#outnumbered in a fight prompt

[gloomysoup]

a secret worth keeping

@steddiebingo prompt: sneaking around | rating: m | word count: 2319 | tags: secret relationship, rockstar eddie, hockey player steve, modern au | ao3

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“I can't believe I let you two drag me to a hockey game,” Eddie grumbled as they moved through the crowd to get to their seats. “It's too cold in here. And I have to watch sports! This is, like, the exact opposite of how I wanted to spend our off day.”

“Come on, Eddie! It'll be fun!” Gareth said, knocking his shoulder into Eddie’s.

“What about this is fun, Gareth?!” Eddie screeched, drawing a few stares from those around them. “It's hockey! It's cold, and it's sports, and you know I can't stand sports! I am already miserable. What makes you think I’m going to have fun?”

“Christ, Eddie, can't you just try to enjoy something someone else likes for once in your life?” Jeff grumbled with an eye roll. He sat in his seat, decked out in his favorite hockey jersey, which he always takes on the road with him. He claims it's for luck, but Eddie secretly thinks he just doesn't want to leave it at home with his slightly psychotic girlfriend. Eddie never did like her. He still doesn't understand why Jeff doesn't just break up with her, but he'd never say that out loud. He's had his own fair share of bad relationships that the guys graciously don't make fun of him for… anymore.

“It's not my fault you guys picked the one thing you know I can't stand,” Eddie shot back.

“Eddie, man, just shut the fuck up for once,” David snapped. “Hockey isn't really my thing either, but you don't hear me complaining.”

Eddie, clearly outnumbered by his so-called friends, huffed and flopped down into his seat at the end of the row. Curse Gareth and Jeff, and their stupid hockey team. Eddie slouched in his seat, arms crossed, as the teams came to the bench. Their manager, Chrissy, had scored them seats in the front row, right behind Gareth and Jeff’s team’s bench. It didn't take long for Eddie’s friends to be on their feet, cheering and yelling with the rest of the crowd.

Eddie couldn't possibly care less.

-

He loathed to admit it, but hockey was actually… kind of interesting? He had zero clue what was going on, like, at all, but there were some moments that he couldn't help but be intrigued. Particularly when the players landed some hard hits on each other.

What really got his attention, though, was the fight.

They were reaching the tail end of the second period. The game was tied, 3-3. Tension was high. A player from Gareth and Jeff’s team— he didn't catch the number— took a shot at the goal just as an opposing player slammed into him from the side. The guy went straight into the glass, and then he pushed the player back. He got a stick to the side for his troubles. Within seconds, they were shoving each other, sticks left forgotten on the ice. It wasn't long after that the refs broke it up, sending both players to their respective penalty boxes. Eddie watched in fascination as the player from Gareth and Jeff’s team pushed his way into the box, slamming his stick into the wall and ripping his helmet off.

It was like a Greek God was walking among them, playing hockey of all things. The man was gorgeous. Eddie watched in pure wonder as he rubbed a hand over his face, combed his fingers through his hair, and whacked the glass with his stick again. He could see the frustration, but he was too absorbed in his staring to care.

“Who is that?” Eddie asked, barely sparing a glance towards his friends as he continued to stare.

“Who’s who?” Gareth asked, tearing his eyes away from the game for the first time since the period started.

“That.” Eddie nodded toward the box, where the Greek God of a hockey player was shoving his helmet back over his head and talking to the guy standing in front of the door.

“The guy in our box? 23?”

“Yeah. Him. Who is he?”

“Steve Harrington. He's from Indiana too, actually. Second overall pick from Ohio State two years ago. He's good.”

“He's hot.”

Jeff whipped around to give Eddie an incredulous look. “Dude….”

“What? Can’t a guy appreciate a good-looking man?”

“And what about your doctrine, huh? Thought you had a thing against jocks? Or does that not apply to dating?”

Eddie shrugged. “Who said I had to date him?”

Gareth wrinkled his nose. “Gross, dude.”

Eddie’s eyes didn't leave 23 for the rest of the game.

-

This was stupid.

What the hell was he thinking.

Eddie laid in his bunk on the tour bus, staring at his phone screen, stuck in an endless loop of internal turmoil.

He hit the backspace button until the message was gone. His thumbs tapped across the screen. Delete again. Type again.

He set his phone down on his chest and blew out a long breath.

