tough decision: leave Jordana behind in the basement or let her out. She chooses the latter, but secretly keeps the green lantern ring stored away in her belt.

The two girls leave, but before escaping the building, they run into Jacques and Lyle, who they quickly adopt into their group. They’re moving slowly though because Lyle keeps saying he needs to go back to gather some of his top-secret work. It’s when they’re passing the private apartments that Lyle finally makes the decision to abandon them, ushering them all into the stairwell before shutting the door behind them and locking it. Jacques watches through a small, frosted window as Lyle runs to their shared apartment, disappearing as Jordana tugs his hand to go up the stairs.

Back outside, Ral decides to get Brek and Glorith out of the battle zone since they are not legion members. Knowing they won’t leave willingly, he lies, saying he spotted a figure going around the building and that they needed to follow it.

Ral, Glorith, and Brek are running when they’re interrupted by a door opening up from the ground and Jenni, Jordana, and Jacques come climbing out. They all try to ask each other what’s happening, but no one has answers, and during the qualm, they fail to notice the official legion members drawing in behind them.

Imra Ardeen, better known as Saturn Girl, is the first to speak up. She believes Jordana still has her power ring and is using it to make Jenni help her escape. Jenni—terrified—does not confirm nor deny the accusation.

Imra also states the attack is likely the green lantern corps and tells Jordana to call it off or they’ll kill her. Frustrated, Jordana tries to explain again that she isn’t part of any army and doesn’t know of any more lanterns, as she’d already been doing for days already.

Fortunately, Glorith is a powerful psychic and instantly knows Jordana is innocent and, in a panic, creates a forcefield around them, but not before Jenni can use her superspeed to run over to Imra’s side.

Glorith tells the small group Jordana has nothing to do with the attack, but doesn’t know how to convince the legion of it.

Brek says they won’t listen to reason and proceeds to layer Glorith’s forcefield with a layer of thick ice. The legion had told him and Glorith they weren’t ready to be heroes, but Brek—now having someone to help—thinks differently. He looks at Ral expectantly, asking if he could convince the legion since he’s a future member himself.

Ral doesn’t think he can and based on the legion’s aggressive response, he’s not sure he even wants to try. Maybe it’s because things have been quiet for a few years, but the legion has always been seen as a calm and steady organization, not imposing in the way they are now.

Suddenly, the time for talking is over as the first wave of attack hits their shield and threatens to fall apart over them.

Despite only knowing Brek for a week, Ral chooses to side with him and also adds to the shield by coating the underside with vine and sturdy weeds, which block out most of the sunlight.

Jordana says they are insane and to just give up before they get killed, but no one seems to listen, not even Jacques who is pressed up against the wall behind them, shivering on the floor with his head between his hands.

The attack on their fortress is still going strong and they all know it won’t be long before the legion breaks through their defenses. By some miracle, it seems Jenni left something behind when she left. Jordana’s power ring is on the ground, resting where the speedster had previously been standing. Jordana can’t tell if it was purposefully left or not, but she doubts it matters, and picks it up and quickly adds another layer of reinforcement to the barrier keeping them safe.

The next crash is loud and strong enough to bring Jacques back to the present and he is finally is able to look up at the scene ahead of him. Glorith, Brek, Ral, and Jordana are all visibly struggling to hold up their shields as thunderous booms roar just beyond the barrier. It’s dark, but through the thin beams of sunlight, he can see the pebbles in the soil stirring up dust with every hit.

Unbeknownst to everyone, Lyle had given Jacques the serum for safekeeping before he ran back to their apartment. He told Jacques the only way to keep it safe was to inject it in himself so no one could harvest it, but to only do so if there was no other choice.

Just as they got outside and ran into the other group, Jacques did what he was told and jabbed the vial into his thigh. He was shaking for minutes before he was able to stand again, pain still racing through his body, but he senses something about him is different now. And though he doesn’t know what he’s doing, he knows something needs to be done. Trusting his gut, he tells everyone to hold onto him and not having any better ideas, everyone does.

Jacques flinches just as the legion breaks through their defensive walls and suddenly they’re all in a vacant desert lot. Somehow, he was able to teleport them all in one piece away from the fight. Knowing they are safe, Jacques passes out.

