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ghostskiss · 2 years ago

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Handle It

Pairing: Simon Ghost Riley x F!Reader WC: 5.1k Summary: Reader is taking a shower and someone decides to crash the party. Warnings: 18+ Exhibitionism (risk of getting caught), shower sex (kinda), SUB SIMON, teasing, begging, sub to dom to…sub, finger sucking, oral, fingering, penetration, overstimulation, spit, creampie

Hot water beads down your back. Well, maybe that’s a bit too generous. It’s hardly trickling out of the showerhead above you, and the water’s lukewarm at best. But it feels great, your eyes are closing, your muscles are relaxing, and you almost forget that it’s a communal shower. That anyone could walk in and join you at another showerhead, there’s several in here, meant to get a group of people clean to save time. Time’s important in the military, you know this. So does everyone else, but there’s an unspoken rule. If someone’s in the showers, you don’t join unless absolutely necessary.

Which is why you’re allowing yourself this moment. You’d announced to the group that you were hitting the showers after the operation. And true to your word, as soon as you’d stepped out of the vehicle, you beelined it to the building. Soap joked about joining you, earning a punch from someone in result. You hadn’t cared to look behind you to confirm who it was, instead you’d waved a hand over your shoulder, acknowledging that you’d heard him, but wasn’t threatened by his constant yet harmless flirts. It was how you two communicated. It was a nice break in the violence and mayhem Task Force 141 found yourselves in. Even if Ghost and Price rolled their eyes at the banter, you could tell it eased their nerves at times. It’s hard to hold onto humanity when you see the worst of it day end and day out.

Getting the bar of soap into your hands, you rub it against your skin, ridding yourself of the dirt and grime from today’s work. It’s normal to get dirty doing what you do, and yet no matter how you wash yourself, it feels as though you’re never clean. You’d scrubbed your skin raw once, after a mission, coming out of the showers with irritated skin. Still. You were never clean. Today didn’t feel like that. The operation went well. There was no killing, no torture, and for once, it was an easy day. You want to savor this feeling, knowing that today went right, how relaxing the water is, feeling somewhat clean despite the past.

A knock rings through the showers, bouncing off the walls. The soap slips through your fingers as you jump with sound, the relaxing feeling you had now long gone. The knock has authority to it. It has impatience. Gritting your teeth, you rinse off quickly before turning the knob to shut the water off. You leave the poor soap on the ground, moving to the cement wall separating the showers from the door of the building.

“What?” You call out, a little irritated. Sure, you’d been in here for a bit longer than normal. But it was the one time you’d actually felt…nice.

A deep voice from behind the closed door comes to you. You resist an urge to roll your eyes. Ghost.

“Been in there a bit. Other people would like to clean themselves before heading in for the night.”

This, you do roll your eyes at. He’s right. You’re hogging the shower, but there’s an unspoken…thing you have against Ghost. He’s stoic and a bit miserable to be around if you’re being honest. He’s too serious, all the time, he never likes to have fun, and if you and Soap are going back and forth, he’s got to voice his displeasure. You secretly think he’s jealous. You think that he either is jealous of the relationship you have with Soap, or he’s jealous of Soap. Probably the former since you two can hardly stand each other.

Sighing out, you cross your arms over your naked chest. Right, you’d almost forgotten where you were.

“Well,” you start out, a bit snarky, “there’s always room, Lt.”

You’re joking, obviously, already moving to wrap a towel around your body. Without waiting for whatever response your lieutenant is trying to muster up, you cross the space from the cement wall to the door, hand gripping the handle to wrench it open.

There he is, in all his glory, towering over you. He’s ditched the mask he wears in operations or important meetings, donning his comfortable skulled balaclava. In fact, he’s changed out of most of his gear. Bare hands, black Henley shirt rolled up to his elbows. Of course, his lower half is clothed in his usual black pants, and he still has his boots on. Yet he looks more naked and vulnerable than you do in your little white towel. He looks at a loss of words.

A playful look crosses your features, a smirk teasing your lips as you prop a hand on your hip. Before you can get a word out, Ghost shifts forward quickly with a grumble tumbling out of his chest, pushing you back into the building with his presence alone. You frown a bit as you move backwards to accommodate his size as the door behind him closes you both in, confused as he glares down at you.

“Christ, could you not waltz around in nothing but bloody a towel?”

Another attempt to not roll your eyes comes over you. “What’re you, shy? It’s not like I’m completely naked.” You gesture at yourself; it’d be as if you were wearing a strapless dress. Granted, the towel is tiny, you’re wet from the shower, and you’re definitely not wearing any panties. Still, you had no idea Ghost was such a prude.

“Really?” Ghost’s gaze trails hotly down the front of your body. Suddenly your face feels hot. He’s never once looked at you like this. Like he’d…

A shaky breath escapes you before you laugh it off, “If you can’t handle me in a towel after shower, I doubt you’d be able to handle being around me in the actual showers.” You jerk a thumb over your shoulder as you watch his gaze follow it behind you. He can see the room of showers over the wall. You think you see his jaw clench under his mask.

This is bad. You’re jokingly teasing him the way you and Soap talk. This is uncharted territory, and you’re not sure you can keep the act up. With Soap, it’s harmless fun. You both know you’re not interested in each other. It’s easy to try to get a reaction out of each other, to see who says the most ridiculous shit first. It’s a stupid game. With Ghost, it’s dangerous. It’s nerve wrecking. It’s serious because he’s serious.

Suddenly he’s looking back down at you. You try not to fidget as you stare back at him. You can’t read him. You’re about to talk to break whatever this tension is, about to tell him the showers are his.

“No, I probably can’t.”

Did his voice drop an octave? Why was it making your skin heat? What was going on right now? You feel like your brain is malfunctioning. Your gaze drops down to the broad slope of his shoulders, and down his frame, distracted a bit. Of course, he’s attractive. You’d be insane to not think so. Even if you’ve never seen his face. It’s the way he holds himself, it’s the way he’s built, it’s his damned voice, and his eyes and everything else. But he’s your lieutenant for Christ’s sake. He’s mean sometimes. He’s ruthless, a brute, a –

“Let me see. I want to try. To… handle it.”

You freeze, eyes shooting back up to his. “You -?”

His chin dips to your towel, “Take it off.”

For a moment, you’re both watching each other. Ghost’s got his eyes on yours, unwavering. He’s really serious about this, you realize. Your thighs are clenching together now, trying to relieve the ache. You were joking, you think, about him not handling it in the showers. Now you’re thinking maybe you’re the one who can’t.

Shakenly, your hands raise to the knot tied at your breast. Your actions stop for a moment, silently waiting for him to tell you to stop. The command never comes. You can’t believe you’re doing this, bearing yourself for your broody and moody higher up. For him. All because you don’t want to back out on what you started. Suddenly, you want to prove him wrong. That he can’t handle it. That you’re not affected at all by his words or actions, or more importantly his inactions. The towel drops.

It’s loud with how silent it is in the room. Who knew a damp towel could be so loud? Your gaze doesn’t leave his, holding it, even as you stand bare in front of him. A smirk quirks your lips. He’s avoiding looking at you. That’s how he thinks he can move around the situation at hand.

Testing him, your hand brushes against your own collarbone, trailing slowly -- tantalizingly slow. Still, his eyes never wander from your own. So, this is how you could play games with Ghost. It’ll be fun to see him break.

“You’re not looking,” you start, stating the obvious.

“Never said I had to. Only said that I could handle being around you.” He shrugs, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Like he won the game.

You laugh a little at that, and watch his eyes ever so slightly dip to your lips before coming back up to your eyes. Your own hands are wandering your body now, groping a bit at your chest. His hands clench at his sides.

“Are you going to take a shower, Lt?” A breathless noise leaves you as you ask, your fingers pinching one of your nipples. Fuck him. You’re so turned on right now it’s ridiculous. He doesn’t have to look. Just the thought of being here in front of him while he’s fully clothed doing this, while the two of you are alone and anyone could walk in –

“No. And quit that.” He growls out, knocking your hand away from your breast. He still hasn’t looked, but you’re guessing he’s getting a view from his peripherals.

“Quit what?” You feign innocence, your hand that’d been knocked away now dips in between your thighs eliciting a soft moan from your lips. “You said you’d try. If you’re not going to take a shower, you can watch.”

Ghost has no words for you now, his pupils dilating before your very eyes. Spreading your legs a bit wider to get a better reach on yourself, you continue. Slow pressing circles on your clit, your arousal slicking loudly in the air. Your free hand goes back up to your tits, to continue groping, pinching, pulling.

Finally, he breaks. He breaks when your pussy squelches around your own fingers, his burning gaze trailing down your body to the hand that’s pulling such noises out of you. A groan sets loose from him, and you shudder from the mere sound.

“Kneel.”

Ghost’s eyes shoot back up to yours in question.

“Kneel, I said. You can get a better look.” Your tone is set in stone. Despite the burning ache you’ve got, the need for him to touch you, you feel in control.

He hesitates for a moment before lowering himself down to the ground, knees pressing against the cement. His eyes have yet to leave yours.

“You can look but don’t touch.” Your breath hitches, arousal seeping into your very being seeing him like this. Listening to your commands. You watch his hands clench on his thighs, his attention going back to your pussy. Your breath hitches at his stare, feeling the heat of it. He doesn’t have to touch for you to feel his attention. It’s making you sloppy, messy, and wet. You keen, a brief thought of asking him to touch you, but you don’t want to give him the satisfaction.

Staring down at him as your fingers continue to tease yourself, you watch him just as intently as he’s watching you. He seems fixated. You wonder if he’s drooling in his own mask. The front of his pants looks tight. His hands are clenching and unclenching on his thighs, his shoulders shuddering when you make a noise in the back of your throat. You watch him tense as you ease a finger in yourself. Your clit is throbbing, aching, begging for attention, you’re teasing yourself just as much as you’re teasing him. Slowly pumping the one finger in yourself, you press another one in, mewling out as your hips buck a little upward.

“Let me taste you.” He rushes out suddenly. Ghost’s voice is gravel, scrapping across your body. Your head nearly tips back at the sound of it, another pitiful noise leaving your mouth.

Stay strong. Stay strong. You shake your head, unable to give him an actual answer as your fingers create a devastatingly slow pace, slick coating your fingers and thighs.

“Fuck. What’ll take? Let me taste you.” He’s demanding now, knuckles white with how hard he’s gripping the material over his thighs.

You pant, trying not to stammer. “Beg.” It comes out stronger than you feel right now. Core burning with the need to come.

“Please.” He grits out through his teeth, angry eyes coming up to your glassy ones.

“You don’t sound sincere.” You laugh breathlessly, shaking your head again. Your fingers pause, coming out to press softly against your clit. If you press any harder, you have no doubt you’ll come. You don’t want to give it to him yet. Ghost watches the action, a growl coming from him.

“Please,” he tries again, looking back up at you to see if it was good enough. It’s not and you tsk at him. “Please, let me taste your pussy. Let me put my mouth on you. Please.”

The last plead is strained, almost a whine. Your fingers dip back in, curling as you pump them again. Your head falls forward a bit with a whine of your own and you try to gather your bearings. “How are you going to taste me with your mask on?”

Quickly, he tugs it upward, only exposing his mouth. Christ. His mouth. He’s got a scar running down his lips. His jaw is clenched, and you curse whoever created him. He’s handsome, even if you’re only seeing the bottom half of his face. You watch his tongue tease his full bottom lip, his mouth opening into a soft pant. He’s eager. You catch another whine in your throat, fingers leaving your pussy to press against his mouth, covered in your own wetness. He opens his mouth, latching onto them, sucking and licking, taking anything you have to offer.

You watch with a newfound feeling. Here you have your lieutenant on the ground, kneeling and begging, sucking your fingers like it’s his God given right. Like he has something to prove. That he’s desperate enough to be debased to nothing. He’s moaning at the taste of you, following your fingers as they leave his mouth, like he’s not ready to stop cleaning yourself from them. He’s tilting closer as he watches them disappear back to your throbbing sex.

“No,” you tell him, stopping him from following your fingers all the way, “that’s all you get.” You moan out, your fingers wet with his spit now circling your clit. You need to come like this, having him at his knees in front of you.

“W-wait. Please. I’ll do anything. Fuck, please. Let me give you what you want, I can make you cum. With my mouth please –”

His begging sends you over the edge, not stopping as you cry out loudly, pussy clenching on nothing as your fingers circle and circle. It’s long and crippling, and you almost feel your knees buckle, your free hand gripping the cement wall behind you. Fuck, he’s not shutting up. It drags it out, hearing him whine and beg, a man who you thought could never be like this. You rip your hand away from yourself, panting, thankful for the wall behind you holding you up. Your thighs are quivering and wet from the orgasm, breath trying to catch up to your pounding heart.

Ghost is quiet now, looking up at you, waiting for your next move. His mouth parts, like he’s going to start up again and you hush him.

“Clean me up.”

You barely have the sentence out before he’s shooting forwards, hands gripping your thighs to make room for himself. He pulls one of your legs over his shoulder, tongue latching onto your already overstimulated clit. You cry out, hands shooting up to his masked head, trying to pull him away as he laps at your cream.

“A-ah, wait, Simon –” You start, squirming, trying to get away from his mouth and tongue. You feel him smile, the bastard.

“Think you can tease me like that? Huh?” He growls as he laps at you, tongue not missing an inch of your pussy. His words vibrate through you, not bothering to really pull away to talk. He’s violent in the way his mouth attacks you. “Think you can just do what you want to me?”

You stutter, about to apologize until he starts to add his fingers to the mix. Two thick fingers of his slam into you, pumping up as his tongue flicks your clit. You cry out, tears in your eyes as you take it. He’s going to make you come again, this fast. Too fast. You feel dizzy, vision fuzzy.

“Making me sit in front of this pretty pussy and not letting me touch or taste it.” He groans, and then chuckles as you bare down on his fingers, clenching hard. “Oh, you gonna come again pretty baby? Come on then.”

He’s mean. Meaner than you were to him. You’re panting, quivering, and aching, your pussy making obscene noises as he assaults all of your senses. You know you’re coming before you feel it. Like a delayed reaction. Gasping and bucking, he’s saying something again that you can’t register because your hearing leaves you, your sight leaves you, every sensation and thought is gone as you cry out, coming and coming again. Somehow in the midst of it, his fingers and mouth leave as you come back down to your body, and he’s holding you up, thank God. You doubt the wall behind you would’ve helped at all. Your fingers are clenched on the material of his mask, and as you blink down at him, chest heaving, you see his wet mouth smirk.

A flash of fear goes through you. This was the Ghost you know. The ruthless, cold, domineering, Simon Ghost Riley. Not the man that’d been on his knees begging. Not the man who’d let you command and tease him. He sets down the leg that’d been over his shoulder. You’re not sure if you’re still completely all together. He stands to his full height, and you shiver, trying to sink yourself back into the wall behind you as much as you can. His hand comes up to your jaw, gripping it gently as he tilts your head back.

“Open.”

You obey, lips parting, mouth opening. Nothing could prepare you for what he does next. He leans into you, pressing up hard against you, lips barely hovering your own. He spits. Fluid enters your mouth, and you moan, swallowing it up. It’s your own arousal, sweet and warm and oh. Your wet lashes flutter shut as Ghost licks the seam of your closed mouth, lapping at you before he nips and bites and kisses you. The kiss he’s giving you isn’t gentle. It’s consuming and you cry into it as your hands find purchase on his shoulders, sliding up to his neck to haul him closer to you. He answers your cry with a groan of his own, his hands cupping your ass to lift you up. Your legs come around him, locking your ankles behind his back to keep him close. Your sensitive pussy is pressed and rubbing against pants, the feeling abrasive and raw but you can’t stop from grinding against him.

“Tell me what you want. Tell me and I’ll give it to you.” Simon mutters against your lips, licking and biting still. You’re breathless and whimpering against him, his words going straight to your core as you move against him. He’s helping you, moving with your hips, matching you move for move. You’re distracted, unable to give him an answer as you kiss him back, your trembling fingers sliding a bit under his mask to grasp the back of his neck. He hisses out in pain when your nails dig in. “I’ll give you anything baby, please. Just say the words.”

“I – I want…” you gasp, your clit pressing against the seam of his pants. You can feel his length hard and heavy against you.

“Fuck, please. Please tell me.” He’s begging again, rutting his hips up against you, hands keeping you still as he continues.

“I want you.” Is all you can muster; all you can think about saying. You swear your brain isn’t working correctly. Even before this started. You must’ve hit your head during the mission.

"Want me? Want me to what?” He stops moving.

You groan out in frustration, head tipping back a bit before you look up at him. “Please, Simon. You’re teasing me now.” You’re not sure you like how quickly the tables have turned.

Ghost laughs a bit, breathless himself. You think he’s going to drag it out further until he sees the pout furrowing your brow. “Alright. I am. I’ll give it to you.” He still keeps you wrapped up against him, one hand holding you, the other going in between the two of you. His knuckles brush against your bare sex and you moan lowly, watching him unbuckle his pants, pulling his hard cock out. Precum is dripping down the length of it and your throat dries at the sight of him.

Concern must be showing on your face with how big he is. Another chuckle from him, “You can take it pretty baby.” Your concern dies out as he slides the length against your wet pussy and you bite down on lip, trying to contain your noises. You want him in you, size be damned. He runs the tip up and down once more before pressing against your entrance, pushing in slowly. This time, you can’t contain the low moan you have. He gives it to you slowly, pumping his hips up into you, letting you adjust to his size. It’s stretching you open, and you feel like he’s splitting you in half. It’s heavy and deep and throbbing –

“Oh.” You let out, almost surprised it feels so good. Addicting. You feel drunk.

A sadistic laugh comes from the man in you, his cock slowly pumping into you. He’s being nice, giving it to you this softly. His hands are pulling you back onto his cock, pinning you against the wall and his hard body. Your legs tighten around him as your nails dig into his shoulders.

“That’s it. It’s all yours, isn’t it?” Ghost dips down to nip your lips as you whimper. “Been wanting this pussy wrapped around me for so long, baby. Fuck.” He moans lowly as you keen at his words, clenching around his girth. “Teasing me when you have no idea what I’d do to you. For you.”

He’s going slow, dragging this out as long as possible. He’s pressing in deep, rolling his hips before pulling slowly back, letting you feel every inch of him before starting all over again. It’s driving you insane. It feels like it’s going on forever, his slow thrusting. He rocks into your soaking cunt, easing his throbbing cock in you smoothly and repeatedly. Ecstasy has taken hold of every fiber of your being. You hardly feel conscious, as his words lull you into lust, his cock pacifying you into drunken state. He won’t shut up again as you cry against his lips.

“Pussy feels so good. So good. Fuck. You can have this dick whenever you want baby, just say the word and it’s yours.” He moans lowly, the sloppy sounds of your pussy and his hips thumping into you with languid strokes are overpowering your thoughts. His words make your pussy clamp down on him and he moans again, not afraid to let you hear how good you’re making him feel.

“Si—” you gasp, mouth falling open against his, trying to pull him up closer to you.

“Tell me. Tell me, sweetheart. Fuck.” He rasps against you, his hips stuttering slightly at the sound of your broken moans.

“F-fuck me. Please fuck me. Simon, please.” You beg, not afraid to be pulled down to your knees like he had been. To be debased to nothing just as you had done to him.

He’s not just pliant, he’s willing. Eager again to please you. You know he could’ve done what you had to him, teased you, made you beg more, made you want and want and need. But he gives it to you, just like he promised he would. Your pussy flares as his thrusts get heavier, deeper, faster, rougher. It’s destroying you as much as it’s freeing you and your eyes roll back a bit. God, you’re going to cum again.

A knock sounds. Not unlike the one Ghost pounded on the door earlier. You gasp, trying to stop running to the hurdle you’re launching towards. Your body doesn’t get the memo, or doesn’t care, and it certainly seems Ghost couldn’t care less that someone is right outside the door. The man makes a frustrated noise, at you or the knock, you’re not sure. He clamps his hand down over your mouth as you try to contain the noises you’re currently making. You want to tell him to stop, someone’s right there, but he keeps fucking you. God, he’s so mean and cruel and –

“Lt?”