This was so fucking stupid.

He picked it back up and looked at the message again… only to realize he’d accidentally hit send.

Fuck.

Eddie sat up quickly, momentarily forgetting where he was, and whacked his head off the top of the bunk.

“Shit!”

His phone tumbled from his hand and clattered to the floor. A string of curses fell from his lips as he scrambled for his phone. The bus turned, sending his phone sliding across the bus and bumping into Jeff’s bunk down at the end of the row.

“No, no, no, I got it,” Eddie rushed as Jeff reached down to pick it up. Too late.

“What's got your panties in a twist?” Jeff asked as he picked it up. He started to hand it back to Eddie, but obviously caught a glimpse at the screen. He snatched it back before Eddie could grab it from his hand, looking intently at the screen and cackling. “Oh my god, you did not!"

“Shut up,” Eddie hissed, reaching for his phone. “Just give it back!”

Gareth poked his head out from his bunk, eyebrows furrowed and clearly still half asleep. “What's goin’ on?”

Eddie glared at Jeff. “Don't.” Jeff just grinned maliciously right back at him.

“Eddie slid into Harrington’s DMs.”

Gareth perked up, much more awake with the new information. “Oh, no, he didn't.”

“He did!” Eddie hid his face in his hands, already feeling his cheeks burn. “Wait, he's texting back!”

“Give it back, Jeff,” Eddie begged hopelessly, knowing it wasn't going to do him any good. Jeff held his phone out of reach, watching the screen for the message that was going to come through any minute.

“Dude, I can't believe you actually sent him a message,” Gareth commented with a laugh.

“And I can't believe it worked,” Jeff added. “He said, ‘Glad to see I have a fan’. With a winking emoji.”

“This is stupid,” Eddie huffed, snatching his phone from Jeff’s hand. “Y’all suck. I'm going to bed.”

Eddie thought that would be the end of it. He sent a stupid message, got a trained reply, and that was that. Oh boy, was he wrong.

He didn't tell a soul. It was their little secret. And honestly? Eddie thought it was kind of fun. Sneaking around, meeting in hotel rooms on the road, texting every day. It was thrilling. Eddie’s never had a secret that fun before. His friends still poked fun at him for the initial message from time to time, but Eddie always blew off further questioning with a simple, “It didn't work out.” But he would sneak off to meet with Steve every chance he got.

Eddie was playing a dangerous game.

With every secret meeting, with every text sent and night spent together, Eddie fell more and more in love with Steve Harrington. He'd probably be more upset about it if Steve hadn't made it so easy to fall. Steve Harrington also made Eddie take risks he wouldn't normally take. Like sneaking him into the hotel room that his bandmates also had a key for.

“I missed you,” Eddie murmured against Steve’s lips, fingers tangled in his still-damp hair. It was late. Steve had an evening practice and went straight to Eddie’s nearby hotel after. A hotel that Eddie specifically asked for, because he knew it was close to the rink.

“Missed you too,” Steve whispered back before kissing Eddie again, hard and deep. “It's almost playoff season. I'll be done soon, 'til next season. I can come see you more.”

Eddie loved how breathless Steve sounded. Loved that he was the reason.

Their clothes dropped to the floor piece by piece as they migrated to the bed, leaving a trail of wandering hands in their wake. Eddie pushed Steve back onto the bed, taking a moment to admire the way his hair fanned out beneath him and his skin glistened with a thin layer of sweat. He couldn't keep his mouth off of him for long, though. He trailed kisses across his torso, sucking a bruise here and there. He slipped his hand between them, toying with the button on Steve’s pants before finally popping it open and sliding the zipper down. Steve’s eyes were closed, eyelashes brushing across his cheeks, and he was already panting. Eddie watched as he pulled his arms up above his head, stretching his torso more. Eddie couldn't help it. He ran his hand up Steve’s abs, relishing in the shiver he received. His hand trailed back down, fingers scratching against the hair beneath his navel, dipping lower and lower and-

Click.

“Yo, Eddie!”

The door pushed open, and there were his bandmates.

“Oh my fucking god.”

Eddie’s head collapsed onto Steve’s stomach as he groaned. Of course this would happen now. Eddie couldn't even bring himself to look up, to face what was happening. He knew he would have to. He couldn't get out of this one. But now he's dragged Steve into it too. Perfect Steve, who has been so good to him and didn't deserve to be put in the middle of Eddie’s band’s bullshit.