Back at the battlefield, the legion unleashes their final and most lethal attack as the shields fall, only to reveal an empty spot where the rebel group once stood.

Jenni is relieved to see they got away. She’s never seen the legion so ruthless before and is scared to again. Jenni then asks to go home to make sure her parents are alright and knowing Jenni is young, they let her so she doesn’t have to see all the damage and injured.

Jenni goes home, hugs her parents, reassuring them she is fine. They spend the night as a family, but Jenni can’t stop thinking about the attack. She doesn’t like what she witnessed today, she’s confused about the entire week and worried about the way the legion handled it. She thinks that, internally, there is something wrong with the legion and if she wants to find out what, she needs to do it without the aid of her usual team.

After her parents are asleep, Jenni places her legion belt on her bed, packs a bag, and leaves the house to go find the rebel group.

[blahkugo]

Rouge

Satori Tendō x Reader (Haikyuu!!)

Word Count: 2.5k

TW: Mafia AU, Dark themes, Blood play (an excessive amount of blood mentions in general), Knife play, Asphyxiation, Angst (?), mentions of death (no main characters), Just two psychopaths going at it tbh.

A/N: I’m so excited to be writing for @the-smut-pile’s newest collab, hosted by @present-mel, @pleasantanathema, and @linestrider. Please make sure to check out the rest of the masterlist here!

Every night, the smell of bleach stings your nostrils and prayers left unsaid weigh heavy on your tongue. ‘It comes with the job,’ they had warned you, had urged a ‘pretty little thing like you,’ not to take a position you couldn’t stomach. You didn't listen, of course.

Because death isn’t a stranger in your life, nor an old acquaintance you catch up with once every few years. It’s a friend that phones daily, a lover you scurry into bed with—the chill down your spine when you walk home alone in eerie silence.

As a doctor you saw it everyday, with every patient that prayed for pity when the pain became all too much. Cries of the sick plagued your every waking moment; who were you to deny them release? Their suffering ended the moment you injected the drugs.

But you’ve never seen death like this before.

“Daydreaming again, angel?” Tendō swipes a disinfectant across the cold metal counter, rubbing until pools of pomegranate red match his long, messy hair. Despite the dreariness of the task, an impish smile remains plastered across his face, the glint in his eyes unscathed by the scene you’d both just witnessed.

“It’s still Doctor to you.” Try as you might, your voice comes out shaky, your heart pounding so hard you’re worried it may actually jump out. That feeling never quite leaves you.

He straightens his gloves and out comes his signature laugh—that high, maniacal, chuckle that stops just short of a song. You’d rip out your car radio if it meant getting rid of it.

“You haven’t been one for a long time.”

The truth makes you shudder, but he’s right, of course. Once your license had been stripped away and you were on the run, your career had officially ended. An ‘Angel of Mercy,’ all the news stations had called you, yapping on for days when you were that week’s most wanted woman.

You don’t have the right to be called a medical professional and yet, you stand your ground. If it means getting him to quit with the dreadful pet name, you’ll say just about anything.

“Your boss calls me Doctor.”

“Because my boss can’t remember your name.” He meets your eyes, lips quirking upward at the little huff that escapes you, your furrowed brows spilling bits of frustration you so desperately attempt to keep bottled. The air hangs heavy with the shrieks of anger you wish you could unleash, all the words you don’t dare say aloud in fear of looking weaker than he already believes you are.

Instead of challenging you further, Tendō simply turns away, chucking the wipes in a bin and humming a tune far too cheery for a man who just ended a life.

When night comes, you dream of the older man who begged to see his children one last time and the laugh that sounds like a song.

—

The next day isn’t any better, because it never is. Ushijima’s moles bring in three more bodies for questioning; bodies, because you’ve been instructed to refer to them as nothing but. And they’re young this time, heavily tattooed kids that can’t be much older than nineteen—children that look so much like the thralls of young men you’ve learned to call friends, you have to avert your eyes when they send panicked glances your way.

You wonder if Tendō ever makes these comparisons.

“I’ll only ask once,” the gruff, even voice echoes within the small space. “Who’s your supplier?” Your boss is cold and calculated. He never wavers, never says more than he needs to. He’s everything you’d thought the leader of a crime organization would be and more.