Your heart shudders in fear. Soap. No, God, no one can see this. Ghost fucking you against the wall, completely clothed, unrushed. Despite the fear of being caught, you feel a whine catch in your throat as you thrash again Simon’s relentless fucking. He hushes you quietly, slamming roughly into you now. You stop a squeal, but just barely, a loud yet pathetic squeak leaving you as euphoria bursts through you, pussy convulsing around his cock.

“Just a sec, Johnny.” Ghost throws over his shoulder, a smile playing on his handsome face. He hardly sounds phased even when just moments ago he was the one loudly moaning into your mouth. He hardly sounds winded even with the rough thrusts he’s delivering into you, fucking you through your orgasm. You claw weakly at his chest, angry at him, still coming down from the heaven he just gave to you.

You think Soap leaves, you’re not sure, but Ghost moves his hand from your mouth, back to your ass to bring down onto his cock. He’s using you now, making you meet him thrust for thrust, drilling your G-spot with such precision that your vision fades for a second.

“No, look at me. That’s it. Good girl. You’re so pretty baby. Such a good girl. You gonna let me fill you up now? Haven’t I been good enough for you? Huh?” He’s mocking a bit, but serious. His own form of a joke that you have no power or brain to call him out on. All you’re feeling, all you’re thinking about is his cock ravaging you from the inside, still, overstimulated. Your body hardly cares. It’s right there, right at the edge, ready to jump and to give him your all. You’re too dumb, blinded with pleasure, staring up at him as he growls down at you, throbbing cock ready to give it to you when you say the words. Maybe he really is under your command after all.

A whine comes from you, frantically nodding to him, hands scrambling on him to try to find solid ground while you’re in a different time and space with the fucking he’s giving you.

“No, you have to tell me baby. Fuck, tell me I’m good baby. Tell me I was good, and I can fill you up.” Simon’s begging, whining lowly in the back of his throat, his hips getting sloppier and shorter, pounding into you.

“You’re good. You’re good. Simon, you’re good. It’s so good. Please, pleasepleaseplease come in me.” You’re begging, sobbing, actually, tears streaming down your face as you try to catch up with your body. It hurts, it hurts so fucking good, you make a long and agonized noise against his mouth, he’s kissing you again, sucking your tongue, running his against your teeth, pulling sucking overstimulating –

Simon makes his own devastated noise, a low and shattering groan of pleasure and you feel it just as you’re coming, milking him into you. His cock is surging into you, pumping hot cum with each deep thrust. He’s grinding into you, fucking you both through your orgasms, making you see stars as you cry into his mouth, fingers tearing into his back through his shirt. His hips finally still after what seems to be eternity, your pussy still clenched around him. He keeps himself deep in you as you both try to gather your bearings as well as your breath. You’re staring at each other, panting, chests heaving. He brings a shaky hand up to your cheek, cupping it as he runs his thumb over your tears. The tenderness makes your heart clench. All he’s done tonight surprised you. He leans down to place a kiss against your lips as tenderly as the thumb that stroked you. You kiss him back gently, a little worried where this was going to leave the two of you.

He pulls back, eyes bouncing in between your own. He seems to sense your worry and he sighs, pulling out slowly. You almost want to cry at the loss of him. Ghost sets you down steadily, keeping his hands on you as you wobble, legs weak. You hold onto him and look back up, ready to question what the hell this meant. He shakes his head a bit and nods towards the showers.

“I think I can handle taking a shower with you. But it’s gotta be quick baby.”

Shocked, you stare at him incredulously before you burst out into a terrible laughing fit. You’d almost forgotten how you got here in the first place. You watch his mouth quirk up into his own smile before he starts to laugh a little too. You grab his hand, tugging him with you towards the showers.

“C’mon then big boy. Show me how you handle it.”

#guys. i'm sorry for my absence #i had to get out of this man's chokehold i'm not kidding #and then you know what happened?#THIS came to me in a dream #A DREAM #CALLING SIMON “GHOST” BECAUSE HE'S FCKIN HAUNTING ME!!!!#hope you enjoyed kiss kiss love love #simon ghost riley #cod mwii #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost x you #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you

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wh0reforcoriolanussnow · 1 year ago

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The Fight || Billy The Kid x reader

Summary: Billy involves himself in a physical fight over you.

Warnings: violence, swearing, blood

Wc: 1,347

A/n: uh- this is my very first time writing a Billy fic so pls bear w me (especially w how they talk and stuff) bc in the the series I don’t really find Billy talking like how ppl write abt him (absolutely not hate whatsoever to those who do, I absolutely love ur fics find you all so talented 😭) so I’ll try my best to be as accurate as I can. Do let me know if I make a mistake so I can improve :)

Divider by @pommecita

"I'd fuck her any day if she wasn't whoring herself for him," Ollinger slurs, throwing his head back to let the contents of the bottle run down his throat as the men around him laugh. Billy's head pikes up at the sound. Typical Ollinger, talking about some woman as if she was an object.

Billy watches from the other side of the room as he continues to talk to them, his voice becoming louder by the second. "hot for a fucking gringo, and that's saying something," He shakes his head his eyes half close by how wasted he was.

"Wonder how Billy would feel if I had her, don't think he's too keen on sharin?" He nudges the guy beside him before bursting out laughing. Hearing this, he realises that Ollinger was talking about you. Calling you a whore.

He slammed the bottle in his hand down on the table making a loud noise. Pat Garrett and Jessie slightly flinch before they look up at Billy who was already standing, fuming.

"What's goin' on?" Pat asks, his eyes trying to follow Billy's line of gaze. Billy doesn't answer, instead, he storms over to where Bob Ollinger was and his friends. They were all laughing until one of the guys ushered everyone and tapped Ollinger to face Billy.

He slowly turned around, seemingly not bothered by Billy's presence or the fact that he towered over him. "Have something to say 'bout my girl Ollinger? Hm?" He stands his ground, taking another swig of his alcohol as he maintains eye contact with Billy. Everyone in the room had quietened down, eyes trained on the two who never got along.

"Maybe. Wanna hear what I gotta say Billy?" He smirks as Pat Garret and Jessie had already stood up from where they were. Billy narrows his eyes at the man. "I think she's a pretty little gringa you got there, but she needs a real man, not some kid like you-" "You're fucking pathetic, y'know that?" Billy spat, venom laced in his words.

Ollinger seemed to have sobered up when he said that. He looked at Billy with pure rage. "What’d you call me, boy." His blood was boiling at this point. "I said." Billy steps closer, "You're fucking pathetic." He threw a punch at his jaw as Ollinger falls back from the impact and his lack of balance.

At this point the room was cheering the two on as they throw punches at each other. Ollinger swings at Billy but misses, he was glad he wasn't drinking as much that night. He then lunges and aims towards Billy's stomach, knocking him onto the table as all its contents fell on the floor. "C'mon Billy get up!" Garrett pushes him back up.

Billy had a busted lip and a cut on his eyebrow as a trail of blood fell down the side of his face. However, it was nothing compared to the damage he did on Ollinger. "Call a whore one more time, I dare you," Billy yelled, throwing punch after punch as he was on top of him. "Billy! Billy stop!" Billy heard your familiar voice but didn't stop. All he could see was red.

From the moment you stepped foot out of your carriage that dropped you off in front of the pub, you knew a brawl of some sort was going on inside by the way you could hear cheers and the noise of furniture being knocked over.

You hurriedly walk in. You couldn't see what was going on over the tall people who stood in front of you. Weaving your way through the crowd to try and see what the commotion was about, you bumped into Jessie. "Woah there-" "Jessie, what's going on? Where's Billy?" You quickly ask him before your eyes fall onto him.

He was on top of Ollinger, throwing punch after punch. Your eyes widen in horror as you try to go to him but was held back by Jessie who had an arm around your shoulder. "Let me go! I need to stop him Jessie!" You struggle against his iron like grip. "Can't have you get involved in fight, sweetheart. Can’t let you goin' home with a scratch on your pretty face now can I?"

He says against the side of your face as you squirm, helplessly watching the fight. There was blood everywhere and you feared that Billy had killed Ollinger. "Jessie!" You thrash in his grip before he gives Garrett a look who nods and quickly breaks up the fight.

"That's enough, Billy. You got what you wanted," Pat and few other guys pulled Billy back who was breathing heavily, blood covered his shirt and hands. Billy spits on the ground. "All right, show's over!" Jessie yells as people start leaving. Ollinger gets pulled up by a few others as he's dragged away, his body limp.

"Don't you fucking go near her! You hear me Ollinger?" Billy yells before he spits more blood out. "Enough, Billy!" You exasperated, kneeling beside him to take his face in your hands, inspecting it.

Thank god there wasn’t much damage, only a busted lip and a cut on his eyebrow. “For god’s sake Billy! What happened now?” You search his eyes as he stares back at you, blankly. You catch Pat and Jessie looking at you before their eyes find the floor rather interesting. You stand up, dress already spotted in crimson as you brush the loose strands of your hair behind your ears, “What happened here?”

You made a beeline to your bathroom. Billy closed the door behind him and sat on the edge of her bed, he let out a groan before falling back onto the soft mattress. He starts to sit up when he hears you walk back in, a first aid kit in your hands.

You hadn't spoken a word to him since the two of you left the pub and came back to your house. You were grateful that your parents were away for the week, they would have thrown a fit if they saw you covered in blood and Billy batted up.

Moving to stand in between his legs, Billy lifts his hands up to rest on your hips but you slap his hands away. "Darlin'-" "I don't want to hear it Billy," You say, annoyance dripping from you voice as he hisses at the contact of disinfectant on his cut.

Billy lets out a sigh, his eyes trained on your angel like face as you attend to his face. "I'm sorry, I really am-" "Five times. Five times you've gotten into a fight because of me." You scoff, tilting his head firmly as you go over his eyebrow.

"You told me you would stop Billy. I can't keep playing nurse with you because you can't bite your tongue," You make eye contact with him. "You expect me to just sit around and do nothing when some guy is calling you my whore?" Billy's voice gets louder as he furrows his eyebrows at you.

You gulp, eyes looking everywhere but him. "Look at me!" He grips your chin with his thumb and index finger, "You've known me long enough to know I ain't that type of guy," He spoke, his eyes darkening.

"And you've known me long enough to know that I can handle whatever they call me. I don't need you getting into a fight every time someone foul mouths me," Your eyes begin to water. You hated seeing Billy like this. You hated how most of his fights revolved around the topic of you.

"They're all worth it, doll. You're worth it." Billy wipes away the singular tear that managed to escape. You sniffle lightly before he pulls you onto his lap, your arms securing themselves around his neck as he strokes your hair.

"Try not to get into another fight because of me," You mutter, your fingers drawing random shapes on his back as you hear him chuckle, "Can't keep any promises, darlin'" He kisses your hair as the two of you hold each other.

#billy the kid #billy the kid x reader #billy the kid fanfiction #billy the kid 2022 #william h bonney #billy the kid x you #william h. bonney #tom blyth x you #tom blyth #tom blyth imagine #tom blyth x reader #fanfiction #coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow fanfiction #tbosas #tbosas imagine #william h bonney x reader #kid antrim #tom blyth fanfiction

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solarmorrigan · 1 year ago

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I'm late, I'm sorry, but here's the full fic from this WIP post yesterday!

[CW: bullying, references to canon racism and violence, mentions of recreational drug use]

Steve makes it to the bathroom down the hall from the shop classroom—the one that’s far from the cafeteria and always empty during lunch, where people really only come to smoke, anyway—before he completely loses his shit.

“Son of a bitch!” He’s almost screaming as he hauls off and punches the wall of one of the bathroom stalls, putting every ounce of anger and frustration and humiliation into it, hitting it so hard that the whole construction rattles.

“Motherfucker,” he hisses, shaking his hand out, because it had hurt, and then he winds up to do it again, to make it hurt more, because at least he’s in control of that much, at least it’s anything but what he’s feeling right now.

“That’s a good way to break your hand, y’know,” a voice comes from the doorway, startling Steve into pivoting and aiming his fist at whoever is coming after him now.

He stops short when he sees nobody but Eddie goddamn Munson standing there, cringing into a startled flinch to protect his head as Steve nearly swings at him.

“Jesus shit,” Steve barks, dropping his fist and stepping back, shaky with adrenaline. “You walk like a fucking ghost, Munson.”

Munson peeks out of his defensive crouch before straightening up and sending a meaningful glance at the stall wall. “Somehow, I don’t think you would’ve heard me even if I was making all the noise in the world.”

Steve shrugs, his shoulders staying up near his ears in a defensive slouch. He can feel something dropping out of his hair and down the side of his face, and he feels the humiliation all over again as he tries to swipe it away.

“What do you want?” he asks, beyond caring if he sounds rude; he thinks he’s entitled, considering.

This time, Munson shrugs, a rolling, casual thing that belies the sharp look in his eyes. “Came to see if you were okay, I guess.”

Steve snorts. Is he okay?

Like, in the grand scheme of things, the answer is a really shaky “maybe.” But lately? It’s more of a resounding “no, not fucking really.”

Aside from everything else – aside from the nightmares, aside from the headaches, aside from the fact he’d had to drop basketball after his concussion, aside from having no real friends or allies at school now that he and Nancy aren’t together – aside from all that, there’s Billy fucking Hargrove.

Hargrove, who had taken all of a month to start pushing Steve’s buttons again. Who had taken less than a few days after that to realize that Steve wasn’t going to push back.

And then he’d started looking for the boundary line, pushing and pushing, shoulder-checking Steve in the hall, tripping him in the single class they share, knocking shit out of his hands, shoving him when his back is turned, all the while spitting names and insults, until it had culminated into today’s fiasco: dumping a carton of chocolate milk over the top of Steve’s head in the middle of the cafeteria with a deeply unconvincing “oops.”

It had gone dead silent, every eye in the room on Steve’s red face and Hargrove’s triumphant grin, while Steve had only been able to stand there, shaking with startled rage as milk had sluiced out of his hair and seeped into his collar and down the back of his shirt, knowing that he couldn’t retaliate.

He couldn’t.

He’d marched out of the cafeteria, shame and anger growing as voices had bloomed up behind him, already gossiping and speculating.

So, no, actually, he’s not really okay.

But instead of saying any of this to Munson, he just scoffs and turns away, looking towards the sinks.

“Wouldn’t have expected you to care,” he says, injecting as much lazy indifference into his voice as he can, trying to armor up the way he used to. “The number of speeches you’ve given about how much me and my group suck, I’d have figured you’d be the first to say I deserved it.”

Munson doesn’t say anything for a moment, and Steve doesn’t look back to see if the barb landed. He doesn’t really care, he just wants the guy to go away so Steve can finish his meltdown and clean up in peace.

“Not your group anymore, though,” Munson finally says.

Steve shrugs, pulling a wad of paper towels from the dispenser; might as well move on to cleanup if Munson isn’t going to fuck off. He guesses his little breakdown can wait until he gets home.

“Hasn’t been for over a year, now, right?” Munson goes on. Steve says nothing, using a dry paper towel to try to blot up the mess. “And whatever you were like then, you’re… less like that now. Like, anyone paying attention can see you’re kinda trying something new this year.”

Steve ignores the way that makes something catch in his throat. “Thanks for the endorsement,” he drawls. “I’ll put it on my college apps: Not as much of an asshole as I used to be.”

“It’s a start,” Munson says, and Steve glances up in time to see him shrug in the mirror.

“I guess,” Steve mutters.

“And, uh – hey, I grabbed your stuff,” Munson says, holding up the binder and notebooks that Steve’s attention had glossed over until now. “Some of it’s kinda… milky, sorry.”

Steve blinks. “Uh. Thank you,” he says, stunned for a moment into sincerity.

Munson shrugs again, putting Steve’s stuff up on the narrow shelf on the wall that no one ever uses to hold things because it’s probably never been cleaned. Not like Steve’s stuff is clean now, anyway.

Steve turns back to the sink, wetting a few of the paper towels and waiting to see if Munson is going to leave now.

“What I can’t figure out–” nope, apparently he’s staying, “–is why you’re in here punching the wall, instead of out there, punching Hargrove.”

At least that makes more sense; he’s here out of curiosity, not concern.

“I mean, most people would’ve hit him for that,” Munson goes on. “I would’ve.”

But Steve’s already shaking his head before Munson’s finished speaking. “Not worth it,” he says firmly.

“What, afraid of a little suspension?” Munson asks, almost teasing. “Pretty sure the school would let their golden boy off with a slap on the wrist.”

“Not anybody’s golden boy anymore,” Steve snaps, scrubbing a wet paper towel through his hair in a vain attempt to get some of the rapidly-drying milk out. “I dropped basketball, remember? Didn’t even go in for swimming this year.”

“Oh, yeah,” Munson says, like he’d genuinely forgotten. “Sorry, not really into the whole… sports scene. Like, at all.”

Steve shrugs. “Whatever. Not important. I don’t give a shit about being suspended. I don’t even care if he hits me back. Not like I need another knock to the head at this point, but – whatever.” Steve shakes his head. “It’s just that he could– there are other things he could do.”

In the mirror, Munson’s eyebrows go up. “What, does he have blackmail on you or some shit?”

Steve raises his brows right back. “If he did, do you really think I’d tell you?”

Munson tips his head to the side. “Yeah, okay, fair enough.”

“Anyway, he doesn’t have blackmail, he has… leverage, I guess.” Steve lets out a harsh sigh and gives up on his hair for now, wetting a paper towel to try to get some of the milk off his face and neck, instead.

“…are you allowed to tell me what that is?” Munson asks after a moment.

And for a moment, Steve thinks about it. The only people in school who really know are Nancy and Jonathan, and he’s asked them to follow his lead in just – not talking about it. He hasn’t told anybody any version of what happened in the Byers’ house, or why Billy seems to have made him his personal stress ball. But who the hell would Munson tell? All his nerdy friends in his game club?

(No, no, that’s not fair. Steve doesn’t even know those people, and he’s trying not to be that guy anymore. He doesn’t have to be nice, but he shouldn’t be unkind.)

(The point stands, though – who would Munson even tell?)

“Do you know why Hargrove beat my face in back in November?” Steve finally asks, avoiding Munson’s eyes in the mirror by focusing very hard on getting the tacky milk off his hairline.

“Well, I’ve heard most of the rumors by now, I think. Heard Hargrove’s version of events, as has pretty much everyone, I’m sure. Haven’t heard yours, though,” Munson says, his voice tilting up in interest. “I just figured it was because he hated you.”

Steve lets out a humorless laugh. “Yeah, well, you’re not wrong. But also…” He pauses for a moment, collecting his thoughts. “There are these kids I babysit. Sort of.”

“Sort of?” Munson presses.

“Well, most of the time it feels like they’re just ordering me around like a bunch of entitled shitheads. But I make sure they get where they’re going without, like, disappearing, and that they don’t have so much unsupervised time that they manage to get themselves killed,” Steve admits.

“Uh huh,” Munson says; he sounds… a little confused, but not disbelieving. “And you ended up with this gig, how?”

“It’s Nancy’s little brother, and his little nerd friends,” Steve says (he’s allowed to call them nerds because he knows them, and it’s true. And besides, it’s affectionate).

“Aaand you’re still doing it now? Even though you and Wheeler aren’t…”

Steve shrugs. “They grew on me. But that’s– that’s not the point. One of the kids is, uh. Hargrove’s stepsister. And the night me and Hargrove got into it, I guess she wasn’t supposed to be out.”

“Ah,” Munson says.

“Yeah.” Steve sighs, giving up on the milk as a bad job; he probably should’ve run off to the gym showers instead of a shitty bathroom. He turns and leans back against the sink, crossing his arms over his chest and staring at the floor near Munson’s scuffed sneakers. “So he came looking for her.”