“Eddie, what the actual fuck.” Jeff’s voice broke through after what felt like hours of silence.

Eddie took a deep breath and lifted his head, knowing it was time to face this head on. “Guys, Steve, Steve, the guys.”

“Eddie. Dude. You cannot be serious right now.”

“Yeah, man,” Gareth added. “You owe us an explanation.”

“I don't owe y'all shit,” Eddie muttered, still very much aware that he is still in a compromising position. “What I do in my free time is none of your business.”

Jeff crossed his arms and raised his brow. “Uh huh. Sure. So it was none of your business when you caught Gareth losing his virginity to that model? Or how about when David was on that ecstasy kick a while back?”

“Dude,” Gareth hissed, smacking Jeff in the shoulder. “Do you really have to spill our fucking secrets like that in front of Steve Harrington?”

“That's different,” Eddie argued.

“How is that any different than this, Eddie? Is it because this time it's you? You can butt into our business, but when we catch you with Steve Harrington, it's none of our business?”

Eddie grumbles, knowing deep down Jeff is right. This isn't any different than the other times. They've always shared everything with each other. His business is the band’s business, and vice versa. That's how they've always been. No secrets. Well, not until this. Not until Steve. Which… actually isn't much of a secret anymore.

“How long has this been going on?” Gareth asked. “Because, y'know, we asked. How long were you lying, Eddie?”

Eddie knew they were just joking. He knew they weren't taking it that seriously. But still. Did they have to take digs at him like that?

“It wasn't like that, dickbags,” Eddie snarked. “You're just too nosy. Can't have anything to myself.” Eddie couldn't help the small smirk that tugged at the corner of his lips.

Jeff rolled his eyes, but he was fighting a smile of his own. “Whatever, man. We still expect to hear about it later. Don't do anything stupid, because I am not giving up my hockey team for you.”

With that, the guys left, closing the door with a soft click behind them. Eddie groaned into the duvet. He only looked up when Steve started laughing; a little snort turning into a fit of giggles.

“I'm sorry,” Steve said through his giggles. “It's just- it was just- so funny. I'm sorry.”

Eddie shook his head, a smile on his face. “You, Steve Harrington, are absolutely ridiculous.”

“And you're not?” Steve challenged, still fighting through his giggles.

Eddie shook his head again and leaned up to kiss him. “They're never going to let me live this down.”

“Oh, baby, neither am I,” Steve whispered with a smile against Eddie’s lips.

Eddie leaned back a little to see Steve’s face. “That mean you're gonna stick around? Even after that whole debacle?”

“Well, I think I have to now.” Steve’s smile was soft, filling Eddie with a warmth he's not sure he's ever felt before. “Can't make it awkward for Jeff, can I? With the hockey team and all.”

Eddie chuckled before leaning in and kissing Steve again. The heat of the moment was gone, but that was okay. Eddie was content just to be there, in the moment. They spent their night trading lazy kisses and drawing patterns on their skin with their fingertips. In the morning, Eddie knew he’d have to face his friends. He'd have to explain everything, because Corroded Coffin didn't keep secrets from each other.

Oh well.

Sneaking around was fun while it lasted, sure, but now he gets to annoy the shit out of his friends talking about Steve whenever he wants. It was a win-win for him.

The guys were really about to regret dragging Eddie to that hockey game.

[ohisms]

✱˚｡⋆ ↪ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐁𝐘𝐄 . ( a collection of dialogue prompts from the film the hobbit : the battle of five armies . adjust phrasing as necessary . )

he hit it ! he hit the dragon .

his arrows cannot pierce its hide . i fear nothing will .

we cannot turn back .

[ name ] ! what are you doing ? you were supposed to leave !

i came to help !

who are you that would stand against me ?

now that is a pity . what will you do now ?

you are forsaken .

you cannot save him from the fire .

tell me , wretch , how now shall you challenge me ?

you have nothing left ... but your death .

[ name ] . look at me . you look at me .

you are not alone , [ name ] .