Tendō hovers next to him, gnarled fingers twitching eagerly at the knife splayed between them. It’s his weapon of choice, because—as he mentioned your first day on the job—he can ‘take his time with them’.

The captives crack immediately, pleading helplessly for their lives as they vow they know nothing. They probably don’t, appearing to be nothing more than lowly thugs in a long hierarchy of vile men. It doesn’t stop what comes next.

As expected, Ushijima remains silent except for the soft sigh that leaves him. Tendō sighs as well, though it seems more pleased—euphoric, even—than bored. He presses a slender finger into the tip of his knife, watches as a bit of blood runs down his lean arm, paints a strip of his tattoos red, and drips onto the metal table.

“Are they ours now?” Ours. The word brings bile to your throat. Ushijima makes his way to the door, bluntly calling over his shoulder,

“Do what you must.”

You push up your glasses, Tendō grins, and the screaming begins.

—

Blood-stained lab coats are a staple of your wardrobe. No matter how hard you scrub, fingers raw and aching, the faded pinks never seem to give. You quit months ago, resorted to throwing the worst ones away instead of putting yourself through that hell.

This coat’s going straight to the bin.

Through every horrid interrogation, you’ve forced yourself to watch. You’ve never looked away, never dared allow him to smell the fear off of you. You hand him the tools, write the information on the clipboard, assist with cleanup and disposal, and answer any questions he may have—like the good little medical doctor turned mafia member you should be.

And Tendō smiles the whole way through. Even as dagger meets flesh, as pained cries shatter your eardrums, as your vision is clouded with red, red, red—Tendō smiles, humming a tune that you hear long into the next evening.

But today, when the third young man had looked you dead in the eyes and sobbed, begging you to tell his mother he loves her, you couldn’t help yourself.

Of course, the towering redhead didn’t fail to detect the misstep.

“Bad day?” He questions innocently, resting his elbows on the now spotless titanium table. His muscles ripple as he leans, boasting the thousands of dollars worth of art across his arms. It bothers you that you notice it, even more that he probably catches you gawking. He sees everything, after all. Everything but the blood still splattered across his body.

“Won’t be the last, for us at least.” Brows raise, as though the thought hadn’t occurred to him. If at all possible, the wicked grin on his face widens.

“You’re exactly right.” And like clockwork, he laughs. Your hands grow cold, ice corroding your veins. He swipes his tongue over his lip, leaving a slick shine on his lips. When he rises and steps toward you, you stand your ground, though you so desperately long to run. “Why so serious?”

“They didn’t know anything,” you mumble under your breath, “and you tortured them anyways.” In all your months of working with him, this is the first you’ve complained—and you immediately wish you hadn’t.

Tendō moves even closer, as though entertained by your tiny outburst. Perhaps he’s been waiting for this moment, for you to finally break your silence. When he speaks, his tone is gentler than usual, but still holds every hint of mockery and nonchalance the bastard is known for,

“It’s our job, angel face.” Another step, another tiny breath you’re holding in, worried that the slightest of sighs might shatter your perfected image of faux indifference. He tilts his head to the side, peering down at you, like you’re- a child.

And the glass breaks.

“Enough.” You splay your hands in front of you, halting him in his tracks, just as he invades your space. “Enough of the patronizing looks, and the humming, and the stupid pet name that you know bothers me!” An accusatory finger is jabbed into his chest. “Don’t you feel guilt? Fear? Empathy? You murder people.”

Your chest burns, heaving with rage. Tendō’s half-smile still sits on his face, words of ridicule ready to roll off his tongue any second. But when you look into his eyes, there seems to be something more—an emotion you can’t quite place. Anger? Understanding?

His next sentence is whispered with such sobriety, you’re unsure who it is you’re speaking to anymore,

“People like us don’t deserve those feelings.”

“There is no us!” The claim may come out crazy, hysterical even— a woman covered in warm blood shrieking within a cold, sterile room. For once, you don’t care. “I’m not like you.”