“So… Not that I’m advocating handing over children to pieces of shit like him, but – like, wouldn’t it have been the technically correct thing to do, to send her home with what is legally a family member?” Munson asks.

Steve passes a hand over his face. “She was terrified,” he says quietly, feeling a little like he’s betraying Max’s trust by saying it out loud, by saying it to a stranger. “She was terrified of what he would do if he found her there, where she wasn’t supposed to be. Terrified of what he would do to one of the other kids if he caught them together, since he’d specifically warned her to stay away from him.”

“What’s wrong with this other kid?” Munson asks, brows furrowed.

“Nothing,” Steve bites out. “He’s smart, and he’s brave, and he’s, like, slightly less of an asshole than some of the others, but what Hargrove cared about is that he’s black.”

“You’re fucking kidding me,” Munson snaps, and Steve’s hackles raise, ready to defend his kid all over again if he has to, but before he can get anything else out, Munson goes on. “We already knew he was a racist piece of shit, but – a fucking kid?”

Steve subsides. “Yeah. A fucking kid. So I told them all to stay inside and I went out to try to head him off. Or at least keep him out of the house. Which, obviously, I failed at.” He lets out a derisive little laugh, aimed solely at himself. “He knocked me on my ass, knocked the wind out of me, got past me– and by the time I was able to get up, he was already– he was inside, and he had that kid by the collar, up against the wall– one of my fucking kids–” Steve breaks off, the same rage and terror from that night choking up in his throat again. After the day he’s had, his emotions are all too close to the surface, too near to bubbling out, and he rubs at his nose, trying to stave off the angry, exhausted tears he can feel pricking at the corners of his eyes. “So I decked him.”

“Good!” Munson exclaims, and for a moment Steve actually manages a real smile.

“Yeah,” he says. “Then he hit me back, which, like, obviously. I was expecting him to, but– I mean, I might’ve actually won that fight if the fucker hadn’t hit me in the head with a plate.”

The expression that crosses Munson’s face is almost comically shocked. “What?”

“Yeah,” Steve says again, running a hand over his jaw, thumbing almost unconsciously at the still-fading scar where the porcelain had sliced him open. “I’m a little fuzzy on shit after that. Like, I remember being on the floor, and him kneeling over me, and hitting me, and hitting me, and then– I dunno, nothing.”

Distantly, Steve realizes that the expression on Munson’s face has turned from ‘comically shocked’ to ‘mildly horrified,�� but he’s a little too lost in the blurry memory of that night to do much about it.

“Holy shit, how are you not dead?” Munson blurts out.

He looks like he immediately regrets asking, but Steve finds he’s actually grateful for the question. He’s glad to move the conversation along.

“Max.” He smirks over at Eddie. “Hargrove’s stepsister. I guess she, uh– threatened him with a baseball bat? Saved my ass.”

That’s a deep over-simplification, but Steve can’t think of a way to explain the presence of heavy sedatives in the Byers’ house, and, anyway, she had threatened him with a baseball bat. The kids had all taken great joy in reenacting the way Max had nearly neutered Hargrove with the nailbat, actually; it’s almost like Steve had been there (and conscious).

“Holy shit,” Munson says, and whichever part he’s referring to, Steve is inclined to agree.

“Yep. So I was out fucking cold at the time, but the kids all insist that she got him to agree to leave her and her friends alone, but…” Steve shakes his head. “Hargrove is a fucking psychopath. I don’t trust him to keep that promise. So, at least if he’s focused on me, he might leave her alone. But if I hit back…”

“You think he’ll retaliate by going after one of your kids,” Munson says, only a hint of teasing in his words at the end.

“I know he will,” Steve says; Hargrove had implied as much more than once. He crosses his arms back over his chest. “And they are my kids.”

Munson throws his hands up, as if in surrender, but he’s definitely smiling now.

“I’m serious,” Steve insists, close to smiling himself. “They think I’m stuck with them, but they’re the ones stuck with me.”

“Lucky them,” Munson says, and– what?

“What?” Steve asks.

“Look, you’re either a better actor than, like, everyone in the drama club, or you at least seriously believe what you told me, which is more than I can say for Hargrove and whatever shit he came up with about the two of you getting into it over… what, his car was better than yours? He’s better at laundry ball? I don’t fucking remember, and it doesn’t really matter, because it was clearly and pathetically fabricated,” Munson says with an authoritative nod. “You, at the very least, really give a shit about those kids. So, yeah. Lucky them.”

“Well,” Steve scrambles for a moment, trying to cover the way he actually feels like he might start fucking blushing, “if I’d known all I had to do to change your mind about me was tell you about a fight I lost, I’d have done it ages ago.”

And now Munson’s back to smirking at him. “Seeking my esteem that badly, Harrington?”

“What? No. I mean – not– not specifically yours, it’s just… like, there’s not really an easy or fast way to make up for being kind of a dick for the last… while.” Steve runs his hand through his hair, stopping with a grimace when he remembers the drying milk. “You just have to keep not being a dick and hope people give you a chance. So, like, compared to that, convincing you was easy.”

“And all you had to do was get a severe concussion first,” Munson drawls.

Steve rolls his eyes. “I didn’t say it was severe.”

“You got hit with a plate,” Munson deadpans, and Steve can’t quite help the resulting flinch, at which Munson almost immediately softens. “Sorry.”

Steve shakes his head. “It’s fine.”

Mouth screwed to the side, Munson eyes Steve for a moment, glancing over his shirt and up to his face before gesturing at him. “You want some help with that?”

Steve blinks at him. “What?”

“Your whole… hair situation. You could bend ov– like, you could lean over the sink and I could, uh. Try to rinse it for you. Or whatever,” Munson offers, awkward but apparently sincere.

It sounds like a stupid as hell way to try to rinse his hair. The sinks are small, and not exactly high off the ground; Steve would have better luck just going to the locker room and showering it all out. His soap is there, too, and an extra shirt.

On the other hand, Steve really doesn’t feel like leaving the bathroom yet. He’s pretty sure lunch is going to end soon, and encountering everyone during passing period sounds like a nightmare. In here, with Munson, it’s quiet. It feels almost safe.

“Yeah, sure,” Steve finally says, and Munson looks nearly shocked that he’s accepted.

Credit to him, though: he doesn’t back out. He just slides his jacket off, tosses it up over the wall of one of the bathroom stalls, rolls up his sleeves, and gestures for Steve to lean over the sink.

“Hot or cold?” he asks, going for the taps.

“Hot,” Steve answers immediately; he doesn’t need any other cold liquid on his head today.

“Hm.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” Munson says airily, turning on the water. “You just kinda strike me as a cold shower guy. Like, up at dawn, go for a run, take a cold shower – all that weird jock shit.”

It isn’t intended to mock, Steve realizes as Munson tests the water temperature—the school pipes take forever to heat up—but to tease. It’s a joke, and Steve is invited in on it. And anyway, it’s… actually kind of close to the mark, so Steve doesn’t say anything at all for a moment as he puts his head as close to the faucet as he can get it and Munson places one cupped hand over the back of his neck and uses the other to scoop water over Steve’s hair.

“Cold water is better for your hair. Not that you’d know anything about that.” Steve finally says, hoping that his own teasing tone carries even with the way he has to raise his voice to be heard over the running water.

Luckily, Munson sounds amused when he answers. “Oh! Shots fucking fired. I see how it is!” Even as he’s pretending at being offended, his fingers stay gentle against Steve’s scalp as he tries to scrub out the dried mess, and Steve fights very, very hard not to shudder.

He can’t remember when the last time someone touched him with gentle intent was. Maybe he’d gotten a hug from Dustin last week?

Shit, that’s fucking pathetic.

He tries even harder not to lean into the touch, into the surprisingly kind hands on the back of his neck and on his scalp, tries hard not to act like some kind of touch-starved weirdo and make Munson regret offering to help.

The irony of the fact that Steve is trying not to act like a freak in front of Eddie Munson is not lost on him.

After another couple of minutes of Munson manipulating Steve’s head this way and that, doing his best to be thorough, he lets Steve go entirely and shuts the water off.

“That’s probably as good as I’m gonna be able to get it,” he says, pushing another handful of paper towels at Steve as he stands up.

“Better than I could’ve done here,” Steve says with a shrug, rubbing the paper towels over his hair and grimacing as he can feel it frizzing in about a hundred different directions.

When he finishes, he turns to look in the mirror, watching in real time as it droops over his forehead and tickles at his wet shirt collar. Munson stands next to him, watching without judgement, but with what feels like an inappropriate amount of fascination.

“Well, I’m not going to lie to you,” Munson says at last, “you look a little like a sad, wet dog.”

Steve’s eyes snap to Munson with a glare. “Gee, thanks.”

“Some people are into that!” Munson insists, holding his hands up placatingly. “That droopy aesthetic, with the big, brown puppy eyes. Someone might just wanna scoop you up and take you home to take care of you. It’s a thing.”

Do you want to? – the question comes immediately and unbidden to Steve’s head, and he quickly shakes it away. They might be on amiable terms right now, teasing each other a little, but he isn’t sure that wouldn’t be a bridge too far.

(He isn’t even sure it is teasing. For a moment, he’d had the genuine urge to ask.)

“Anyway, I think most of the mess is out of your hair, but I’m pretty sure your shirt is toast,” Munson goes on, gesturing to the brown stain around the collar, over one shoulder, and probably down the back.

If he’d been wearing a darker color today, it might’ve been alright, but of course today he’d chosen light blue. Steve sighs, plucking at the front of the shirt. If he can’t salvage it, he might as well ditch it; it’s getting uncomfortably stiff and tacky with the dried milk, and he’d honestly rather stick it out in his undershirt for as long as it takes him to get to the locker room than walk around with evidence of Hargrove’s little stunt all over him.

He untucks the shirt and yanks it over his head, no need to be careful of his hair, emerging from the depths of it to find Munson staring at him in a stunned sort of silence.

“What?” Steve asks. “If it’s wrecked, anyway, I might as well get rid of it. I’ve got a spare shirt in my gym locker I can go grab.”

Munson blinks at him, almost like he’s trying to clear his head. “Or!” he practically shouts – possibly louder than he meant to, since he continues more quietly, “Or, you could just ditch for the rest of the day. I mean, you have any particularly interesting classes after lunch you feel the need to attend?”

“Not really,” Steve admits with a huff of a laugh. “But leaving after that feels a little like– letting Hargrove win. Like I’m retreating or some shit.”

“Nah, don’t think of it like that.” Munson tosses an arm over Steve shoulders, waving his other in front of both of them, like he’s trying to show Steve a grand vision and they aren’t both just staring at the ugly tile on the bathroom wall. “Think of it as cutting class and getting free weed from Hawkins High’s most esteemed dealer.”

Steve turns to look at Munson, staring at him more closely than he’s ever had reason to, and realizing there are tiny freckles on his face. “What, seriously?”

“Sure.” Munson shrugs. “Lemme smoke you out, Harrington. Seems like a good way to let your stress go for a bit – though I am just a little biased.”

“Why?” Steve asks; he doesn’t understand the sudden turn this day has taken, the sudden and bizarre kindness offered that he doesn’t even know what he’s done to deserve.

Munson’s eyes slide away from Steve, though his arm notably stays draped over his shoulders. “Been where you are. It’s not great. And, I mean, if it had happened last year, then, admittedly, I probably wouldn’t have given as much of a shit. Jock on jock violence, whatever. But you,” he glances back at Steve, “you’re genuinely trying to be, like, a good person. And I don’t think you should be punished for that. I think, in fact, that you could probably use a friend.”

“I…” The words stick in Steve’s throat, because what the hell can he even say to that? On anyone else, Steve would have assumed an ulterior motive, but Munson had infused it with so much awkward sincerity that Steve can’t help but realize it’s probably the nicest thing anyone’s said or offered to do for him in… he’s not even sure how long.

His silence must stretch on a little too long, though, because the hopeful light in Munson’s eyes fades a bit, and he begins to slide his arm off of Steve’s shoulder. “Or, y’know, you can tell me to fuck off, because I’m, like, way overstepping some boundaries, and–”

“We should go to my place,” Steve blurts, while grabbing Munson’s wrist for some insane reason.

“What?” Munson blinks over at him, (understandably) startled.

“My place. We should go there to smoke. If you still want to.” Steve could cringe for how stilted the whole thing is coming out. “I want to be able to take a real shower.”

Munson stares at him for a moment longer before laying a hand over his heart with a gasp, suddenly leaning heavily into Steve’s side and forcing Steve to wrap an arm around his waist so they don’t both lose their balance.

“I see how it is!” Munson gasps dramatically. “My sink shower just wasn’t good enough!”

Steve holds in a laugh. “Your sink shower was… fine. But I’ve got milk dried in other uncomfortable places, so unless you want to wash my back for me, too, we should go back to mine.”

Munson’s gaze snaps back to Steve, something a little odd in it, and – oh. Oh, that hadn’t sounded quite like Steve had meant it. It had sounded a little like an offer of the kind you don’t go around making to just anybody.

Steve braces himself, waiting for the reaction (he doubts if Munson would get any kind of physical, but there will probably be an awkward pulling away and sudden remembering of something he has to do literally anywhere else that afternoon), but all Munson does is break into a sly smile and say, “I could, but I’d have to charge you extra.”

Steve can’t help it: he laughs, giving Munson a good-natured shove, who finally releases Steve but doesn’t stumble more than a couple of steps away.

“Meet you at my place?” Steve offers, balling up his shirt and dropping it on top of his notebooks as he grabs them from the shelf. “Half an hour?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.” Munson gives him a corny little salute before grabbing his jacket from over the stall wall and preceding Steve to the bathroom door.

“Munson,” Steve finds himself calling out, just as the other boy’s hand closes around the door handle; Munson glances back and Steve fights the urge to look away. “Uh. Thanks. For, like… yeah. Thanks.”

Whatever meaning Munson takes out of Steve’s absolutely eloquent verbal vomit of gratitude, it makes him smile. “No need for thanks, man,” he says. “I’m honestly a little surprised to say it, but the pleasure was definitely mine.”

And then he disappears out the door, leaving Steve in the bathroom wondering how the hell his day had taken this turn, and just what destination it’s leading him to.

And thinking that he’s honestly a little excited to find out.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things post s2 AU #stranger things #this one is a bit long just as a heads up; about 4.6k #is it good? I dunno but I had fun writing it and you guys seem interested so here we go!#eddiesteve #solar wrote

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syluriar · 13 days ago

Text

please...help me - sylus x mc!reader. part 2

sypnosis: the aftermath of caleb catching you on the phone to escape him.

a/n: part 2 is finally here!! i apologise that this took me awhile, i just wanted this chapter to be right and i feel good about it now. there will be a part 3 to this, not sure about part 4 but we'll see how this goes.

warnings: some angst but with comfort. caleb being possessive and genually confused why you want to leave. mc (you) finally letting your fustrations out. sylus appears. caleb gets punched :) not for caleb girlies (sorry!)

word count: 3091 (insert spongebob exhausted meme)

taglist: @eternityjune @swissschees3 @notomyrr @jilly-xox7 @mizunareader @monticarlo @leiakitty @wiiieeeeeee @lynnaredfield3383 @idrkgurr @cms399 @ladycrown109 @capribun @crimsonlittlecrow @bi-goth-energy @rik0shii @letharue @sylusjinxedpaw @mcdepressed290 @kaeyasfuturewife @magicatemyvanishingdreams @deethedolly @beautifulthingsiadore @katykibbs @futuristicdefendorfart @qinluna @lemonn015 @magpie-the-goblin-girl @beewilko @thechaoticarchivist @aikonecrosis @gianchan-de @gamergirl31201 i think that's everyone? i apologise if i forget to tag you, there was a lot of people who wanted to be tagged which makes me fell so happy - thank u!!

When was the last time you ever felt this scared?

Perhaps your first time facing a real Wanderer? That time you had a creep not taking no for an answer when you were alone in a nightclub? Or maybe that time where you were walking alone and came across a thief with a weapon?

But you had overcome them. The Wanderer died by your pistols, the creep getting punched in the face by your fists and thrown out by security, and the thief getting it’s weapon knocked out of it’s hand by you and arrested by the police moments later.

The adrenaline that had rushed through you pushed it all away within those moments, and it was only after you had reflected on the experience that almost had you buckle your knees and grab the nearest thing to keep you standing, your heart bounding and your thoughts and absolute mess. It had taken you a while to calm down and look back on those moments without fear, and instead of what you had accomplished.

Unlike right now.

“Still not talking?”

You hadn’t spoken a word to Caleb after he caught you ending the call with Sylus, begging him to come and save you from the man you once felt safe and secure with.

The tracker on your wrist reminds you of anything but those feelings and more.

Caleb sighs from his seated position in the kitchen and stands, the sound of his footsteps getting closer to you fills you with dread. He seats himself on the edge of the coffee table in front of you and you instantly move back so his feet don’t touch you, your eyes finding a spot on the floor to stare at.

He chuckles. “You won't even look at me, how mean of you.”

Retorts sit on your tongue that you hold still. Your already deep in trouble, you don’t want to know what will happen if you fall more.

By the corner of your eyes you see him angle his head to try and catch your eyes, but you look away quickly. What would you see in them? Pity? Annoyance? Anger? Even if it was soft, you wouldn’t fall for it, your not that naive anymore.

You gasp as he grabs your chin and forces you to look at him, his told had a certain tightness to it that could choke you in seconds - you wouldn’t put it past him to do it, though it still scares you to know that.

“There we go.” He smiles, and everything about it screams it’s not the one from the past, the warm one you remember. “Now all that's left is for you to talk, but since you won’t do that, I guess I have to play a little guessing game.”

It doesn’t matter, you think. He can guess all he likes and you won’t answer him. Let’s see how he likes to be the one ignored now.

“Now who would you be calling at this hour when everyone is asleep, like you should have been.” There’s a mocking tone in his voice that makes you want to punch him. It should have made you worried about doing such a thing to someone you saw as a friend, but all you saw in front of you was a creature that enjoyed your torture.

“It can’t be your dear Dr. Zayne, he’s too busy and has things far too important then calling you.”

It hurt you a little to hear Caleb talking about Zayne like that, the three of you had a good friendship growing up, it had amused you of the little arguments they would get into. You knew that no matter what happened you would always have them to fall back on and pick you back up. Zayne had greatly helped you ever since you thought Caleb had died, and the thought of the three of you being back together made your heart warm when you found Caleb again.

How unfortunate that wouldn’t happen.

“Someone the Hunters Association? Hmmm possibly. But who exactly?” Caleb tapped his chin with his other hand, your chin still firmly held by his other that it was starting to ache. “No one there can come in here and sneak you out without anyone onboard knowing, even if a team banded together. So let’s rule that out.”

He clearly underestimated your Association. You might not know everyone there, but the only reason those people have been made Hunters is because they have the power to do so, they’ve all been through the hard training it takes and passed. You remember all the training you had to do and your sure Caleb does too, as you had called him after sessions, complaining about it all and the aches and bruises on your body.

“You keep complaining about it but I never hear you say that you’re gonna leave.”

“Of course I'm not! Quitting would mean that I’m not cut out to be a Hunte. You’ve said I am so many times, do you not think it anymore?”

“Not at all. I believe in you more than anyone that you’ll pass, and become the world's greatest Hunter.”

“Ok, not that much Caleb.”

He laughed then, full of warmth and joy. “Just keep going Pip-squeak, and before you know it, you’ve passed and got your license. Just don’t forget about me when you're off saving everyone from Wanderers, ok?”

Does he still believe in you now? Do you even want to know? You’re still surprised he hasn’t told you to leave them and just stay with him.

“I guess that only leaves one other place.” He muses, and you feel like he’s close to the answer.

Just don’t react. Don’t let him know.

“But would you really call someone from there? And who? There’s not many good people in the N109 Zone.”

Your face remains neutral as Caleb scans it for any signs and frowns when there isn’t any. You hide your pride at this, though it probably thanks to him that your learning to mask your emotions well.