[ name ] , come on , we're leaving .

they are your people , they must go .

i know how i feel , i'm not afraid .

i don't know what that means .

keep it . as a promise .

that is where you are wrong .

i'll catch my death in this cold .

it's all right , darling .

i have said it many times , this is a man of noble stock .

i'm not the master of this town . where is he ?! where's the master ?!

enough ! look around you . have you not had your fill of death ?

winter is upon us . we must look to our own .

we must look to our own . to the sick and the helpless .

those who can stand , tend to the wounded .

we must salvage what we can .

i tried talking to him , he won't listen .

he doesn't sleep , he barely eats ... he's not been himself .

it's this place ... a sickness lies upon it .

behold the great treasure hoard of [ name ] .

no one rests until it is found .

take only what you need . we have a long march ahead .

we can take refuge inside the mountain .

what gold is in that mountain is cursed .

we will take only what is promised to us .

you saw something out there .

they bore a mark i have not seen in a long time .

[ name ] , it is your king's command .

i command my own heart .

spells will not save you .

i am not alone .

you should've stayed dead .

do you doubt the loyalty of anyone here ?

dragon sickness . i've seen it before .

it is a fierce and jealous love , [ name ] .

perhaps it is best it remains lost .

i'm going to plant it in my garden .

it's a poor prize to take back to [ location ] .

there's gold enough in that mountain for all .

get some fires going .

[ name ] , you take the night watch .

do not tell me what they have lost .

i know well enough their hardship .

they have much to be grateful for .

the children , the wounded and the women come first .

all quiet , nothing to report .

we did not look to see you here .

i heard you needed aid .

i came to reclaim something of mine .

i ask that you honor your pledge .

i will not treat with any man while an armed host lies beyond my front door .

be gone , ere our arrows fly !

this does not concern you .

we are , in fact , outnumbered .

we attack at dawn . are you with us ?

true friends are hard to come by .

i have been blind , but now i begin to see .

i have been betrayed .

[ name ] , the quest is fulfilled .

is this treasure truly worth more than your honor ?

this gold is ours , and ours alone . by my life , i will not part with a single coin .

i will not part with a single coin . not . one . piece of it .

you started this , [ name ] . you will forgive me if i finish it .

i'm not doing it for you .

i'm not afraid of [ name ] .

how came you by this heirloom ?

they are taking us for fools . this is a ruse . a filthy lie .

you would steal from me ?

i may be a burglar , but i'd like to think i'm an honest one .

you have no claim over me , you miserable rat .

i was going to give it to you .

you are changed , [ name ] .

do not speak to me of loyalty .

did you not hear me ? [ location ] is surrounded .

life is cheap . but treasures such as this cannot be counted in lives lost . it is worth all the blood we can spend .

you are lesser now than you have ever been .

i will not hide behind a wall of stone while others fight our battles for us !

it is not in my blood , [ name ] .

will you follow me ... one last time ?

what took you so long ?

this was their plan all along .

i think [ name ] has fled .

keep low and out of sight . if you see something , report back — do not engage , do you understand me ?

don't be ridiculous , you'll never make it .

they'll see you coming , and kill you .

they'll never see me .

i'm not asking you to allow it , [ name ] .

you will not turn away . not this time .

today , tomorrow , one year hence , a hundred years from now . what does it matter ? they are mortal .

there is no love in you .

what do you know of love ? nothing .

you think it is love ? are you ready to die for it ?

we'll live to fight another day .

you will die last .

don't move , don't move . lie still .

i wish to part from you in friendship .

you're not going anywhere , [ name ] , you're going to live .

you did what only a true friend would do . forgive me . i was too blind to see it .

i'm so sorry that i have led you into such peril .

i'm glad to have shared in each of your perils , [ name ] .

go back to your books , and your armchair . plant your trees , watch them grow .

if more people valued home above gold , this world would be a merrier place .

i cannot go back .

[ name ] ... your mother loved you . more than anyone . more than life .

they want to bury him .

if this is love , i do not want it . take it from me , please . why does it hurt so much ?

songs will be sung , tales will be told .

well , i think i'll slip away quietly — can you tell the others i said goodbye ?

you can tell them yourself .

if any of you are ever passing [ location ] , tea is at four . there's plenty of it , you are welcome at any time .

it's here i must leave you .

i quite liked having a wizard around .

don't take me for a fool .

i've kept my eye on you ever since .

i'm not dead . presumed or otherwise .