Those words may be what set him off, hand wrapping around your chin and tilting it up so that you’re unable to look away. Fingers that incite panic and enact violence, fingers you’ve feared since your first day here, clutching you ever-so casually. “Exactly. You’re not like me.”

He doesn’t wait for your rebuttal, gripping harder at your face. “I’ve made my peace with who I am, but you,” his breath fans your cheeks, “you only pretend you don’t enjoy it.”

Then, Tendō’s kissing you. And to your utter surprise, you’re kissing him back. Heat rises within you, the hairs at your neck curling as your lips meet with a ferocity. His palms graze your lab coat—no doubt staining his skin with the blood it’s drenched in—before he’s peeling it off.

When you tug at his messy locks, the butcher smiles and sinks his teeth into your bottom lip. He pulls you closer, hurriedly stripping you of your remaining clothing, until you’re left in just your panties. Hands roam at your supple skin, kneading at your hips, meshing into you wherever he can. All the while, your lips do the same, bleeding into each other until you’re unsure of where you start and he ends.

“No.” The command is stern, perhaps the most you’ve ever been with him. His eyes narrow in disappointment, limbs rapidly untangling from your body. You shove him backwards until his knees hit the edge of the table, nudge him again so that he falls against it, and grab a clean scalpel off the side counter. “No, we do deserve to feel those things.” His grin returns in full force—and he laughs.

This time, you don’t hate it.

“Deep down,” he grunts as you hitch a leg over his thighs and climb onto him, “you know that I’m right.” The scalpel’s pointed tip grazes his black tee, cutting through the material meticulously. You run a palm up his broad chest before pressing a finger to his mouth, smearing nearly dried blood across his jaw in the process.

“You talk too much,” the hushed murmur tumbling from your lips doesn’t sound like you, is foreign and twisted, and too much like him to bode well for either of you. The muscles in his thighs tense beneath you, his hard chest rumbling in a silent glee.

Your fingers brush against his cheekbones and you gasp, losing all perception of who you are. It’s absurd, but the individual you knew before, the persona you so adamantly believed you could uphold, crumbles with a single, soft touch of his skin.

And it’s unfair, really, that someone so beautiful—covered in art, blessed with hair the color of sweet wine and a laugh that sounds like music—could be so utterly fucked up.

When you nick his cheek, observing the drip of blood that trickles down, you wonder if Tendō ever makes these comparisons. And when you lick at it, preening at the groan that leaves him, you wonder if you’re just as fucked up as he is.

All at once, you’re flipped beneath him, back crashing against the cool metal table. He climbs down and drags his pants off, yanks you towards him with one pull of your thighs, and presses against your core. A shiver runs down your spine at the heat, crazes you for something you didn’t think you needed.

“By the way,” Tendō speaks through kisses and nips at your neck, “you are just as fucked up.” Though you hadn’t realized you’d said that aloud, you’re unable to retaliate, only wrap your legs around his middle and moan at a particularly harsh bite. He soothes every spot of broken skin with his tongue, drifting downwards until his lips meet your cotton panties. “How cute.”

“Well, I wasn’t exactly expecting thi– Ah,” your complaint is cut short when he moves them to the side and licks a long stripe up your slit. And he doesn’t stop, lapping and sucking at your soaked cunt, holding you down with one lean arm when you writhe in response to the pressure. “God, fuck.”

“Satori, but I’ll take God too,” he smirks against your mound. It’s then that he inserts a lithe finger, then two, stretching you out until you’re tugging at his long locks, goosebumps raised as the warmth of his mouth intertwines with the cold beneath your back.

You’re panting, unconcerned with time or it’s passing, only his fingers, his tongue circling your puffy bud, and your steady ascension to the edge. Just as your legs tense, breath caught mid-mewl of his name, he stops. You lean up on your elbows, rut against him, searching for more—friction, movement, anything—but he doesn’t let up.

“Fuck- why?” Your cry is loud, whiny even, but you don’t particularly care when euphoria’s been ripped away from you so suddenly.

“Tell me I’m right,” he teases, eyes peering straight through yours. You whine again, a mix between a pained groan and ‘are you fucking serious?’ before he flicks at your bud once more. “Say it.”

And you do. Because, as strongly as you've denied it, you’re every bit as perverse as he is, every bit as infatuated by the idea of power, of playing God—of holding a life between your fingertips and choosing death.