“Actually, scratch that, there’s no good people in that place. Illegal dealings and filled with violence and crime, there no better than Wanderers. Infact, I bet they’re worse than Wanderers. At least those creatures were someone innocent before turning, people in the N109 Zone have been black-hearted since the start. Like true monsters.”

You swing your cuffed wrists to smack him but they’re quickly caught in his free hand, a smirk now dancing on his lips.

“Oh, it seems like I hit a spot. So your trip to the N109 Zone did have you in contact with someone there.” He pulls you forward by your wrists, noses just barely touching. His voice was laced with demand. “Who?”

A grunt falls from your lips as you try and pull your wrists back, but Caleb’s hold on them is strong.

It tightens.

“Who?”

You stop and look at him, his eyes so dim you wonder if they’ve truly turned black. You can see anything in them other than dark feelings that create goosebumps on your skin.

You swallow, a bit of courage coming to your throat. “I guess that’s round two of your guessing game.”

A thick silence hangs in the air and your ears pick up noises you don’t remember registering. The ticking of the clock on the wall, the sound of cars driving outside and the pitter patter of rain softly hitting the windows. Mixed with Caleb before you, it was starting to become stimulating, and you pray that Sylus will be here soon.

Caleb’s frown deepens. “Why do you want to go to him, hmm? Skyhaven is much more safer and secure then the N109 Zone.”

“I have never feared more for my life than staying here.” You reply. To hell with staying silent, that’s what you’ve done more than anything since you’ve been here. You let Caleb have his way, let him ramble on and on and speak badly about a place - about a man you wanted to go back to more than anything.

You’re done with it.

“What can he possibly give you that I can’t?” He’s not glaring but close, he’s looking at you as if he just can’t phantom the idea of you wanting to leave. “How can you want to go to him when I’m right here?”

“Because he would never treat me this way!” You scream, and the look of shock on his face makes you keep going. “He’s never locked me in and he lets me have my freedom with no complaints or bargains. He never punishes me and never makes me feel afraid of him. He’s someone who treats me like I’m someone, not a possession. He's someone I can trust and go to without fear.” Your breathing heavily, the words keep coming out and your not stopping them, too fed up with the man infront of you. “He’s the opposite of you Caleb, and as soon as he comes here I’m going with him, and you can’t stop me.”

You didn’t realise you had stood up until you saw Caleb’s eye move to look up at you, for once you had gotten power over him, had made him look at you and made him speechless.

Adrenaline runs through your body and you know you can’t let it go, no matter what happens next.

So when the look of shock vanishes over Caleb’s face and is replaced with a glare, you lock in and quickly pull your still bound wrists free from his hold, keeping them close to your chest. When he stands you step away instantly, creating space between the two of you.

“And what makes you think I’ll let you leave?” His voice drips with venom. It’s a tone you’ve never heard before and almost falters you.

“Because she’s her own person.” a voice breaks out, one that’s so familiar that it makes your heart race. “Because she has the right to her own freedom.”

Both of you turn to the door that’s now locked behind a tall and imposing figure, his white hair gleaming in the ceiling lights.

“Because she wants to.”

He steps forward and the light shines on his face, that handsome face of your saviour. “Oh, and because I’m here to help her, isn’t that right, sweetie?” His gleaming red eyes fall on you, and you smile, hope filling you.

“Sylus…”

Caleb sucks through his teeth, irritation clear all over his face. “How did you get in unnoticed? Every member had been alerted that you would be coming.”

Sylus shrugs nonchalantly, confidence oozing off him. “And despite that I didn’t get much of a welcome party. Your fleet needs more training.”

The comment only makes Caleb’s irritation grow, and it brings some satisfaction to you. “Now if you don’t mind, I’m taking Miss Hunter home.”

Home. The word makes your heart swell.

“She’s not going anywhere, especially not with you.” Caleb straightens and you feel his Evol approaching, it causes goosebumps on your skin once again and you instantly look at Sylus, who just looks bored.

“Seems like you need hearing lessons as well.” His own Evol floating around his fists, ready to release.

You knew there was going to be a fight once Sylus showed up, he would avoid it if he could if that’s what you wanted, but Caleb wouldn’t let you go without a fight. Even if Caleb hadn’t caught you and you managed to sneak past him with Sylus, he would only come and get you himself and cause a ruckus wherever you went to get you back. He would see it as you being kidnapped and brainwashed to turn against him.

Caleb needs to know that you want to leave on your own free will, and not just with words. The fact that you called for help should have already planted that seed somewhere in his head.

“Stop it Caleb. Let me go.”

He turns to you, a flicker of disbelief in his eyes. “What?”

You stand straight, your voice calm as you speak. “I want to leave, right here, right now. So let me go.”

He stares at you, teeth gritted and brows furrowed, but his eyes are scanning you, hoping to find something he can use to make you stay, to blind himself that this isn’t your free choice of will. But he can’t find any, and his irritation and confusion grows. “Why? Why do you want to leave me? I thought after everything we’ve been through, you’d want to stay with me forever.”

And you had wanted that too.

“I had never felt such relief when I found Caleb alive.” You tell him with a soft voice, the painful memories all coming back. “I spent night’s crying because I thought you were dead, days went past in a blur and I was always reminded to eat even the smallest thing because my mind wouldn’t register the simplest things that my body needed. All I could think about was you.”

Tears brimmed at the corner of your eyes but you didn’t care to wipe them away, with showing Caleb your true emotions, you hope that he’ll finally understand. “Time passed and it got a little easier, but I still thought about you. I didn’t even think I would meet you here…and yet I did. I was so happy Caleb, I thought things would go back the way they were before. Always laughing and joking around, having you by my side to comfort me and give me strength…but you’ve done the exact opposite.”

Confidence flows through your veins as you take a step towards him, his figure still but has lost it’s tension. Your getting through to him. “The things I said before, about me being afraid of you, it’s all true. You keep me locked up and take away my things. You don’t let me have my freedom and even tell me when to go to sleep like I’m a child. It honestly scares me that you can’t see that your hurting me, hurting me so much that I want to escape from you.”

“I didn’t…” His aura falters, the dark and imposing man has been replaced with disbelief and confusion. “I never want you to be afraid of me, I didn’t do all those things to scare you. I want to protect you.”

“Was giving me medicine with the intention of me falling asleep protecting me?” You spat back, the memory of it still causing a shiver of unease down your spine. “I’m a Hunter Caleb, I don’t need this kind of protection. You said that you believed in me when I was doing my exams, but it looks like I’m weak to you.”

“You’re not! That’s…That’s not what I think!”

“I don’t care what you think anymore Caleb, except for the fact that I want to leave SkyHaven and I want to leave you of my own free will. That’s my choice Caleb.”

A noise leaves Caleb’s lips, something frustrated and perhaps sad. You don’t fully understand it but right now you don’t care. You take another step towards him, close enough to touch his chest if you reach out.

You show him your bound wrists. “Take these off…please.”

He looks down at them, thousands of emotions dance through his eyes that you can’t decipher, but he waves a hand over them and you hear a click before the cuffs fall on the floor.

“Thank you Caleb…and I’m sorry.”

Before he can even respond you punch him square in the face, his body falling to the ground instantly, knocked out.

Whoops.

The slow clapping of hands erases the tense atmosphere from the room.

“An excellent performance, kitten.” Sylus smirks as he walks over. “You had him in your grasp and took matters into your own hands, just like I knew you could.”

There was something about his praise that brightens you, maybe it’s because you know he’s saying it sincerely that has your stomach filled with butterflies. You fight back the smile that threatens your lips. “I didn’t mean to knock him out..”

He chuckles. “Whatever you say, sweetie. You still wanted to punch him, not that I blame you.” His eyes scan over the unconscious body of your ex best friend, frowning at the sight. “I wanted to get some in.”

“You would have killed him then.” You commented, and despite everything Caleb has put you through, you didn’t want him dead - for real this time. “I don’t think the fleet would be too happy about that.”

“I don’t mind making a few more enemies, especially the ones that hurt you.”

Air catches in your throat as Sylus turns back at you, his eyes looking at you softly. “Are you alright?”

Maybe it was because it was said so gently, full of comfort and genuineness, laced with true worry. that has you tearing up once more. “I want to go home Sylus.”

He gathers you in his arms, holding you close to his chest that you feel his warmth that engulfs you, bringing a sense of calm to your body. “It’s ok. I’m here, and I’m taking you home.” He lifts you in his arms that you don’t protest, you don’t ever want to leave his safe arms ever again. “Luke and Kieran have cleaned your apartment ready for you to come back.”

“No Sylus,” You croak against his neck, tears slowly falling down your cheeks. Apart from Skyhaven your apartment is the last place you want to be right now, there’s no sense of security that will calm you if you return back there.

There’s only one place you want to be.

That mansion that started out cold that is now warm with your touches; the plushies on the sofa and the blankets on the bed. The fairy lights in his study and the colourful mugs in his kitchen, your skincare and make-up products sitting neatly in his bathroom cabinet and the photobooth pictures hanging by the vanity he had bought you.

“Take us home.”

He looks at you then, surprise written across his face that it almost makes you giggle. You never really called it home to his face, even with your things scattered across the building.

Sylus smiles, it’s not the one his enemies see or the ones the twins get when they’ve pulled a prank. It’s a smile only reserved for you, and it shines brighter than any star you have ever seen.

“Alright, sweetie. Let’s go home.”

#mine #my writing #love and deepspace #sylus #sylus x reader #sylus x mc #caleb

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wendichester · 12 days ago

Text

`౨ৎ~ before standford,

summary. sam comes to say goodbye before he leaves.

pairing. sam winchester x reader ; angsty

wordcount. 675

Sam doesn’t know how long he’s been standing outside your door.

Long enough for the porch light to flicker once. Long enough for the lump in his throat to feel damn near permanent.

This is the last stop before Stanford. Before everything changes.

And God, he doesn’t want to knock.

But he does.

The sound is too soft, too hesitant—nothing like the fight he just had with his dad, all raised voices and burning bridges. This knock is careful. Almost reluctant.

A few seconds pass before the door opens, and there you are.

Sam’s stomach twists.

Barefoot, wearing an oversized sweater that’s probably older than both of you, hair messy like you’d just been about to go to bed. You look soft, warm—like home.

"Sam?" Your brows furrow as you take him in. His duffel bag slung over one shoulder, the tight set of his jaw, the weight in his eyes.

And because you know him—because you’ve always known him better than anyone—you don’t ask what happened. You already know.

Instead, you exhale slowly and step aside. "Come in."

Sam hesitates. Just for a second.

Then he does.

The house smells the same—like old books and cinnamon and the faint trace of gun oil. The walls are lined with pictures that don’t belong to people who get out. People like you.

You lead him to the couch, sitting close, knee bumping his. You don’t say anything, just wait.

His throat works. He stares down at his hands. "I’m leaving."

You nod. "I figured."

His head snaps up. "You figured?"

You give him a small, sad smile. "You’ve been talking about this since we were kids, Sam. It was never if you were going—it was when."

He looks away. His chest is tight. "I had to see you before I left."

You nod again, like you understand. Because of course you do.

A long beat of silence stretches between you.

"You scared?" you ask softly.

Sam lets out a breath. "Terrified."

A pause. Then, you say, "Me too."

His eyes flicker to yours, something sharp and aching lodging in his chest.

Because this is what makes it so hard. You.

You’re the only person who ever really got it—the longing for something beyond endless hunts and bloody motel rooms. The dream of normalcy, of stability, of waking up one day and not being afraid.

He should ask you to come with him.

The words sit heavy on his tongue.

But he doesn’t.

Because you won’t.

Because no matter how much you want the same things, you won’t leave.

And he will.

"You’re gonna do great things," you say, voice steady, like you believe it. Like it’s already written in stone.

Sam swallows hard. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," you whisper.

He exhales shakily, running a hand through his hair. "God, this is harder than I thought."

Your lips quirk, but your eyes stay sad. "You could just stay."

It’s a joke. He knows it’s a joke.

But it still hits him like a punch to the gut.

"You know I can’t," he says.

You nod, looking down. "I know."

Another silence.

Then, before he can talk himself out of it, he moves.

Pulls you into a tight, desperate hug. Breathes you in like he’s trying to memorize the way you smell, the way you feel in his arms.

Your fingers curl into the fabric of his jacket, gripping tight, like you don’t want to let go.

"Don’t forget about me, okay?" you murmur against his shoulder.

Sam’s chest clenches painfully.

"Not possible," he whispers.

He pulls back just enough to look at you. Your face is too close. Your lips are right there.

And God—if things were different.

If this were a world where he wasn’t about to walk out of it.

But it’s not.

So instead, he presses a lingering kiss to your forehead. Lets his lips rest there for just a second longer than he should.

Then he stands.

And as he doesn't glance back before closing the door, you know—you're certain—he's already trying to forget you.

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#sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x you #sam winchester fic #sam winchester angst #supernatural #.docx

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bucketofpaint · 1 year ago

Text

1 2 3 master post

The baby justice, or whoever they were, were starting to get on Danny's nerves. Well, basically, everything did that currently, but not as much they did.

Don't get him wrong. He understood what it was like to be a teen hero, and he respected them for it. But it didn't stop him from immediately groaning when he ran into bird boy and arrow girl.

It started out as pretty okay day. He got a passing score on a test, and it had been a slow work, which meant he'd could go home early. He had got to his trashy apartment and immediately passed out. Danny wished that he'd could sleep till next week, but a few extra hours were still much appreciated.

But fate had other plans. Danny had woken up late at night in a cold sweat, flashs of green and loud yelling, repeating in his head over and over. Danny got up and made his way to the window. He needed to get some air and to clear his head.

_____________

" I'm tired of just sitting here." Artemis complained, fiddling with one of her arrows absencemimdly.

" we need to be ready for anyone that leaves the building." Robin snapped back, not taking his eyes off of the building below.

Artemis already knew this, of course, but it didn't change the fact that she would rather be in the building, actually fighting instead of just waiting.

Her and Robin were stationed on the adjacent building to the one that was the base for a human trafficking scheme. The reason for them being outside and not inside with the others was because, apparently, the top people of this scheme were known flight risks.

____________

Danny drifted through the night sky, trying not to remember his nightmare. Trying and failing. He couldn't help it. The images just kept popping up in his head. mostly ones of his parents' faces filled with disgust, rage, and just pure hatred,while they tried to blast him to bits.

Danny gets pulled out of his head by the sound of a whisper argument taking place on the rooftop below. Danny looks down and is immediately regretting going outside. The two people arguing were members from Young Justice because, of course, they were. If Danny didn't know any better, these run-ins were starting to seem like no coincidence. He definitely wouldn't put it past CW.

If Danny remembered right, the two people were Robin and Artemis. It looked like the two were on a stake out or something. They kept bickering back and forth, seemingly unaware of the goon that started to creep up behind them. Danny watched and prepared himself in the case he needed to step in.

When the goon was about a foot behind them, Robin swung around and swiftly knocked the guy out. But as soon as he did, multiple men started popping up. Some jumped from the next roof, others climbing up the sides.

Robin and Artemis seemed to have it handled. Things quickly went down after the goons pulled out wepons that shot similar green blasts that left smoldering spots.

It wasn't long before the duo was surrounded, hands up in surrender.

One of the men walked towards them, reaching out to grab them. That's when Danny stepped in, keeping his invisibility and, sucker punching the dude out cold.

All the goons charged at the two, who at the moment were frozen, both looking around in confusion before joining in the fight.

Danny was exhausted by the time the last guy was knocked out. Which was not saying a lot because he had been exhausted for weeks, but now, even more so. Danny looked over to Robin and Artemis, noticing how they were both tense and staring right at him. He looked down...

Opps... Apparently, he had dropped his invisibility during some point in the fight. Well, there's not much to do about it now.

___________

Robin stared at the teen, who stared back with a pair of neon green eyes. The teen looked down for a few seconds, then looked back at them and shrugged.

"Cuffs?" The mysterious meta asked

"Um...what?" Robin asked completely confused.

The meta huffed and gestured to the unconscious people.

"Catch." Artemis said, walking past him and tossing the meta some rope. " Just tie their feet and hands for now." The boy nodded.

After all the men had been tied up, the three stood in silence, looking back and forth at each other.

Robin cleared his throat. "So, who -" the meta cut him off with a scoff.

Robin tried again.

" I'm Robin, and you are." Robin asked, keeping his body language friendly.

"Nun-ya." The boy replied. Hmm, it was a unique name. Maybe he wasn't a meta, but an ailen. "Business." The boy finished before fading away.

Robin stood there in disbelief, looking in the area the boy used to be, as Artemis laughed behind him.

#dc x dp #dp x dc #danny is very hangry #dpxdc

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angelwings-crossbowstrings · 11 months ago

Text

Chapter 20

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Graphic depictions of illness; allusions to major medical procedure; accidental violence (m on f); allusions to child abuse

A/N: Finally. I make no excuses and a lot of apologies. Daryl is going through it right now but it's not just my normal whump. Reader gets to find herself again. I say that as vaguely as possible but you'll see at the end and in coming chapters.

A day and a half. A full fucking thirty six hours. The group still hadn’t returned. While it was logical to be concerned for their safety, you just couldn’t seem to look any further than the man on the bed no more than a foot in front of you. His fever raged and his breathing deteriorated, shallow rattles and painful fits of coughing. Still, those were less distressing than the moments he would wake, not remembering where or when he was.

During one such episode, you had been a peer from school. An innocent girl who had followed him home one day to catch crawdads in the creek behind his house. His one friend that he had to hide in the crawlspace until he could get his father to beat on him instead of looking for you. He didn’t have any friends. You were special, he said. The bruises were worth it.

Of all the ways to get Daryl to talk about what had happened to him, this wasn’t what you had expected.

To make matters worse, he had become violent, waking in a rage that no one could understand. He was swinging punches and trying to leave the bed, Lori holding you away from him while Hershel of all people tried to subdue him alone. It was the grating of his own voice against his throat that had brought on the coughing, the force of which had eventually tired him out.

You had appreciated the concern but had asked Lori not to come between you and Daryl again. Though she had retreated in a huff, Carol later assured you that she was only concerned for the safety of you and the baby. She wasn’t angry and she wasn’t judging Daryl for something over which he had no control.

Things were quiet at the moment. You hummed and carded your fingers through the archer’s hair. He had been sleeping without interruption for a little over an hour, but his breaths were seeming even more labored.

You were beyond exhausted. Two or three hours of sleep, barely eating between bouts of nausea, you were nearly to the point of being confined to that sickbed right alongside Daryl.

“How’re the patients?”

You didn’t lift your head, only your eyes. “Baby and I are fine. Daryl sounds worse than when you were here earlier.”

“Let’s take a look at you two and then I’ll examine Daryl.”

There was no point in arguing. You didn’t have the energy. Sitting up straight in the chair, your back protested from the time spent bowed over the edge of the mattress, but you continued the journey to relax against the backrest. Your hand never released Daryl’s.

Hershel motioned toward your sweater in a silent request for permission and received a mumbled knock yourself out in reply. Baby Dixon was still for the moment after hours of kicking and rolling and seemingly trying to fit a foot between your ribs. The veterinarian smiled gently upon removing the stethoscope and rolling down your sweater. You were grateful for the small gesture, likely would have left it up if he hadn’t taken the initiative.

“Heartbeat’s strong. Seems to be doing just fine according to my limited knowledge. You really should get some rest yourself. Eat something, drink more.” His stethoscope was already nearing Daryl’s chest when you noticed it; the twitch of a hand before fingers curled into a fist.

“Daryl, no!” You weren’t meaning to hurt the old man, inwardly wincing when you heard the thud of his body hit the floor. You were just quick enough to shove him out of the way, Daryl’s fist barely grazing your cheek instead. “Hey, you’re okay. It’s Y/N. You’re sick.” You kept your voice soft, right next to his ear, holding him firmly in a way he couldn’t escape in his weakened state.