[irisintheafterglow]

hello!!! i saw your that your requests were open so i was wondering if you were able to write a hurt/comfort zoro x reader story about how the reader gets injured from a fight, but they don’t wanna be a burden so they hide it until they collapse on deck :)))

tell me that we’ll be just fine (opla!zoro x you)

wc: 1.74k

cw/tags: hurt/comfort with happy sappy ending, swearing, canon-typical violence, descriptions of blood and injury, mentions of drinking and alcohol, zoro just loves you and you worry the shit out of him

note: yassss i love hurt/comfort injury prompts (it's the innate desire to just be carried and be vulnerable and have someone care in my weakest hour and and and and) hope you like this, thank you for your request !!

likes, reblogs, and replies are always appreciated <3

“Guys, I am about to get so wasted.”

“We still have that good shit from Baratie, yeah?”

“Hiding in the back of the cellar, baby!” A loud smack rings out into the harbor as Usopp and Sanji’s hands clap together, deliriously excited after winning a scrimmage with a rival crew. Their proud vocalizations are added to by their captain and devolve into giddy skipping down the remainder of the dock as you make your way back to the ship. Zoro walks just ahead of you, glancing back every so often like he was worried you would collapse. You were planning to, but not now. Just get to the ship. Get to the ship and we’ll be fine.

“I vote Zoro for vomit duty tomorrow morning,” Nami mutters next to you, nudging your arm with her elbow. It’s a light touch but it feels like the world tilts sharply and you pray she can’t see the panic in your eyes when you try to remain upright. Despite her best efforts to remain mature and indifferent, her eyes were sparkling with self-assurance that you only saw from her when she felt a mission went well. She carries the folder of coveted Marine intelligence under one arm, her other hand holds up a bag of goodies you’d snatched from the base that would make good money down the line. “Plus, it gives us some time to take our share of this stuff. Nice finds, by the way. I’m impressed.” 

“Thanks. I learned from the best,” you reply, relief flooding you when she turns back to watch her idiot crewmates and not further inspect the limp in your step. Zoro’s eyes meet yours over his shoulder and you give him a strained smile, well aware that you probably looked like you’d crawled out of hell. When he turns away again, you exhale with great difficulty, fighting off another wave of nausea that threatens to send you stumbling into the water. It’s just a flesh wound, you figure. No need to halt their celebration just because you got a silly cut. “What’s your first pick out of the bag?”

“There’s a pretty little jeweled chalice I was looking at,” she says casually. The waning afternoon sun makes her hair look like a fire, bright and warm. “We could scrape off the rubies and pawn them at the next island.”

“Or, you could drink water from it and look like a pompous asshole.” Just keep it casual. Be normal. The pulse in your ears becomes slightly faster when you notice the foggy spots in your vision. “Freeze some of the diamonds from that candlestick and use them as ice cubes.”

“Very true,” she laughs and you force out a chuckle to mirror her, wincing at the aching pain in your side. Her eyebrows furrow and her mouth falls into a frown. Your attempts to seem fine were starting to fall through. “Hey, are you okay? You’ve been walking a little slower than usual.” 

“I’m fine, I promise. I just got punched in the gut a little harder than I anticipated,” you lie straight through your teeth, well aware that it wasn’t just a fist that had you losing enough blood to fill the galley sink. To be fair, the guy’s second blade appeared out of nowhere. You were outnumbered five to one but still held your own; only when there was a single fighter left did he resort to cutthroat tricks. One minute, you’re parrying with ease; the next, a small dagger pops out from the fighter’s left sleeve, cutting a deep wound into your side before you can block it with the saber in your right hand. It was a dirty move and you mentally kicked yourself for not anticipating foul play much sooner. To make matters worse, you were only able to staunch the blood so much before Zoro found you in the courtyard. Though you sufficiently covered your injury, he was still eyeing you like he knew that something was off. Like clockwork, every minute he was checking on you. It was wordless, but you still knew he was inspecting you, waiting for you to reveal that something happened and that you needed help.

That moment came the instant your boots met the wood of the deck. 

In seconds, your vision violently careens to the right and you’re conscious just enough to expect the thud of your head against the floor. But, the crash never comes. When you fall, your mind registers another body that you fall into, strong and stable. One arm slips effortlessly under your exhausted legs, lifting you from the ground while the other supports your upper back. Your eyes blur the image of your panicked crew like an oil painting, smearing it every which way until the colors are bleeding together more uncontrollably than the blood dripping from your side. Everything sounds like you’re drowning, rising above the water for a moment only to be pulled back down into murky disorientation. 