The second the words are out of your mouth, he thrusts deep into you. Your fingers scramble for purchase, nails dragging against the table, then his back, as skin slaps against skin.

There’s nothing gentle about Satori, all lean, hard muscle and jagged edges, but the pain is just as blissful as the pleasure. His fingertips rub at your clit, other hand moving to wrap around your throat and squeeze tightly.

“Satori, I- I need more,” you choke out, lightheaded. And he complies, shifting you to your side and throwing one of your legs over his shoulder. Your cries melt into his, sweat soaking your skin, your hair, the table, as he pounds into you over and over again.

“That’s it baby– fuck, let go for me.” He presses the long-forgotten scalpel against your throat—and your vision goes white. Electricity sparks through your spine, your tongue lolls out, and you swear you feel tears run down your cheeks.

He doesn’t stop, working you through the orgasm as your legs bind his waist. A few more thrusts and he’s following you, holding your hips against him so tightly, he’ll probably leave deep purple bruises.

He finally stills, chest falling against yours and heaving, allowing you both to catch your breath. Flashing a set of pearly canines, his wild grin and the glint in his eyes reappear. For the first time since you’ve known him, Tendō is completely silent.

And then he laughs, lawless and untamed, the howl of a hyena that sounds like a song—and you laugh too.

[ryeimagines]

Anchor - Liam Dunbar Imagine

Based on this prompt. Word count 1496. I’m not really sure about this one but I hope that you enjoy it. I’m a bit rusty, getting back into the swing of things so please be kind. You can kind of see it as a pre slash, up to interpretation. 

The banging on your window woke you from your slumber, a soft moan escaping your throat as you suddenly found yourself on the floor instead of the comfortable you remembered falling asleep in. Dazed you slowly rose on your feet, it took you a minute to remember what had woken you in the first place. It wasn’t an unusual occurrence for the occasional nightly visits from your best friend, spending more time in your bedroom than in his own house to the point you had a routine in place. Things weren’t always so easy though, it took a while for him to be comfortable enough to stay around, let alone fall asleep. You knew he had anger issues which often got him into trouble.

That was, before he suddenly did a one eighty out of no-where and pulled the disappearing act on you, always finding excuses to not hang out, or forgetting plans you’d made. It had been weeks since he set foot in your room, and frankly you were getting close to losing it. You knew something big had happened and what was hurt the most wasn’t even the fact that he suddenly had a new group of friends he hung out with or forgetting about you, it was the fact that your best friend was hurting and you couldn’t do anything to help, he didn’t tell you about it. And now here he was, showing up out of nowhere after ghosting you like nothing ever happened.  

“What do you want Dunbar?”You tried your best to sound indifferent, but it fell a bit short. A pained noise made you turn around to face him.

“Liam.” The brief rush of relief of seeing him with your own two eyes was overtaken by a wave of fear meeting his gaze, finally taking full notice of his state, eyes glowing yellow. He growled, unwittingly making you take a step back in response. Something was seriously wrong. You’ve seen him mad before, in every kind of emotion really but never anything like this. He looked wild, animalistic, ready to tear someones’ throat out. It was the first time you had ever been afraid of him, sensing the danger that you were in. But it was still your best friend, no matter what he did, or whatever strange new stuff he was into. Whatever it was, you could fix this, you wouldn’t leave him. Which is why you went against your gut and stepped into his personal space, inches from his face without breaking his gaze, moving slowly not to startle him.

“Liam, I-”You faltered for a second, not sure what to say. “I don’t know what’s going on with you, or why you have claws all of the sudden, believe me that’s something we will discuss later, but something is up with you and I need you to snap out of it. This isn’t you. You are Liam Dunbar, my best friend, one of the kindest and most loyal people I know. I know you’re not going to hurt me, you can’t.” A soft whine came from the boy in front of you and you took it as encouragement to slowly raise your hand and touch his cheek, fingers brushing against the sharp fangs that were coated in crimson. 

“Come back to me. I need you. Whatever this is you’re going through, we can work it out together. I’m right here. Always. You’re not a bad person, you’re not a monster. You have a choice. I know you will do the right thing, you always do.” Please, come back to me. 