“Hershel! Y/N!” Carol and Lori burst into the room, Beth just behind them. You heard the girl begin to cry and tend to her father but the other two were quiet.

“Where—dunno—can’t think—”

“I know, Daryl. It’s the fever.” He was coughing into your shoulder, his skin hot and dry where it touched yours. “You’re safe. I’m here. Thumper’s here.” The archer made a sound in his throat and by some miracle, you knew what it meant. Otherwise keeping your hold on him, you fumbled for his hand and pressed it firmly to the side of your belly. “Feel that? You woke them up too.” Your lip was wobbling, your voice threatening to do the same. “They just want their daddy to rest now so they can too. How ‘bout it, hmm?”

You pulled back slowly, steeling yourself for whatever it was you would see in his eyes. You almost whimpered when there was nothing short of exhausted recognition.

“D’I hurt—”

Your cheek burned and felt wet, but you shook your head. No, you wouldn’t tell him while he was like that. “I tripped. Face-planted. You definitely would have laughed.” He didn’t believe you, that much was obvious, but thank heavens for Thumper and a well placed punt straight to Daryl’s palm. His reaction was sluggish, head bowing to watch his hand rub circles over that spot.

“Hey, kid. Go—easy on—your mama.”

“How about you go easy on their mama too and drink some water for me?” With your hand behind his head, you slowly guided him to his mountain of pillows. “Just a bit, okay?” He gave no answer. His palm continued to caress your bump. You wondered if he would still be so affectionate once he realized you weren’t alone in the room.

With one hand raising his head slightly, the other tipped the cup to lips. He didn’t drink as much as you’d hoped but it was something. His eyes were closed but his fingers remained steady, curling and straightening over where you could feel the ripples of movement. It was as if they could sense one another. Daryl was calm, only the cough moving him at all. The baby’s movements were gentle waves below his hand.

You didn’t dare move, allowing him the comfort he likely didn’t even know he was seeking. If you were being honest, you were relaxing a little as well. With a sigh, both tired and contented, you slouched but stayed next to him.

“Is he okay?” You asked, finally rolling your head toward the others. Beth and Carol were getting Hershel to his feet, Lori pacing behind them with an expression you just didn’t like.

“I’m perfectly fine.” The man answered for himself, patting Beth’s hand so that she would release him.

“I’m so sorry.” You whispered, risking placing your hand over Daryl’s. When his fingers went still, you gently guided his palm back and forth over your belly.

“You did nothing wrong, Y/N. I should have been more—”

“He’s going to seriously hurt one of us.” Lori interjected, continuing her pacing. You shot her a warning look, eyes narrowing when she shook her head. “I understand this is out of his control, but this is Daryl and out of all of us, he’s hardwired for violence.”

“Lori, you should go.” You spoke quietly, not willing to disrupt any rest the archer might be getting. You could only pray that he hadn’t heard her careless comment.

“We should just take shifts to come check in on him. You could rest and eat, we’d probably hear him cou—”

“Are you seriously suggesting I leave him alone up here?” Where the anger was coming from, you had no idea. Maybe it was the exhaustion or the concern for Daryl that was constantly eating at you. It hardly mattered, you’d made it clear that she was crossing a line. Your tone was dripping with venom. “Carol.” You beckoned, eyes remaining on Rick’s wife. “Please, take Lori downstairs before I say or do something I would definitely regret.”

“Come on, Lori.” You heard Carol say quietly, a heated glare continuing between you and the other woman as she was led from the room. Once the door closed, your anger dissolved as quickly as it had materialized. “Beth—Hershel, you know—”

“We know he’d never hurt any of us on purpose.” The girl said in that sweet southern tone of hers. “You neither.”

“Having two expectant mothers in one room with enough charged energy was just asking for an explosion of some sort. Now don’t you stress yourself over it any further.” As he neared, Hershel squeezed your shoulder. “Think you might be able to keep him from becoming agitated long enough for me to take a listen?” He lifted the stethoscope.

You nodded with a sniffle, wiping away a tear. “Yeah. If you can go around, I have an idea.” The old man rounded the bed while you crawled up beside Daryl, gently pulling him onto his side and against your chest. Once situated, you pulled his hand back onto your belly, and though he didn’t move it, you felt him relax a little further into you. “Daryl.” You whispered into his hair. “Hershel’s gonna listen to your lungs. The stethoscope is gonna be cold but your skin is hot from the fever. I’m right here. And it’s just Hershel.”

You carded your fingers through his hair while Beth leaned over you to clean the cut on your cheek, hands just as gentle as her father’s. There wasn’t so much as a flinch when the cold instrument pressed against the archer’s back. You paid attention to the his reactions—or lack thereof—but you also watched Hershel and the way his expression fell. It was then you knew he would tell you nothing good.

“His right lung is full of fluid. It’s hindering his ability to breathe normally. The cough is still productive?” You nodded slowly. “May I see?” Well, that was disgusting but Beth carefully pinched one edge of a cloth and carried it to Hershel. You didn’t care to have that ick on your fingers.

Your attention turned back to Daryl, his weight heavy on your side, chest rattling, cheeks flushed, and lips pale. When would the group be back? Were they okay? Should you plan to leave?

“Y/N.”

“Hmm?” You didn’t look up from stroking the archer’s cheek until your name was said again. The expression you were met with was grim. You had your concerns about the pink frothy liquid that accompanied the mucus. Fuck. You should have told Hershel immediately. “What is it?”

“If I don’t do something about the fluid in his lung, it is possible he may—for lack of a better term—drown.”

“When they get back—” He cut you off with a shake of his head.

“This can’t wait that long. We don’t know if—we’re not sure when they’ll return. I need to see if I have anything that I can use. What we were able to grab from the farm was extremely limited and even that has been cut in half with being on the road.” Hershel was mentally running through inventory as he began to leave the room with his daughter in tow, turning but not meeting your eyes. “I’ll need him awake for this.”

Start waking him up now. That’s what he meant. You were horrified. You had no idea how to thoroughly explain to Daryl what was going to happen, because you didn’t know. Why did he need to be awake? ‘Oh, you’re going to drown slowly if we don’t do this now.’ How badly would it hurt?

“There’s a—time an’ place—to be pullin’ on—a man’s hair an’ this—ain’t it.”

You sputtered out apologies and let go immediately. “I didn’t even realize—I’m so sorry.” He wasn’t even looking at you, half lidded eyes blinking slowly and staring toward the wall. Your tight grip returned but this time on his bicep, pulling him more snugly into your side but easing when he buried his face against your sweater to cough. Gross, but what could you do? “Daryl. Do you think you could try to—”

“Heard the—the old man. M’awake.”

The two of you laid in silence, not necessarily uncomfortable but with the looming fear of what was to come and if could even possibly help him. Your fingers ran a trail up and down his arm while his hand splayed out over your belly, eventually sliding around to your side to shift you toward him. Face to face, you could now clearly see the exhaustion, the way the illness was slowly tearing him down, and the resignation in his eyes.

“I’m scared.” The words slipped from your tongue unbidden, and though his expression didn’t change, he brought a fiercely trembling hand to your cheek, hot against your skin.

“Me too.” The admission shocked you to your core. Daryl always strived to be strong for everyone. Hell, it was what led him to his current position in the first place, trudging on while ill just to make sure you and the group—mostly you—were fed. “Didn’t fall.” His thumb barely brushed the bruised cut on your cheek. “M’so sorry.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

He opened his mouth, presumably to speak but quickly turned his face into the pillow to cough harshly, the force rocking his body hard enough to jar your own. You twisted to reach for a cloth, shushing him when his hold grew tighter, openly displaying his discontent at the thought of you moving away.

With gentle swipes, you wiped his face and then the pillow, folding the fabric before laying it above your heads for easy access.

“I don’t wanna do this without you. Thumper needs their daddy. And,” you swallowed, face crumbling and tears stinging your waterline, “I need their daddy too.”

“Ain’t goin’ nowhere.” Why the hell was he comforting you when he was the one being ravaged by an illness that would have been easily remedied in the old world? You really were weak, dependent. Where was the headstrong woman that had shown no fear on her own during the first days of the turn? “Stop—stop lookin’ at me—like m’already dead.” He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, pulling away abruptly to cover a fit of barking coughs that left him groaning, face lined with pain while he gasped and heaved to catch his breath.

You had no chance to offer him any sort of comfort before there came a knock and Hershel entered, Carol at his heels. “We have what we need. Well, what can be used in place of what we need.” He held some sort of thin tubing, a syringe, and a plastic mixing bowl, while Carol carried a mostly empty bottle of whiskey, some gauze, tape, and a knife. Even with your wide eyes displaying a naked fear, Daryl never turned to look. “Is he awake?”

“Get it—get on with it.” He grumbled, weak but to the point.

Hershel merely shook his head with that fond smile he had developed toward your group since the farm. “Carol, could you sanitize the knife?” Seeing her pour a portion of the liquid over the blade made your stomach turn, or maybe it was your own illness rearing its ugly head to take advantage of your weakened state. Regardless, you looked away, finding Daryl’s eyes on your own. “First, I’ll need to find the right spot. You’ll have to be completely still for this, son.”

“Yeah, okay. Got—got it.” The archer wheezed. In your peripheral, you could see the veterinarian’s arm moving, pressing and counting the ribs in search of the correct site. Daryl was rigid, his eyes squinted but remaining open and focused on you with the occasional flitting down to where your swollen belly pressed against him. His hand fisted into the fabric of your sweater on your hip.

“Okay, I’m going to—”

“Just do—just do it for christ sake.”

The old man was still behind him for a moment, long enough to draw your gaze to his. He nodded, a silent request for you to do what you could to keep Daryl still and compliant. Drawing your eyes back to the dull blue that was watching you with such intensity that you felt crushed under the weight, well, that must have been enough for Hershel to continue.

Daryl made a noise in the back of his throat, the slightest spasm of pain indicating that the knife had pierced his skin. Hershel and Carol were moving behind Daryl, communicating through whispers and gestures while you felt Daryl’s arm begin to shake, your sweater pulling tight against your body.

“It’s okay. You’re doing so good, Daryl.”

His eyes suddenly clamped shut, your sweater rising away from your hip when he twisted his fist. The seconds felt like minutes that felt like hours of watching him tremble with fever, weakness, and restraint. Finally, there came the blessed sound of liquid hitting the bottom of the plastic bowl.

“Catheter is in place as best I can tell. We’re getting fluid. Don’t hold your breath, son. Nice and slow.”

You could tell he was trying, each breath a wheeze laced with pain. Slowly, you moved your hand from his arm to his face, just brushing your fingers over the stubble on his cheek. “We need to start thinking of names, you know. Thumper is cute but the baby isn’t a rabbit even though they feel like one sometimes.” Daryl’s eyes opened, tears pricking at the pinched corners. You knew he couldn’t answer you and so did he, probably couldn’t even if he tried. “I try to picture what they may look like. I hope they look like you, big blue eyes and maybe even a permanent scowl so that when they smile, it’ll be the most beautiful thing we’ve ever seen.” You thumbed away a tear that escaped down across the bridge of his nose toward the other eye.

When his throat spasmed, you thought maybe he was going to be sick but then he began to cough, loud and agonizing and dry. Your wide eyes found Hershel’s, the calm in the old man’s gaze fizzling out your terror.

“It’s okay. Just keep him still. The coughing forces out more fluid. It’s almost over.”

As painful as it was for Daryl, it was agonizing for you to watch him suffer with no way to help him. “It’s almost done. You’re doing great. Stay still and stay awake. Can you look at me?” He answered with the smallest of nods, an almost imperceptible movement. Carol moved closer to Hershel. It was torture to not know what they were doing out of your sight but at the same time, an immense relief. The zip of tape being pulled and torn was surely a sign of the procedure coming to an end.

But it was when Daryl drew in the deepest breath you had heard in two days that you felt yourself relax, truly and utterly just drain of tension, placing your forehead against his. “It’s over. Just rest now.” You focused on his even breaths, just the slightest wheeze, the barely audible rattle. He was limp against you, his hand still tangled in your sweater but no longer holding on. The archer was exhausted and sleep had claimed him almost instantly.

“Hershel?” You need not ask anything. He knew.

“It won’t last long, but it buys us some time. The incision was deep but small. I will examine him in a little while, make sure it stays clean. In the meantime, listen for any struggles with breathing. Let him rest.”

You nodded, your forehead brushing against Daryl’s. The used supplies had been gathered and the old man had already made his way downstairs. You caught Carol’s eye as she started to close the door.

“An hour.” You stated flatly.

“What?” The other woman stepped back into the room, her brow drawn.

“I’m giving them one hour. If they’re not back, I want the list and I’m going. There won’t be a discussion.” No room for argument. “You sit with him while I’m gone. You’re the only other person he really trusts.” She looked as if she might object, but when her shoulders relaxed, you knew you’d won. With a nod, she left the room.

Without Daryl’s desperate attempts to breathe, it was so quiet, a sound you welcomed and reveled in so deeply. Hershel had opened a doorway and you’d be damned if you’d let it close. Moving your arm below his to wrap around him, low on his back to avoid the incision, you used the leverage to pull yourself as close to him as you could with baby Dixon barring the way. The archer didn’t stir. Pressing your lips to his forehead, you felt the fever still burning hot, only fueling your determination to get what he needed if the group failed to return.

“I don’t care what you say or what you think. I don’t care why you think I shouldn’t.” You spoke softly, a near whisper. “I love you. And I am not losing you.”

Of course you had fallen asleep. Daryl was resting comfortably, albeit still feverish. You were cozy beside him. You felt safe while simultaneously feeling like you were guarding him. It had been more than an hour, that much was certain. Hershel hadn’t given a timeframe regarding how long the treatment would help Daryl and you were taking no chances. It was time to take things into your own hands.

As fate would have it, just as you began to disentangle yourself from Daryl, there were frantic footsteps on the stairs. Fuck. Daryl was too weak to move if walkers had wandered into the area. The door burst open without a knock, revealing a breathless blonde teenager wearing a brilliant smile.

“They’re back!”

You stared. It was all you could do, your voice had seemingly decided it was in just as much shock as you were. Besides, she had already disappeared, leaving the door wide open. A sob worked its way up your throat but you blocked it with your teeth, looking down at Daryl as he slept.

He would be okay.

The glare you had fixed on Hershel settled the maybe you should wait outside argument rather quickly. You weren’t leaving Daryl to be manhandled should he wake up confused.

A herd had blocked their direct path back. Of course one had. Because the world was cruel and unforgiving and the dead were always hungry and always looking for a life to take.

Rick, Glenn, and T-Dog were bringing up supplies while Maggie assisted her father with Daryl’s care. An IV was started immediately, after carefully searching for the perfect vein due to his state of dehydration. They didn’t have the cannulas to waste. Fluids were started right along with a bag of something called Azithromycin—an antibiotic, Hershel had said. They had scored several bags of each, along with a few other things that could be used for injuries or illnesses. But when they brought up the oxygen tanks, you could have sobbed.

The nasal cannula placement was what finally woke Daryl, bloodshot eyes scanning the room before you saw the first signs of panic. “Ssh. It’s okay.” You slid your hand under his and squeezed his fingers softly. “They’re back. Just let Hershal do his thing, okay? And then I’ll chase them all out. I promise.”

You were so relieved to see his usual scowl shift into place, even if it was somewhat diminished. “Fine.” He rasped.

“Good. Now, since I have your attention—don’t touch that—” you swatted his hand away from the cannula, “take these pills.” Hershel wanted around the clock alternation of acetaminophen and ibuprofen every four hours to get the fever under control.

With an utterance of something containing the word bossy he let you place the pills on his palm and tossed them into his mouth, swallowing them dry while you sat there offering a glass of water. There was a look shared between you that would have been amusing had either you had the energy to laugh. “Thanks.” He whispered, his hand shaking when he accepted the water. He only took a couple of sips but you wouldn’t hound him just yet. The fluids were going and he likely would take a while to feel like doing much of anything.

“We’ve done everything we can do for now. Just need to keep an eye on those bags and hang new ones when they’re empty. Keep giving the fever reducers and, son, try to drink when you feel like. The sooner you’re taking in fluids on your own, the better.”

“Leave that oxygen right where it is too.” Maggie added in a no-nonsense tone.

Daryl’s nod was sluggish, his chin almost staying on his chest during the gesture. The commotion, everyone moving, even while he did nothing more than take a couple of pills, had left him running on fumes. As promised, you were up, hand on your lower back to rub away the ache there as you used the other to shoo everyone out of the room.

Absolutely nothing was stopping you from crawling under those sheets with him and sleeping for four glorious hours. You had asked Carol to keep an eye on that. Thank heavens he was lying in the middle of the bed. The side with the IV needed to be avoided.

Actually lying down with the intention to sleep, knowing Daryl was receiving the help he needed, you were just done for, already drifting off and somewhere between awake and asleep when you felt Daryl’s knuckles brush against yours. You took his hand without a second thought.

“Are you sure about this?” Carol asked, standing with you in the doorway of the bedroom. She was nervously glancing back and forth between you and Daryl. Aside from a few bouts of those harsh, barking coughs, he had slept the entire four hours and barely woke enough to choke down the pills before being pulled right back under.

“I’m sure.” You secured your knife in the sheath on your thigh and wiggled Daryl’s gun holster a little to the side so it wasn’t gouging into the bottom of your belly. Your rifle was long gone and you weren’t about to alert anyone else to your plans by choosing a different weapon. So with both your bag and Daryl’s crossbow on your back, you were ready to head out.

“You don’t have anything to prove, Y/N. We’ve lived off less. There’s a little jerky left and we have some cans—”

“I’ll be fine, Carol. I’m only going to be a few hours and hunt small game. If I happen across a doe that I can lift, I’ll take that chance, otherwise, it’ll be squirrels, rabbits, raccoons, or opossums. Yum.”

“What do I tell him if he wakes up and asks for you?” She shifted nervously.

“The truth. We don’t lie. If he tries to come after me, knock him out or barricade the door.”

She followed you to the top of the stairs but not down, staying close to Daryl as she had promised. “You really don’t need to go.”

“I do. I’m the only other hunter in this group. I won’t have him trying to go out sooner than he’s ready to make sure there’s enough.” You paused on the bottom step, staring at the door and then toward the kitchen where everyone else was gathered. Chewing your bottom lip, you climbed up two more so she could hear you without alerting the rest. “If I’m not back before his next dose, I’m headed west. That’s where they can look.”

Carol looked so stricken and unsure so you offered her a smile, as she always did for you. Finally, she conceded. “Okay.”

“I’ll be back soon.”

#murda writes #blood ties #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #the walking dead #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon angst #daryl angst #daryl x female reader #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon x you #pregnant!reader #sick!daryl dixon

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lizhly-writes · 3 days ago

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hello here's shang qinghua and yue qingyuan haveing fun times discussing inter-peak politics! it's a little bit after this!

“What we need to do,” Shang Qinghua said grimly, “is get good and drunk.”

“That seems inadvisable,” Yue Qingyuan said. “In any case, I don’t have any alcohol here, so, to begin with, it isn’t --”

It didn’t really matter what Yue Qingyuan said at this point, because Shang Qinghua had stopped listening in favor of rummaging through his sleeves, or more specifically, the qiankun pouch discreetly sewn inside. Shang Qinghua had long become accustomed to the sleight-of-hand required to make it look like he had pulled random sundry items out of thin air; he employed this trick the very moment he’d found what was looking for.

“Aha!” Shang Qinghua exclaimed, and triumphantly held a jar of his second-best wine aloft.

Don’t look down on second-best! It was guaranteed to instantly knock out a mortal man in seconds! This effect was admittedly dulled when it came to cultivators, but it still packed a punch!

“... Shang-shidi, why do you have that?”

“Wei-shidi owed me a favor. I don’t actually know what he did to get this, but he did! So I’m not complaining!”

“I was really more asking why you had it up in your sleeves to begin with.”

Shang Qinghua flapped a hand at him nonchalantly. “Don’t worry about it! So – shots?”

“… I’m not certain that’s a good idea.”

“What, do you think I should save this for some other occasion?” Shang Qinghua said. “A happier occasion? Like our wedding?”

Yue Qingyuan hesitated. “Well...”

...

“Okay, but maybe it’s homoerotic tension,” Shang Qinghua insisted, an indeterminate amount of shots later. He slapped a hand on the deeply unflattering doodle of Sect Leader and the Qing Jing Peak Lord he’d sloppily drawn and pinned on the wall. “Maybe they hate each other so much because they’re angry they haven’t gotten laid!”

On the other side of the table, Yue Qingyuan frowned. His head was starting to loll to the side; to combat this, he had propped his cheek up with one hand, which had the side effect of making him look like a student trying not to fall asleep in lecture. If Shang Qinghua was a Qing Jing hallmaster, this might have earned a reprimand, but as he was instead a wise and generous writer-god, he patiently awaited for this inattentive student to give a proper and well-thought out response.

“Are you sure they’re not already having weird hatesex,” Yue Qingyuan said.

Shang Qinghua threw up his hands. “If that’s the case, you’d think they’d be in a better mood!”

“If they hate each other, maybe the sex isn’t very good.” Yue Qingyuan said philosophically, and paused, furrowing his brows. “To begin with, I don’t think I understand the weird hatesex thing. Why are you having sex if you hate each other.”

Ah? Ah???? Had they stumbled onto Shang Qinghua’s area of expertise?

Shang Qinghua drew himself up proudly. He knew the answer to this! After all, he’d done a truly remarkable amount of research in the shitty romance genre! “Love and hate are two sides of the same coin!” he proclaimed. “Don’t think about feelings just as positive or negative – those categories don’t matter as much as the scale of intensity! If two people feel strongly about each other, who cares if it’s love or hate? They’ll always be thinking of the other person!”

A mournful expression began to take over Yue Qingyuan’s face. “Is that so…”

It was then that Shang Qinghua belatedly remembered Yue Qingyuan’s own weird not-love not-hate relationship with Shen Qingqiu. Shit, was this hitting too close to home? Was Yue Qingyuan going to cry? They were supposed to be drinking to forget their problems, not remember them all in excruciatingly weepy drunk detail!

Quick, a distraction!

“Anyway!” Shang Qinghua said loudly. “Anyway!!! That’s why Sect Leader and Shibo need to fuck and that’ll solve all of our problems!”

This statement was audacious enough to make Yue Qingyuan blink, train of thought stopped in its tracks. “I don’t see how that would work.”

“Don’t you read any literature at all? It’s easy! Lock them in a room together! The smaller, the better! All that time alone, in such close contact, breathing the same air – the homoerotic tension will be through the roof. They won’t have any choice but to --”

“They’ll kill each other,” Yue Qingyuan said, awed.

“Haha, yeah, probably,” Shang Qinghua said.

Shang Qinghua was a realistic man. The world didn��t 100% work like a trashy novel. Sure, maybe a tiny enclosed space could net you a sloppy makeout, but that usually worked under the assumption that two people involved liked each other at least a little bit, even if that little bit was just lust. With Qiong Ding Peak Lord and Qing Jing Peak Lord… it was fun to talk about this, but sometimes hate was just hate, you know?

“That might be enough for them to strip both of us of our positions,” Yue Qingyuan said.

“That!” Shang Qinghua said, one finger aloft. “Is only if you get caught… not that the payoff is worth the risk of getting caught. I guess the only way this could kind of work is if you filled the entire area with spring medicine or something. That’d probably get them both too distracted to think about whodunnit, but...”

Yue Qingyuan looked disturbingly contemplative.

“Don’t poison your master with sex pollen, holy shit,” Shang Qinghua wheezed. “I shouldn’t have to say that. Don’t do that. Forget being demoted, we’ll die for that.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Yue Qingyuan said reproachfully. “But, hypothetically, for sect unity—”

“Like you could do it without getting caught!" Shang Qinghua exclaimed “I bet you’ve never poisoned anyone before in your life!”

“And you have?”

There was a long pause.

“...Shang-shidi.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

#remedies for ruin #rr: the battle is the cure #my writing #svsss #shang qinghua #yue qingyuan

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ignoringmyexams · 1 month ago

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Imagine a jason todd that had been holding back on fighting batman, or any of the batkids for that matter. In fights he uses his guns, and very rarely shows off his true fighting skills. This makes bruce worried that jason is becoming too detached from the people hes fighting, and calls his style of fighting brutal and callous. Because of this he makes jason come back to the cave to test if he still can fight without his guns.

The batkids overhear this conversation (argument) and immediately follow them back to the cave (because no way in hell are they missing this), oddly, damian is suprisingly angry at bruce for basically calling jason lazy, but tim and dick cant figure out why.

Back at the cave, alfred is already annoyed by the fact that bruce dismisses using guns, and the skills that come with that (alfred was agent 007, fight me), and 100% understands that using guns the way that jason uses them requires serious strength (bruce was never in the military, and therefore doesnt have that much experience with using firearms, FIGHT ME)

Anyways, jason and bruce are already on the mats, measuring eachother up. Jason is the same height as bruce, but slightly more bulky. Hes trying to get bruce to step down, and let him go home, he doesnt want to fight.

Bruce takes this as a sign that jason is not as fit as he was before, but in reality jason is worrying that the pit madness will destroy the little control he has over his strength. For some reason he doesnt want everyone to know just how much he is capable of.

Bruce doesn't know this, and like a dumbass (damians words, not mine), decides to charge at the massive tank in front of him with tons of league training. He shoves his entire body at jason, expecting his son to fall back.

Instead he meets a wall of muscle. Up close to jason for the first time in years, he really notices their differences in physique. Jason moves, and he blocks, or tries to, but jason powers through every attempt to block him.

(From the other side of the mats, damian shouts for jason to stop holding back)

Its a testament to the amount of soul searching and healing jason has done the last years, that the pit never bubbles up. His head is cool, a contrast to bruces frustration and anger in the way he always fights. He decides that hes done with holding back to avoid making the others uncomfortable.

Bruce somehow ends on his back, breath knocked out of him, with jason looming over him, not even breaking a sweat.

Jason gathers up his things and walks out of the cave, cool as a cucumber, and is never again asked to prove himself to bruce again (he decides to ignore how bruce looks at him like a science experiment, and how hes pretty sure bruce is trying to figure out how to beat him. Honestly he is flattered that hes considered a big a threat as superman is)

The batkids are left standing in the cave, staring down at their leader who most think is unbeatable, who just got beaten by a 20 year old (he almost looks proud)

Damian is laughing his ass off

Talia is somewhere laughing too probably

Tim realizes just how much jason has been pulling his punches

Dick has just realized that he might not be the one forced to inherit the burden of the cowl anymore (i get that jason would rather gnaw off his arm than take on the cowl, but i think the thing with being batman is that you cant want to be him, you cant enjoy the power it gives)

#batfamily #batman #dcu #jason todd #dick grayson #tim drake #bruce wayne #damian al ghul #damian wayne #alfred pennyworth #batcave #red hood #nightwing #red robin #robin #talia al ghul

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stellar-collective · 3 months ago

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have y’all ever seen that one post about Mistlefoe(TM)? it’s just mistletoe but instead of kissing whoever is under it you have to FIGHT them.

i think that mistlefoe is a time-honored Agency/Zoraxis tradition that stretches back so far that no one knows which of the two organizations came up with it first. over the years, it’s been honed down to a science: no weapons, one attack each, dodging and blocking is allowed. it’s still stupid dangerous but when has that EVER stopped them

most people have a signature attack that they do under the mistlefoe. here are a couple of my ideas, feel free to add on!!

Agent Phoenix - bit of a wildcard; default is a friendly slug to the shoulder since most agents don’t try to dodge their attack (highly subject to change since every Phoenix is so different)

Reginald - a well-telegraphed right hook that can be easily dodged. you’d better actually dodge it tho bc he hits HARD

Juniper - he’s slapping you. everyone knows that that’s what he’s going to do, and everyone thinks that they’re going to be the one who can block or dodge or otherwise avoid it, but you cannot prevent the John Juniper Movie Slap. it is inevitable. he’s slapped everyone at Zoraxis, and now he’s slapping everyone at the Agency. you cannot stop him

Roxana - she thinks that this game is stupid (true) but if absolutely forced to participate she’ll roll her eyes and punch you in the solar plexus and instantly knock the wind out you. most people don’t force her into it twice

Fabricator - she plays dirty, man. either she’s got a trap already set up (technically against the rules, but who’s going to call her out?) or she’s going for the shins with her high heels. you will die

Solaris - she’ll effortlessly block anything you throw at her, then flick your forehead. sounds weak but she’s got enough finger strength she can knock you off your feet like that

Hivemind - no bees allowed, so he’ll just pinch you really hard for a similar effect

Caliente - he’s the sort of man who respects the classics. you can expect any kind of straight-forward punch from him

Anna - when she first joined, she’d go for the ribs. by the end, though, whatever she threw was so easy to dodge it was sort of hard to tell what she was even going for

Ollie - he’s either booping your nose or laying you out flat with a punch even he didn’t know he was capable of, no inbetween

Zor - pray that you never find yourself under the mistlefoe with them. no one knows what they do because no one has ever survived it

did i miss your fave? do you have a funnier idea? lmk :]

#if anyone wants to use this in a christmas fic PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE DO and then tell me #i might myself… i have no idea what the actual plot would be tho #ieytd #i expect you to die #agent phoenix #john juniper #reginald crane #the handler #dr roxana prism #the fabricator #commander solaris #the hivemind #charlie caliente #anna ulanova #ollie ieytd #doctor zor

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sanjisboyfie · 1 year ago

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day in the life as a strawhat pirate

-> very messy, very cute, very fluffy.

-> i don't think any pronouns are used except for "you" but i had a male reader in mind when i was writing it...SHOUTOUT

you wake up - luffy's foot is in your mouth, but also at the same time, his other foot is wrapped around your legs??? he stretched in his sleep and has trapped you in some very odd body trap...it takes you yelling at him to even wake him up.

sanji is the first to wake up, usually, and when you get to the kitchen the breakfast is waiting for you. now you have to sleepily fight for your share of the food because luffy is hangry (his default mood when he wakes up is hangry because he hasn't eaten yet...since he just woke up...) and then also there are 9 other hands that are fiending for all the dishes on the table.

after surviving a war in the dining room, you hope to take some time to relax. but that doesn't exist on the thousand sunny since chopper and usopp are quick to get into their shenanigans. they call you over, wanting to show you a creation that the sniper made, only for you to get a pie of whip cream to the face. they called you over so that they could prank you and now were rolling on the deck laughing about it.

instead of skewering them alive, you decide to take the peaceful route in going to the bathroom to wash your face off. oh, but franky is already in the bathroom taking his morning shower.

you get a face full of cyborg and a very girlish scream escapes his mouth when he realizes that you are standing at the entrance, watching him sing into the shower bottles - naked and all. he then screams out for how he can get no privacy, but you're just too determined to clean your face of the whip cream that you don't really pay him any mind.

when you get out of the bathroom, now having peace in mind, there is a rabid sanji and zoro fighting each other. they're at each other's throats for whatver reason and when they catch you walking down the hallway, they involve you in their fight...for whatever reason.

they're asking you to take a side, who was right in their idiotic fight, but they're both shouting so loud and at the same time you can't even process what either of them are saying. you can only blanky stare back at them as their huffing and puffying to regain their breaths from their nonstop yelling.

and then their expressions go back to being angry, but not at each other - at you, for seemingly being too neutral and not staking a claim to one of their sides. it's all just their adrenaline ramped up to a thousand (even though it's barely been an hour since they've woken up) and now they're trying to make your reaction the same.

you can only sigh, shoving your palms into their faces, and making them clear a path for you to leave the hallway. this makes their bickering turn back to each other instead, their shouts echoing all over the thousand sunny.

just when you finally think, maybe robin or jinbe could offer you comfort in peace, no! brook and nami are actually fighting about something on deck. as you listen in you hear about how brook is the one stealing their undergarments at night - that's enough for you to step in and deal with the perverted skeleton. a punch to his skull is enough to knock some sense into him (nami laid out a couple of her own on his head before you arrived)

nami thanks you in a sigh of exasperation. she offers you a slice of the tnagerine she had peeled, which she gingerly feeds you when you accept. and her face mimics that of an angel, eyes closed as she smiles kindly at you...before she barks at brook to make up for his odd, perverted actions by playing her her favorite song.

and even though you do enjoy brook's violin playing, that is just not your definition of peace right now. maybe any other day, but just not right now.

so you go below deck and finally find your favorite people: robin and jinbe. you practically collapse on jinbe, murmuring about how tired you were despite the day just starting, and robin laughs at your fatigue. she begins to read aloud for the three of you whilst jinbe's hand comfortingly goes up and down your back. she looks at your figure, observing your peaceful expression, before fluidly going back to reading aloud the history book she picked up.

jinbe is laid out against the cushioned seats so really, he's acting as a big bed for you and you definitely do not pass up the chance to catch a quick cat nap. and hopefully this time when you wake up, your captain's foot won't be in your mouth <3

(tags are platonic - its just to reach the audiences)

#one piece imagines #one piece x reader #one piece x male reader #luffy x male reader #usopp x male reader #zoro x male reader #sanji x male reader #nami x male reader #franky x male reader m #brook x male reader #robin x male reader #jinbe x male reader #very cute fluffy #i wish we got more one piece fillers of what the crew just does on sunny when its floating through the sea #not at an island #because thats a different type of filler #on sunny theyre really left to nothing but their own devices #entertaining one another as best as they can so no one goes actually insane #UGHHH give us more filler like that i beg

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lovelybucky1 · 1 year ago

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Smile for the Camera

Kinktober Day 6- Pegging

warnings: AFAB!reader, pegging, sex tape, feminization kink, dom/sub dynamics, breeding kink in a roleplay setting, sex toys, mentions of exhibitionism, 18+ minors dni

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Being as big of a film buff as Neil is, he’s always wanted to make his own movies. He’s never been good at coming up with stories and he’s a terrible writer, so he never made it very far in that aspect. He has found that the unscripted, off the cuff types of movies are more his speed. Those movies just happen to be porn.

It didn’t take much convincing to get you on board with filming yourselves having sex. You trust Neil with your life, and you think it’d be fun to watch it back, seeing his face while you fucked him.

When you have sex, you’re pretty much always dominant. Weather it’s a dom/sub scene or just regular old sex, you call the shots and Neil listens to your directions. He’s a good boy like that.

Since he proposed the idea, you and Neil have made six film, all with varying scenes. Tonight's scene is something you have done together in private, but never on camera.

The camera is set up on a tripod at the foot of the bed while you and Neil face it. He is on his knees and elbows, back arched like a good boy as you hit it from the back.

You started off slow and built up the pace, just how he likes, and now you're fucking him roughly. Your hips slap against his ass, filling the room with clapping. With each thrust, Neil makes a punched-out little moan.

"Talk to me, baby. How's that feel?" you ask.

"So- fuck- so good," he says, voice high pitched with pleasure.

"This is how we should always fuck," you say as you grab his hips tightly. "You know I do it better."

"Fuck me so good," he moans.

Neil's cock bobs between his legs, useless and untouched as it dribbles precum onto the bedspread. While you can't see his face right now, you've fucked him enough to have a pretty good image of his pinched expression in your mind.

Neither of you are any good at acting, but you like to throw in some dirty talk to spice up the video- and because Neil loves it.

"You take my dick so fuckin' well, baby. Your little pussy is gripping me. You love my dick that much, huh? You don't wanna let it go?"

Instead of answering you, Neil can only whine. He reaches between his legs and grabs his dick to find that it's already wet with his arousal.

Your strap on is bigger than Neil's dick, a fact that is as humiliating to him as it is hot. You did have a smaller one that was comparable in size to Neil, but he complained that it wasn't enough. Your boyfriend is a little size queen, and now whenever you stuff him full of your cock, he's reminded of what he lacks.

You reach forward to twist your fingers in Neil's hair and pull his head off the mattress. You force him to look straight at the camera, showing off his undoubtedly fucked-out expression.

"Blow a kiss to the people at home, baby," you instruct. There isn't actually anyone at home; the two of you are the only ones who will ever watch this. The fantasy of an audience is enough to get Neil going, however.

"Maybe I'll hide this tape on the shelf at the video store. Bet the pervs in the porno section will never expect to see the store owner getting fucked in the ass by his girlfriend," you laugh.

You let Neil's head fall back on the mattress and you drag your nails down his spine, making his back arch. He's so sensitive to your touch, especially on his back and sides where he's ticklish.

You wrap your arm around his waist and drape yourself over his back to rut into him deeply. From the pitch of his moans alone you can tell that Neil is close. He jerks his cock roughly, but you don't care enough to chastise him for getting himself off. You want to see him cum on your cock.

"I'm gonna cum in you, baby. Want me to fill you up?"

"Yes, yes!" he whines.

"Yeah," you say into his ear. "Gonna knock you up. You're gonna be a mommy. You want that, Neil? You want my cum bad enough?"

He nods with his forehead pressed against the mattress. One day you’ll get a strap on that actually cums, but for now you’ll just have to play pretend.

“Cum in my dick, Neil. Make that pussy cream all over me.”

Like the good boy he does, he clenches around your length and jerks himself roughly to completion. He cums all over his fist and the bed with a strangled moan.

“Good fucking boy,” you whisper against his neck.

He falls limp onto the bed and you remain on his back while you both catch your breath. Neil’s breathing is shaky and erratic as he comes down from his high and for a moment you wonder if he needs his inhaler.

“Thank you,” he breathes out.

You press a kiss to his neck before slowly pulling out of him. You spread his cheeks to look at his hole and trace the rim with your finger.

“Can you turn around for me, baby? I want to show everyone your wrecked little pussy.”

Neil nods weakly and sits up on his knees to turn around. He bends back over and allows you to keep him spread. His hole winks, clenching around nothing.

“Is it messy?” he asks. He’s not even playing it up for the scene, he’s just that much of a slut.

“You’re ruined, honey.”

“Good,” he says.

With a smile and a gentle pat to his hip, you get off the bed and shut off the camera.

#neil lewis #neil lewis x reader #cillian murphy #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy x reader #neil lewis smut #watching the detectives #kinktober #kinktober 2023

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auroravictorium · 2 years ago

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would've, could've, should've (k.b.)

if i never blushed then they could've never whispered about this.

Summary: kaz blames himself for reader's kidnapping, and reader fights back as best she can.

Pairing(s): kaz x fem!reader (established relationship) Word Count: ~3.9k Warnings: heavy violence (kicking, punching, gun is mentioned but not used), mentions of blood, reader is repeatedly knocked out via ether Genre: angst + action

Author's Note: not as much kaz in this one, but fret not! he appears more in the next piece, which is already in the works and should be up in the next few days! i hope you all enjoy!

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(GIF from capinejghafa)

The leatherbound volume slammed against the creaky door of Kaz's office the moment Inej shut it behind her. Splinters rained down onto the floor, and he glared at the mess.

His gloves were tight against his knuckles, where he gripped his cane, and his chest heaved with fury. Raw anger coursed through him; for once, he could not feel the slime of a corpse against his skin. Instead, rage had set his flesh alight, burning away the feeling of death. The harbor was absent, recoiling in favor of the temper he fought hard to keep in check as much as he could in the Barrel.

Kaz reached for his jar of ink and threw it as hard as he could against the door. But the sight of ink and glass spraying across his office did little to ease his anger or the panic rising in his chest.

He hunched over his desk, his gloved palms pressing flat against the surface. His breathing was too fast, his shoulders trembling as his mind wandered. Pekka Rollins hired mercenaries to take you. They were taking you south. Who knows what they had planned? Who knows what resources they had at their disposal?

Who knows if a few hours ago would be the last time he ever saw you, and it was tinged by his inability to choke out how he felt? Before you left, you'd squeezed his hand and murmured three simple words.