You were surprised by fingers gently brushing against your wrist, opening your eyes to meet familiar pools looking back at you with apprehension and pain and something you couldn’t quite put a name on. Your body moved on instinct and you found yourself clinging onto him before you knew what you were doing. After the shock had worn off, your brain started buzzing with unanswered questions that you had put on hold until now, begrudgingly untangling yourself from his arms. 

“Hey.”

“Hi.” He smiled sheepishly, fidgeting with his shirt. “You okay? I didn’t hurt you or anything?”

“I’m fine.” You assured him, glad he couldn’t see the bruises that would most likely appear soon on your arm where he grabbed it a little too tight at some point.

“What’s going on with you? Don’t you dare give me that nothing bull. You came in here soaked and covered in blood. I’m hoping it isn’t yours by the way. What the hell is going on?”

“It’s a long story. You should probably sit down.” You did, sensing the seriousness in his voice. 

“Okay so, werewolves, very much real.” 

That was your introduction to the supernatural world, and everything werewolf. That was quite the shock, you were glad you heeded his advice. He kept sending you looks through out his explanation and you urged him to keep going, you needed to know it all. That was a lot to take in, part of you were mad that he didn’t come to you sooner about this, but more than anything you were afraid. Terrified. For him, of all these people and supernatural creatures who wanted to hurt him. You were thankful to Scott for saving his life but also pissed that he put him in danger like this, which you weren’t shy to let him know the first time you joined Liam at one of their pack meetings, introducing his face to a bat. 

“You better keep him safe McCall. If he get’s hurt out there, it’s on you.” He nodded quietly nursing his bloddy nose, recognising the truth in your words. “Good, we understand each other.” You grinned, a little satisfied at the gleam of fear in his eyes. 

“You’re going to fit in perfectly.” Lydia snorted, gesturing for you to come over to join her. “I could use some help with this research, these ingrates are no help whatsoever. ” 

“Hey!” Stiles interjected from where he was laying on the couch, eyes still glued to the screen. “I helped. I’m just taking a break.”

“I’d love to.” You ended the conversation there before it got any further, returning Liam’s smile before burying your head in the books. It was all you did for the next couple of days, researching everything supernatural. Lydia introduced you to the bestiary, containing every possibly nightmare you could imagine. When you weren’t researching, you spent the time interrogating the pack and asking questions. You made it clear from day one that you two were a package deal, wherever Liam went you followed. The younger Hale was the only one who protested your precedes, letting out a disgruntled growl from where he was lurking. You ignored him. Apparently his uncle was even worse, you weren’t to keen to find that out for yourself though.

There was one thing that kind of bothered you, that kept on creeping up on you when you least expected it. Remembering that night, and the state he was in, and then being totally fine again. Actually, there was a couple of things but you hadn’t talked about it. Part of you was hesitant, but the other was growing more impatient each day and that was the one that finally won out one afternoon a couple of weeks after the incident took place. It just kind of came out, you were not really a person of tact, blurting it out over the kitchen table at dinner, causing him to start coughing like crazy. 

“So why did you show up in my room exactly? I mean, I get that you went kind of feral, but why did you show up here? Did you meant to do that?”

“Uh.” He shrugged, finally collecting himself. “I don’t know, it wasn’t really a conscious choice. I just felt this instinct to run to safety. Home.”

“My house?”

“No, I was running to you. There’s something about you that helps me stay in control. My wolf feels safe around you. I remember them trying to talk to me but it didn’t work. Only with you.”

“Oh.”

“I talked with Scott about it, and what he said made sense. I didn’t really know how to tell you so I just kept quiet about it but. You’re my anchor.” You sat speechless, wondering how he could be so calm about this new development, like it wasn’t a big deal. You had stumbled across anchors before during your deep dives, and there was a lot to it. You weren't sure if you should feel happy or terrified at the prospect that he put so much fate in you, essentially his humanity in your hands. 

“Why me?” You finally managed, voice hoarse. 

“It’s always been you, you were always there. Who else would it be? I trust you, I need you. Me being a werewolf means a lot of changes, but not that. You’re the one thing I’ve never doubted.”