I love you.

It was funny how three words from your lips made him feel like he wasn't Kaz Brekker, like he didn't regularly hurt people or steal or threaten violence against those who got too close to his business for comfort. With just three words, you made him feel like maybe some part of him could be Kaz Rietveld still.

And he didn't fucking say those words back, though his throat burned and his mouth opened and:

"No mourners," he said instead.

"No funerals," you responded, with no idea how much he wanted to tell you he loved you back. No clue of how the words sat on the tip of his tongue, tasting like the fruit his father pretended he didn't see Kaz and Jordie swiping from the harvest. Tasting like a part of him he thought had drowned, a part that you pulled to shore and put air back into.

He didn't fucking say it. He should've said it.

Kaz squeezed his eyes shut. He could hear you in his mind: Breathe. Think.

He couldn't think, and there wasn't enough oxygen in the room for his lungs. All he could think about was you, at the mercy of some mercenaries who probably didn't give a damn that he was Kaz Brekker and could gut them without blinking.

Kaz slammed his palms against his desk hard enough that his skin stung beneath his gloves. He grabbed his cane from where it fell and limped around his desk and past the mess of his office. His door trembled on its hinges as he ripped it open and stormed past; he moved over to the crumbling stairs and brought the blunt end of his cane down on a step he knew was particularly creaky.

The entire staircase rattled, and Kaz heard the quiet shuffling of feet as Inej, Jesper, Nina, Wylan, and even Matthias started coming up the stairs. They stopped on the landing when they saw Kaz, shadows cast across his face by a dim oil lamp in the corner and icy eyes darkened by anger, turned the color of the True Sea.

"Mercenaries, you said?" Kaz said quietly, gaze flickering to Inej. "Hired by Pekka Rollins."

Inej nodded, reigniting his fury. But not at her, nor at Jesper. Being angry with them had never crossed his mind, though he saw their haunted faces as they sized him up and tried to figure out how much he blamed them for Y/N's situation.

Kaz clenched his jaw and turned on his heel. "Meeting. Now." He stormed back toward his office and kicked the inky glass shards out of his way as he entered his office. They skidded across the floor, some disappearing beneath furniture, others twirling until their sharpest edges pointed upward.

The Crows piled into Kaz's office. Jesper leaned against the wall with Wylan, ducking his head and looking down at his hands. The hands that, just an hour ago, had shot at mercenaries in an attempt to protect his friend. The hands that failed him. Wylan slipped his hand into one of Jesper's and gave it a gentle squeeze.

Nina sat in the chair across from Kaz's, and Matthias stood within reach. His eyes tracked Kaz as he moved from his desk to the smudged window and back. For once, Matthias could guess what the demjin was thinking, could see it on his face. Kaz was angry, yes, but Matthias could read the terror written beneath from the grip on his cane to the ticking of his jaw.

He found himself sympathetic toward Kaz, and Matthias didn't often feel anything but mild vexation toward the man. As he glanced down at Nina, nervously tracing the shape of her thumbnail with her fingertips, he understood Kaz's fury; if someone took Nina, he would respond the same way. And Kaz would be the first person he'd call to get her back.

"Where do we start?" Inej said quietly, positioning herself at the window and glancing at the street below. She twirled one of her knives across her knuckles, unable to keep her hands still.

"Describe the mercenaries," Kaz finally said. He clenched his fist around the crow's head of his cane as he sat to take the pressure off his leg. It was difficult to sit down; he wanted to be on the streets, burning the city to ashes to find you. But he would be of no use to you if he didn't have a plan and his leg went out beneath him. Think, Brekker. "Then we make a plan, and we get Y/N back."

SIX HOURS LATER. NOON.

You awoke to the feeling of a carriage rattling along an uneven gravel road. The back of your head thumped against the carriage window, and your skull ached from the repeated impact against the blacked-out glass. Air seared against your nose and throat with every breath you took, and it was a struggle to open your eyes with the heaviness weighing them down.

Two of your captors sat across from you, their masks on and eyes on you. One held a stained rag and a brown bottle in one hand, and the other pressed a gun to your forehead. Out of instinct, your fingers twitched to disarm him, but you quickly found that your hands were tied behind your back with sailing rope, and your ankles were bound with the same material. The rope chafed against the skin of your wrists and ankles, and it took every ounce of your self-control to not show your fear or pain.

"Now, don't make any sudden moves," the man with the gun said calmly. His voice was thick with an accent. He clearly wasn't from Kerch; you guessed he was a sailor by training and a mercenary by choice, if the rope around your limbs was any evidence.

You sized him up and considered your immediate instinct to spit in his face. He wouldn't shoot you in close quarters and, if your suspicions were correct, wouldn't dare injure you without a particular gang leader's go-ahead. You didn't have many options, and anything seemed more appealing than sitting there with a gun against your temple.

A wad of spit went straight into his eye, and you swung your legs upward toward his head to jerk yourself into a sitting position. It lacked decorum and grace, but you didn't have much room to move. Unfortunately, your feet only struck the man's shoulder, making him hiss and lower his gun. He shoved your legs off him, and you teetered on the edge of the bench opposite your captors.

Son of a bitch, you thought. You would've said it aloud had it not been for the man with the bottle opening his cargo and dunking the liquid inside onto the rag in his hand. The sickly sweet smell from earlier struck your nostrils, and you immediately shut your mouth. Your lungs burned as you held your breath, but you refused to pass out again.

When I get my hands free, I'm gutting you and using you as fish bait. You wiggled around to cause as much mayhem as possible, hoping to distract from the jerking of your shoulders as you fought against your bindings. You brought your feet down on the bottle man's boots, making him grimace and nearly drop the toxin. "She's a fighter, ain't she?" he snarled. "Open her mouth."

The first man lurched toward you, dropping his gun into his lap and grabbing your face with his hands. You writhed, jerking your head to the side to free it as you locked your jaw shut as tight as possible. Your teeth ground together, and black spots danced around your vision from the beginnings of a lack of oxygen. You could either breathe in the toxin that knocked you out or pass out of your own volition; both choices led to you being no closer to escaping.

Save your energy. You didn't want to give in. You didn't want to see your friends' faces swimming in your mind, warped and twisted by whatever your captors were poisoning you with.

You had no choice.

You let the man think he had successfully pried your mouth open, and you bit down hard on the flesh between his thumb and forefinger. He roared, jerking his hand back and cursing in Ravkan. His blood filled your mouth, and you gagged on the bitter taste, spluttering to get it off your tongue. It dribbled down your face, onto your clothes.

"Touch me again, and you'll lose the hand," you hissed. You spat at the first man again, and red speckled across his face like grotesque freckles.

With a fierce glare at your captors, you inhaled deeply. The relief of your lungs expanding was quickly counteracted by the weight of the toxin pulling you down, and you collapsed back onto the seat of the carriage, your head colliding with a sickening crack against the door handle.

SIX HOURS LATER. DUSK.

The next time you opened your eyes, you were in a dark cell. The rope had been removed from your limbs, but the skin burned from chafing. A searing pain threatened to split your skull in half, and you could hardly turn your head to take in your surroundings.

As your eyes adjusted, you could see a single oil lamp in the corner, unlit and covered in dust. Beside that was a bucket filled with water; you could tell the water wasn't clean from the horrid smell wafting toward you, and you held back a gag. Gingerly, you sat up from the makeshift pallet of ragged blankets you'd been set on.

Bad idea. Immediately, the world swam before you, and a violent wave of nausea overtook you. You swallowed the bile rising in your throat and carefully laid back down to ease the throbbing discomfort in your skull. You pressed a hand to the back of your head, and it came away slick and red. Shit. How were you supposed to fight your way out of here if you couldn't even sit up without the world doing flips?

A metallic clang echoed down the hall, and you turned your head toward the sound. Pain shot down your neck and spine, and you could barely suppress your hiss of pain; your pain was forgotten as a pair of boots stomped into view. You lifted your gaze to find none other than bottle-guy, looking unhappy to have found you awake. He wore no mask this time, and you took the chance to scan his face and memorize every detail so you could describe him if you made a ran for it. Smeared with dirt and grime. Dirty hair of unknown color. He looked like just about every sailor you'd ever met.

He grimaced at you like you were the problem, and you glared back at him. "I was hopin' you'd die in your sleep," he said matter-of-factly. His eyes, dark as night, skimmed your form, and disgust crossed his face. "I can't figure out why we were hired to deal with ya."

"You don't seem to be the brightest bunch," you shot back. You pushed yourself onto your elbows and surveyed your captor with just as much distaste. With some satisfaction, you noted some of his buddy's blood had stained the hem of his trousers after you spat it. "You'll be lucky if Pekka Rollins doesn't have your head after you're done with me, just to cover his tracks."

Your captor barked a laugh. "I'd like to see him try, sweetheart." He drummed his knuckles against the metal bars of your cell, and his eyes roamed over you again. A predatory glint shone in them, and his hand dropped to the ring of keys on his belt. "Now, what makes you special enough that he's willing to hire us instead of doing the dirty work himself?"

He unlocked the door to your cell and stepped inside. You kicked yourself into a sitting position and shoved yourself back against the wall. The world did somersaults, and you fought hard to keep from collapsing again as the blood rushed from your head and black spots danced in your vision.

The man crouched before you and reached out as if he intended to stroke a finger down your cheek. You shoved his hand away and nearly lost your balance. "Don't touch me," you snarled.

He just laughed again. "Feisty, aren't you?" He reached out again, and you kicked your leg up as hard as possible between his legs. He grunted and dropped his hand, slumping to his knees.

Taking the opportunity, you pushed yourself forward enough to swing your fist toward his face. With terrible vertigo and the feeling like you were about to collapse into a useless heap, you were pleased when your hand collided with his nose with a satisfying crunch. Blood sprayed across your knuckles and down his face, and he reeled back with a shout of surprise.

"You bitch!" he growled, bringing his hand to his face and glowering at you over his fingers. He lurched forward like he might strike or strangle you, and you kicked out again with much less force than the first time. Your strength was waning, and he knew it. He caught your ankle and pushed your leg away with ease. But before he could get any closer, a hand grabbed the collar of his jacket and hauled him back.

"Now, Sergei, don't antagonize our guest," a new voice said. His voice was quiet and thick with a Fjerdan accent. You looked up while blinking away the blurriness in your gaze and found a third man who hadn't been in the carriage with you. Judging by the ease with which Sergei obeyed him, you knew he was in charge. He reeked of authority and pride.

"What, want the chance to do it yourself?" you snapped. Though he pulled Sergei away before he could bash your head into the wall, you didn't appreciate the man looking down at you like he'd done you a favor. You couldn't help but bristle as his eyes roamed your body, and you would've curled up to cover yourself if you could will your body to move. "I didn't think mercenaries went so low as to kick someone while they're down, especially when they intend to hand them over to someone else."

He wasn't as tolerant of your spite as Sergei was. Without releasing Sergei, he brought his foot down on your knee. The joint seared beneath his weight; your kneecap threatened to shatter, and the tendons nearly snapped as he pressed down until it almost bent in the wrong direction. You cried out, your head falling back against the stone wall. The impact agitated the gash on the back of your head, and you could feel blood soaking your scalp. It seeped down the back of your neck, and a soft groan of pain slipped past your lips.

"It might be wise for you to consider that we can do what we wish to you until Pekka Rollins arrives," he hissed. He dropped Sergei, who gingerly got to his feet with a smirk playing on his lips. If you could, you'd shoot them both to see if they would still be smirking. "I suggest keeping your mouth shut and your limbs to yourself."

A haze of pain clouded your vision, the adrenaline of inflicting some revenge on one of your captors dissipating. You forced yourself to nod, hoping he'd take his weight off your knee before your traitorous tears of agony could fall. You blinked them away, and a trembling sigh escaped you as the Fjerdan stepped back and off your knee. Immediately, you pressed a hand to the tender flesh and whimpered as a sharp ache shot up and down your leg.

Definitely bruised, and the kneecap might be broken. How the hell am I supposed to get out of here like this?

He left without another word, taking Sergei with him. As he passed, Sergei grinned through the bars at you, his teeth glimmering like a monster's, and offered a taunting wiggle of his fingers. You dropped your gaze to the ground and your outstretched legs before you, one swollen and the other scraped from who knows what.

You heard Sergei laugh as he moved down the hall after the Fjerdan leader, and the sound rang in your ears long after he was gone. Mocking, gleeful, haunting.

Tears slid down your cheeks without your permission, and you impatiently wiped them away. There's no time to cry. You thought of Jesper and Inej, who had definitely told Kaz about your disappearance by now. If you thought of them and how strong they were under pressure, maybe you wouldn't think about the searing pain in your body. If you thought of Matthias, damn near unbreakable, perhaps you could channel his strength. Nina, her bravery and wit, no matter the situation.

Your friends, your family, who had to be trying to find you.

Your thoughts drifted to Kaz. His scheming face. His smirk. His fingers laced with yours. The fierceness in his eyes. How he looked at you before you left, with glimmering eyes and hair falling into his face from running his fingers through it too many times. Kaz had looked at you like there were a million things he wanted to say, to do. A rare moment of softness that made your heart ache as you considered where you were now.

Somehow, you managed to slip into an uneasy sleep. You dreamt of men with masks and blood seeping from your mouth as you inhaled the sickly sweet toxin they kept giving you. Behind the masks, they laughed and laughed, even as you began to choke. It was impossible to break from the nightmare; something held you down, kept your eyes shut.

Finally waking was a mercy, though you should have feared whatever awaited you once you awoke. Blinking slowly and fighting against lingering fatigue, you noticed two bowls of thin broth had been shoved into your cell. The scent had long faded, and dust floated in a thin layer on top.

How long had it been since you were last awake?

You forced yourself into a sitting position, ignoring the aching of your muscles, and you investigated your injuries. Your knee was severely bruised and couldn't bear the weight of even your fingertips on the skin, and dried blood crusted your scalp and the back of your neck.

Eat, you thought. You needed to regain some of your strength if you stood a chance at surviving whatever Pekka Rollins had planned for when he arrived. Even better, perhaps you could escape before surviving him was necessary.

You dragged yourself across the stone floor toward the bowls of broth. It felt like your muscles hadn't been used in days, and your right knee dragged painfully against the ground as you crawled to the bars. When you made it, your breathing was ragged, and your face was coated with a thin layer of sweat. It was a struggle to focus on one of the bowls of broth as each throb of your head rattled your vision; you nearly knocked a bowl over but caught it with trembling, clumsy fingers.

What the fuck are they giving me? How have I been weakened so quickly?

You propped yourself up on one arm and used the other to lift a bowl to your lips. The broth felt like acid on your dry mouth, but you forced it down. It tasted like nothing, and you wondered if you would've been better off taking your chances with not eating it.

No. Eat.

You finished the bowl of broth and reached for the second. Already, some moisture had returned to your mouth. Your mind was less muddled, the fog in your brain cleared by the sensation of something other than the toxin passing your lips. Before you could start sipping the second bowl, you heard boots scraping down the hallway.

Your head snapped up, and you grabbed the two bowls, stacking them and then scrambling backward using your legs and free hand until your back hit the wall. Keep nothing behind me and my eyes ahead. The skin of your fingers whitened as your grip on the bowls grew tighter, and you waited for your visitor to arrive.

For a moment, you couldn't see who it was. A gas lamp shone brightly outside the bars, and you turned your head. Spots twirled in your vision, and you blinked them away. When you opened your eyes, you immediately wished you hadn't. Your second wish was that you had a gun. Your third was that the man before you hadn't been born in the first place.

Pekka Rollins stood outside your cell in a perfectly tailored suit, untouched by blood or dirt. In your state, covered in dirty and torn clothing, you could have felt like nothing more than a bug beneath his glare.

That was what he wanted, and you wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing you crumble.

Instead, you lifted your chin and the full bowl of broth. Feigning bringing it to your lips, you kept your eyes defiantly on him as you took one slow sip. Pekka Rollins just watched with a note of amusement in his eyes. He was too happy to see you before him like this.

His smugness was the match needed to light your anger, and you were all too happy to be ignited.

You launched the bowl across the cell and watched as watered-down broth soaked the front of his suit and slivers of porcelain sprayed into the hallway and onto the floor of your cell.

You only hoped you would get the chance to do worse.

TAGLIST: @tonberry-yoda, @b3kk3r-by-br3kk3r, @futurecorps3, @statsvitenskap, @sapphiccloud, @casualladyinternet, @d34drapunzel, @noctemys, @whitejxsmine, @so6, @franzelt, @ell0ra-br3kk3r, @marlene-the-witch, @thestudiouswanderer, @lyjen, @rideacowb0y, @weasleybuns, @dal-light, @mariatpwk, @dreammgc, @elysian-chaos, @breadbrobin, @poppyflower-22, @halfofagayallofaqueer, @battleraven, @amarokofficial, @tenaciousperfectionunknown, @poppyflower-22

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queenvhagar · 11 months ago

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At Driftmark, Jacaerys and Lucerys attack Aemond with a knife not out of a need for self-defense, like many will argue. Instead, Jacaerys draws the blade and Lucerys uses it to slash Aemond's eye out because of their desire for retribution for what Aemond said about them and their real father during the fight. It was wanting to hurt Aemond, not an immediate need to survive, that led to the blade being drawn and used on Aemond's face and eye specifically.

After claiming the world's largest living dragon, following years of being mocked for not being a dragonrider and continually risking his life to get a dragon, Aemond comes back to the castle pretty confident in himself. Before he gets to his room, a group of other four children, including two boys who made fun of him in the past, stop him. The girls physically attack him first, for having claimed Vhagar and for his confident, unbothered response to their words. After defending himself from these initial attacks, the boys join in. Even though he's a couple of years older than the other children, he is overcome by four people attacking him at once. At one point, he is pushed to the ground and relentlessly kicked and punched by all four children at once. Eventually managing to push the attackers back, Aemond finds and raises a rock, posturing that he will use it to defend against further attacks, and to hurt the boys back he mocks the boys for their true parentage and the recent death of their actual father, saying they would one day "die screaming in flames" like their father did (an objectively terrible thing to say, to be sure). However, once he realizes Lucerys doesn't know his true parentage, Aemond lowers the rock that he has held high.

It is at this point - rock lowered, bastard named - that Jacaerys pulls the blade that he brought with him. Despite Aemond lowering the rock and backing off, Jacaerys is angry, and he wants to hurt Aemond for what he said. In response to the drawn blade, Aemond knocks Lucerys back with his left hand and uses then uses the rock in his right hand to incapacitate Jacaerys and stop him from using the knife against him.

But Aemond is not dumb - in fact, in his first two episodes he has demonstrated that he has the most awareness of all the kids. Aemond shows that he understands the political advantage of Targaryens marrying sibling to sibling, the duty a prince has to serve the realm, and the importance of being a dragonrider as a Targaryen. He understood the potentially deadly, yet infinitely rewarding if successful, opportunity presented to him when he heard Vhagar, the dragon his grandfather claimed, calling out from the beach and nobody was there to stop him from going to her. Aemond has also doubtlessly heard his mother talk about their family's precarious political position, and he's observed the favoritism his father the king shows to his eldest daughter, the named heir to the throne. Aemond understands that there would be severe consequences for him (and potentially his family) if any serious harm were to come to any of Rhaenyra's own, so while he fights to incapacitate his attackers in the fight, Aemond knows that he cannot use the rock or any other weapon to seriously harm or disable Rhaenyra's sons even if he wanted to. So he uses the rock to knock down his armed assailant after a blade is drawn against him, and then he raises it a final time in question. Are they going to come at him again? If he were fighting to truly hurt, disfigure, or kill the boys out of anger or contempt at their parentage, Aemond could have pressed the attack immediately and used the rock against the boys. But at this point Aemond is only still fighting because the attacks keep coming at him. Instead, he stays where he is and raises the rock as a warning: come at me again and I will use this to fend you off. Having just become Vhagar's new rider, he already feels that he has won against the other children. He is unbeatable - there is no need for him to viciously attack the children while they're down to show that he has won the fight against them. He is older, he has a dragon, and he has withstood all of their attacks. At this moment, Aemond is waiting for their next move, whatever it may be.

If Rhaenyra's sons had yielded and stopped coming at Aemond at this point or any point before it, the fight would be done. Now, rock lowered, Aemond standing still, there is no immediate need for self-defense. Any further attack against Aemond could not be considered the boys defending themselves. But Jacaerys and Lucerys don't feel the need to defend their lives against a perceived imminent mortal threat. At this moment, they want to get back at Aemond. For claiming Vhagar. For hitting the girls back when they first came at him. For the blows Aemond landed back against them. And above all, for naming them as illegitimate and mocking their true father's death. They want to win this fight, and they want Aemond to hurt for what he said and did. That's the real reason Jacaerys draws the blade, and that's the real reason they do what they do next.

So it is then that the boys resume their attack, with Jacaerys throwing the sand at Aemond's eyes to disorient him and Lucerys grabbing the knife and slashing Aemond right across his eye. Not in the leg or the arm, which might have prevented him from fighting back again and ostensibly saved them from Aemond using a rock against them. No, Lucerys grabs the knife and slices up and across the entire side of Aemond's face, cutting his eye in the process. The goal of this attack is to maim and injure Aemond, not to save themselves from further harm by him.

And what is the fallout from this event? Aemond sees just how much danger his family is in when it comes to his father's preference for his eldest daughter and his eldest sister's willingness to defend her own at all costs. He sees his eldest sister, the heir to the throne, offer for him to be tortured so he would incriminate his own mother and have her punished for talking in private about the crimes that his elder sister has done and is doing. He sees his father the king turn on him and rage against Aemond, his mother, and his brother in front of the entire court about something everyone knows to be true but will not speak out loud. He sees that not only are his sister and her sons not the least bit regretful or apologetic for the serious harm and disability their own family member faces because of their actions, even years later, but also that absolutely no consequences will be felt by his attackers ever for their role in the confrontation because the truth of his eldest sister's crimes was mentioned by Aemond during the fight and that, in their eyes, justifies her sons deciding to use a knife to disfigure him in retribution. Because the king will support his eldest sister and her sons above all else, they can do whatever they want and get away with it, no matter who gets hurt in the process, because the king is weak and will not hold his daughter to any accountability for anything she or her children decide to do.

It's of course this pivotal moment all of the Greens but especially Aemond realize that his and his family's ultimate survival in the impending succession crisis is at the hands of people who could not care less about their well-being and safety. Little wonder that Aemond from this point trained to be the ultimate fighter. Who else would defend him and his family from something like this - or worse - that could happen in the future?

#aemond targaryen #team green #pro team green #anti team black #anti rhaenyra targaryen

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l-in-the-light · 6 months ago

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The most embarrassing series of posts about Lawlu you will ever read: edition Dressrosa (part 9)

The last Lawlu randezvous in Dressrosa, country of love, let's go!

Law did it! And Luffy is just standing there and watching. Kinda reflects their Amazon Lily dynamics, doesn't it? Back then it was Luffy making ruckus and Law just sitting there quietly and waiting for him to calm down. Wait, why do I call it a ruckus? It's a big moment for Law, it's his revenge! Well, I actually don't believe Doflamingo and I'm on Law's side here: he called it "wanting to fullfill Cora-san's wish", not taking revenge. Whatever this here was, was a mix of a rampage and desperation. Luffy's witnessing Law on his lowest. To be fair, Law deserved to give Doflamingo a payback. He freaking severed his arm.

I feel like Luffy just understands. Their support for each other so far was always rather quiet and from a distance, after all.

Luffy is saving Law again. It's second time already (or third even, since he stops Mingo twice here!). Law's spirit meanwhile just broke into tiny pieces, he has "nothing left in him" anymore, not even his unyielding will from mere moments ago. It even takes him a moment to realize Luffy stepped up to protect him here and it kinda shocks him (it really shouldn't by this point but oh well). This all feels extremely emotional and personal.

Also correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't it the Very First Time Luffy uses conqueror's haki like this? Like yeah, he can knock people unconscious but nothing else at this point. To even "coat" himself or "punch" someone with conqueror's he had to learn how to use Ryuo in Wano. But here? Here he does something special with his conqueror's that we never saw him do before that. And of course he was able to do it because he wanted to protect Law. Must be unconscious thing, just like I suspect he had a tiny moment of future sight in this arc. Both times for Law heh.

Getting out of the way so Luffy can go all out (anime suggests both him and Trebol got swept away by the gust, but for me it always looked like Law just rolled himself away). Just moment ago Law didn't even have the tiniest will in him, but now he has it again thanks to Luffy. Must have been a confusing feeling, perhaps despair mixed with gratitude, but bottom line is: it pushed him to keep going on.

Also Law already suspected Luffy has conqueror's haki despite never seeing him use it before. He says "yappari" here which translates to "as expected". He's very doting for Luffy, isn't he.

Time for reflection. Do you all remember Wano? Everyone called Kaido and Big Mom monsters who can't die. Everyone except Monkey D. Luffy. He said they're humans and if they're humans they can be beaten down and defeated. Here, we have Trebol's narration going on presenting to us Doflamingo as a literal demon. You really think Luffy buys this here and thinks Mingo is a demon or a monster? If he didn't think this way about emperors, there's no way he would think that about Mingo. But he doesn't deny because he thinks this matters a lot to Law and he's on Law's side here. But I guarantee you Luffy thinks this is bullshit and Mingo is just a human, as in: he wouldn't villainize him, he wouldn't deny him his humanity either. That's just not a Luffy thing to do.

Which leads us to this conclusion: Luffy is acting differently because he still is doing everything here for Law. Law called Mingo a devil just moments ago, Luffy is not gonna say anything to contradict that, no matter what he personally thinks on the matter. Luffy will always be on Law's side.

"Torao can't even move an inch!" Luffy's very protective and worried, tries to make Mingo focus on him instead, but all he can do is talk because Trebol caught him. Law meanwhile is indeed in a very bad spot.

Law: I will lose my face if I leave both of you to Mugiwara-ya. There's no way Trafalgar Law is gonna listen to Luffy saying "Torao can't move an inch and defend himself" (and not just once but twice!), he just had to prove him wrong, right? Petty bastard. Still, it was thanks to Luffy that fire and will to fight even ignited inside of him again here.

Luffy tries to free himself from Trebol and Law says a curious line (that guy's an empty marionette is how this line was translated in my native language), which is a hint for Luffy about Trebol's trick. Luffy doesn't get it though and realizes it only after Law takes care of Trebol himself (seems he doesn't even hold it against Luffy that he couldn't figure it out). Turns out Law doesn't even have to move an inch. All he needs is a finger.

Luffy is just so impressed beyond belief. Law managed to defeat an enemy while not even being able to get up. No wonder Luffy is always in awe about Law.

Sadly he couldn't make Trebol fall unconscious so the latter did his last deed to try to explode Law. Luffy reacted fast to rescue him (we can see him escaping the explosion just in time, Mingo as well). His concerned face when he looks at passed out Law hits right in the feels. He even remembered to grab Kikoku and Law's severed arm!

Also when did Law became "Lawland", because that's so hilarious to me for some reason. He didn't even meet the tontattas. Must be the result of some of Usopp's tales, I guess? Though it's noteworthy that Law was super close to meeting tontattas on Green Bit, I wonder how the plot would have developed if he did end up talking to them back then.

Curious wording from Luffy here. "Torao did his part to put pressure on Mingo". Not "he fought well", not "I will finish what he started". It's almost like Luffy is aware that Law was only there to stall Mingo, to buy time for Luffy to fight him. Hmmm. Also bonus miraculous intuition from Luffy here: telling Cavendish he counts on him. Because that will lead directly to Cavendish making sure Torao doesn't do anything stupid and will end up protecting him for a while. It's kinda thanks to Luffy again.

Standing in-between Mingo and Law again, with his body, words and resolution.

Here we go again, Luffy's motivation for this final stage of the fight. He's not gonna let Law's efforts go to waste. But he still doesn't admit that he does it only for Law, he claims "Mingo's cage is in his way". It's not entirely true.

And again, Luffy's withholding himself from stating his true reason of why he wants to beat up Mingo. "You made my friends cry, my crewmates mad! And you won't go down!" And yet none of those include Law who didn't cry or wasn't mad (he did have a rampage moment tho). Luffy's still holding himself back, because before he can do what he wants to do the most, he needs to "take it all on himself" and do stuff for Law first.

Law's biggest love confession. I mean, this is the moment when I finally thought "Damn, I was so wrong about Trafalgar Law, he cares so much it's overwhelming". We had him super cold all the time, and suddenly this emotional bomb drops. It hit me like a truck. I never doubted Law's caring heart from this moment ever again.

One important thing to note here. I think Law got inspired here by what Robin said earlier when defending Luffy, she said it's worth dying for Luffy's sake and that Luffy is always their trump card. This is Law's version of it. But he can't bring himself to say "die for him", probably for many reasons, but the most important one I believe to be this: both Law and Luffy had someone dear to them sacrifice their life so they can live. Law knows how's it's like to be the one left behind and he knows Luffy knows that feeling as well. He wouldn't want to force Luffy to go through that again, especially not now that he knows Luffy does think of him as his friend (he had his shocking realization about that when Luffy ran to rescue him from the Heart Throne). That's why "we either live or die together" is the only option he can give here. It's because they both understand the pain.

Law's words "I dragged him into this" hold a lot of weight as well. He was in that situation before, he believed Cora-san got beaten up by Vergo because of Law. He would do anything to avoid a similar situation happening ever again, and yet here he is, having to face it again. No wonder his reaction is so big and emotional that he even says to Cavendish "he's counting on him" to respect his choice. (thankfully Cavendish acted like a chad who said "no suicides on my watch" and stayed with him instead).

There's again an Ace parallel going on here. At Marineford Ace told Luffy to go away and mind his own business because he couldn't bear "dragging Luffy down with himself". Both Law and Ace had to face this situation turning out to be true. This time around, Law made sure to take the most consequences on himself to the very end, didn't he? I swear it feels almost like Ace is watching over those two.

Again, everyone's reactions to G4: "is that really Luffy??" "what is that bouncing ball??" "I heard he's a 25 feet tall monster!!"

Law's reaction to G4: "Oh great, he still had an ace up his sleeve (casual compliment). But he's using too much haki"

He can't just be impressed without also noticing *immediately* the biggest weakness of G4, right? Of course it's out of concern, but still, Law, come on... He's also one of the few if not The Only Person not weirded out (though my bet is Sabo also wouldn't be fazed heh).

Still, it shows how much attention Law pays to Luffy and his fights. He would know of so many ways to help him improve his techniques, wouldn't he? He just cares so much and I wish he just allowed himself to, you know, live a little, and do the things he probably yearns to do, like the thing I just mentioned: help him improve. Enough of keeping the artificial distance all the time!

They both notice the most important thing at the same time: birdcage is still up, the fight isn't over. Same mind, two bodies.

Luffy lost his G4 and people around him just run away, quite a sad sight. He's practically the only hope for them to survive but they instead ditch him in fear. Meanwhile Law is making another important decision, the fire to fight slowly burning back again. He's still not done with his "fight" in Dressrosa.

This happens in chapter titled "My Fight". But Law's not fighting anymore. Yeah, not against Doflamingo. But there's still one more fight he can't afford to lose. It's the fight to not let Luffy die. That's why he shambled himself all the way here, risking losing his arm for good (it's excessively bleeding again because of all the strain he put on himself just now!). Law saved a life back at Marineford, he's not gonna just lie down there and watch that life vanish again.

It's exactly because of this moment that I believe Law's always fighting to save lives ever since he lost Flevance and Cora-san. That's why him ready to give up on kids in Punk Hazard or on people of Dressrosa is huge, he was basically giving away something that mattered the most for him, just to keep Luffy safe. That's how much Luffy matters to him, which is More Than Anything Else, apparently.

Guarding him as Luffy is recovering. He positioned himself between Luffy and Mingo's position on the street below, he's literally protecting him with his body, just the same way Luffy did before when he dragged cuffed Law all over Dressrosa. They don't even have to communicate, one look, "go!" (said already after shambling him, mind you) and Luffy's back in the game. But Law still didn't finish doing his part, he's still keeping guard, shambling Rebecca and Viola out of the way and risking Mingo finding out his hiding spot. Doflamingo is still taunting him "watch me kill all your hope again by getting rid of Luffy".

Finally Luffy tells Mingo what he wanted to do for the whole arc. "You're suffocating me with your attempts at controlling everything and everyone!". Luffy's no longer fighting for Law, now he's finally doing it for himself (and he even has Law's support in this!). And he expressed it only before his very final punch. All the other ones? Those were all for Law.

It doesn't mean he didn't care about his crewmates wishes or Rebecca, but those flew all out of the window the moment Luffy almost believed for a moment Law is dead. Perhaps seeing Law there coming to his rescue really calmed down Luffy so he could actually think of something else. Dressrosa is indeed a country of passion and this fight was also full of it. Emotions constantly got in the way.

Law's still keeping guard, almost like he knows Luffy won't be able to get down from there on his own. The moment he notices him lose G4 he's ready to save him, despite the fact he's wheezing and his lungs are probably collapsing on him.

He saved Luffy, but look at what cost. Law himself is looking like not only his lungs but his heart are giving up on him there. Few moments later we can barely see him in the background, but he's lying there, most likely passed out just like Luffy. Also that extra huge room he did there to save Luffy from all the way up in the sky. How big was it? Was it as big as the one he did before to trick Mingo in the palace? Or even bigger? It was said it cut down on his lifespan significantly, but seems Law didn't cut down on his lifespan just once, but twice, and in Dressrosa alone. Again just to save Luffy's life.

Resting finally. They both freaking sleep in the same way with opened mouth. Law's also extremely injured and in bad shape, but it's Usopp together on the bed with Luffy, not Law. Maybe because of his touch trauma. But also maybe Law just didn't think he should be on that bed; we know that in Zou he will tell his crew that Mingo was defeated by Luffy, not giving any credit to himself. It might be the same here.

I wonder who patched them up. The only doctor around was Law himself...

I know this isn't Luffy-Law, this is Sabo-Luffy. but did any of you notice what Sabo is thanking Luffy for? "Staying alive" and "not leaving him alone for good". But that wasn't Luffy's achievement. That was actually literally thanks to Law, who dragged Luffy's dying unconscious body inside his submarine and operated on him for probably like hours, and then monitored his situation for a while. And the first thing Luffy did after waking up, having his life miraculously saved, was go on a self-punishing rampage. No, that feat Sabo is talking about, isn't thanks to Luffy.

Luffy could meet Sabo again, who told him not to blame himself. And I'm sure Luffy is aware how much of that is thanks to Law, he was the one who kept him alive, fullfilling Ace's wish.

Luffy stuffing himself silly and doing some stupid shanenigans. Law is just sitting a bit away from the table, but has a good view on him. I wonder what is he thinking about right now when witnessing Luffy acting all silly, heh. He for sure doesn't turn his eyes away even for a moment.

Also he's staying right next to the door, almost like he's guarding them all from danger, because he would be the first one to react and the closest to potential enemy arriving!

Both making the same decision: escape be damned, they have important business! And then they will make others wait for them heh. They're both as insufferable lol.

Rebecca "thank you!" Luffy "Shup up! I don't want to hear that!"

Yeah, I wonder why. Usually Luffy has no problem with hearing people thank him. Or at least wouldn't mind it, even if he doesn't care much about it. But telling Rebecca to shut up and not even letting her finish saying the thanks? I wonder why. Oh, maybe because he did not do it for Rebecca. He didn't beat up Mingo or save Dressrosa for her. Actually, he did it for someone else.

Meanwhile now making sure Rebecca's actual wish is fullfilled (staying with her father) is Luffy ultimately repaying his debt. And after she thanks him for it he just says "no problem". Completely different reaction all of sudden :)

Unexpected parallel that I will be surprised if any of you ever noticed. Remember how Luffy felt bad fighting against Fujitora because Fujitora can't see so he was shouting his moves outloud before making them? Yeah, turns out Law pulled off a Luffy long before Luffy himself did that. He called out to Fujitora that he's about to escape, lol.

And so we won't think it's just a coincidence, Law earlier confirmed to us that Fujitora's lack of eyesight/handicap was weighing actually on his mind heh. Law is smarter about that, but it's adorable they both acted basically in same way.

Let's talk about the grand fleet for a second. They all magically got along and decided to form a grand fleet dedicated to Strawhats. Their explanation for it is super vague, it's basically "so we stayed at the palace all together when recovering for two days and we got along". Like I bet you *anything* that's probably not what happened and there ain't no way they just blabbled together happily and conveniently arrived at this conclusion by themselves. We saw how they were, competing with each other and Luffy on who will beat Mingo. If they had the grand fleet idea it's only because someone planted it in their heads. Bartolomeo? If it was him he would brag about it. Cavendish? I highly doubt it since he's a narcisstic ego-maniac. Don Chinjao? Maybe, but last time he tried to voice his wish to give Luffy his fleet, he couldn't even said it outloud, too full of emotions. So my bet's here also on "no".

So here's my crazy take, run with it or leave it:

It was Law's initiative. He saw all those people feeling indebted to Luffy (he was forced to tag along, dragged all over Dressrosa after all). The only reason they ever did anything together was because of the said debt to Luffy and the heat of a crisis, but that never prevented them from fighting over it, even with Luffy himself. But if he approached them, for example through Bartolomeo (who constantly visited Kyros's hut where Strawhats and Law were hiding) and told him there is a way that they all can repay their debt and also that would fullfill Bartolomeo's own deepest wish (to be Luffy's subordinate), then now we're talking.

But why would Law do that? Because he also is grateful to Luffy, duh. He wanted to repay the favour and make up for dragging Luffy into his personal matters. Also do you remember what Cavendish told Law? "What you did here in Dressrosa is huge. Taking care of Doflamingo will put you two in the eye of the storm". Later Fujitora also says something similar: "Your life will be in peril from the Yonko now that you've eliminated Joker. Your future is hell!" which is exactly what was the main subject of Law's quarrel with Luffy in this arc: bringing Kaido's wrath on them. Obviously it was all still on Law's mind. And the consequences will go way beyond just Kaido. Ensuring that Luffy has a grand fleet (always ready to help) is the first step of Law's plan of keeping Luffy away from the said consequences. Law will be in the eye of the storm for sure, but he is already taking measures to make sure Luffy is not, pushing him away from the centre, giving him extra power and protection.

But if that's the case why didn't Oda just tells us, the readers, that this is the case? Well, it wouldn't be the first or last time Oda hides things from us. And I hope it will all have a payoff in the final arc!

Law's surprised and maybe even slightly disgusted impression here is so hilarious. He clearly expected Luffy to be thrilled, but surprise surprise, Luffy doesn't want subordinates. What Luffy wants is freedom. I'm sure Law will remember that from now on.

Law actually takes part in this feast. This is the first and the only feast so far he was part of (he didn't celebrate with others in Punk Hazard, Zou nor Wano. Wano's especially strange because it was the success of their alliance and yet Law decided not to celebrate, but he does here, hm. Dressrosa is so different somehow. Is it the passion?!). He's smiling and I bet you anything his eyes dart to Strawhat Luffy here.

And with that we mark the end of Dressrosa. Zou's next (as well as the trip to it), but we might take a fast post stop elsewhere before or after that :D still contemplating to include Wano's anime once we do reach Wano's arc in this series!

#one piece #trafalgar law #luffy #lawlu #lulaw #luffy x law #love is a hurricane #I agree Luffy and Law were basically equals in this battle #but it's also true Luffy didn't mind acting as backup and support for Law #Luffy doesn't mind anything as long as it's for Law and I hope Law will also understand this one day #Law was definitely buying time here for Luffy. those who read Law's novel know why Law was losing against Mingo #one piece meta

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