“Idiot,” a low voice says. It’s wrought with worry, even though you can tell they’re trying not to hide it. It’s clear enough that you know it’s coming from whoever is holding you. “Why the hell did you wait?” You’re barely able to distinguish far-off shouting from Sanji, ordering Luffy and Usopp to grab his knives. But, if all three of them were over there and Nami was throwing open cabinets looking for the med kit, that means the person holding you was… “Fuck. I knew something was wrong.” You have half the mind to articulate a weak response, but it comes out as nothing more than a groan when you’re placed onto what feels like the galley counter. The pounding in your forehead starts to become airy, like when you’re walking down the sidewalk after a night of drinking until you were on the verge of passing out. Zoro doesn’t let you go, though. His calloused fingers gently brush the dirt from your face, quietly pleading for you to stay with me, stay with me, stay with me. “You’re okay. We’re okay. Just stay with me.” 

“They’re losing a lot of blood and I can’t find the damn med kit.” 

“Where’s everyone else?”

“Above deck, having a collective panic attack.” Nami’s voice sounds like it’s coming from miles away. 

“Figures.” Zoro’s, on the other hand, is the only thing keeping you rooted and stopping you from drifting off. It’s sharp and strained, nothing like you’d ever heard from him before. Sanji’s lanky steps enter the kitchen and you hear the zip of his knife bag somewhere close to your ear.

“This is bad; I need to stop that bleeding or they might–” Zoro’s grip on your hand is tight, physically holding you down to reality. Whether you laced your fingers in his or the other way around, you didn’t remember.

“Well, let’s fucking do something about it then, waiter,” is the last thing you hear before darkness wipes your vision. 

Your eyes blink open after what feels like seconds, but the starry sky outside the window tells you it had been hours. It takes a moment for the details to come back to you, as does the soreness where they must have patched up your wound. The hard stone of the counter has been replaced by your bed and the comforting sway of the ship tells you Luffy ordered the ship to depart. It’s healing, in a way, the rocking back and forth motion of the ship that reminds you how close you were to slipping away. After a minute, you muster up enough energy to look at the rest of your room and you can’t help smiling when you see Zoro sitting at your bedside, tensely sleeping with the Wado Ichimonji laid across his lap. His eyes fly open when you whisper his name, delicately setting his blade on the floor before crouching at your side. 

“You’re okay,” he breathes and it sounds more like a reassurance for himself than for you.

“I’m okay,” you confirm just as softly, threading your fingers between his and squeezing lightly. He squeezes back, looking at you like you painted the constellations outside your window. “How long have you been here?”

“Since Sanji and Nami fixed you up, about six hours ago.”

“You’ve been sitting there for six hours?”

“I would have sat longer. I’d wait for you, no matter how long you slept,” he says and it sounds like a vow. “You scared the shit out of me, you know that?”

“Sorry,” you apologize weakly, giving him as much of a shy smile as you could. He rolls his eyes in exasperation but can’t help the corner of his mouth quirking too. “I didn’t want to bother you all while you were celebrating.”

“You really think I’m going to give alcohol priority over you?”

“Depends on the alcohol,” you point out and he shakes his head at your teasing. Your hand fits in his like a puzzle piece and you’re struck by the overwhelming feeling of safety you have whenever Zoro’s around. “But, really. I’m sorry for worrying you.” 

His eyes darted to the side like you’d said something that embarrassed him. The only thing he could think to do in that moment was bring your hand to his lips and press the lightest kiss to it. A promise that he’d always take care of you. He never was the best with words, you realized in your friendship-borderline-relationship with him. The things you said tended to short-circuit his brain and it was fascinating to watch him try and think of a coherent response. In times like these, however, when he’s simply unable to find the words for how much he feels for you, his actions are infinitely louder. 

“You should go back to sleep. I’ll still be here when you wake up. Do you need anything before you rest? Water or blankets or something?”

“No, just you. If you got in here with me, I wouldn’t mind,” you suggest nonchalantly and you giggle when his face becomes pinker. He obliges, though, slipping into the covers with you and carefully pulling you into him until you’re pressed against his chest like your own personal heater. His breathing is slow and steady, but you swear you can hear his heartbeat racing. “You’re the only one I’ll ever need, I think.”

“Feeling’s mutual, sweetheart. Just don’t do stupid shit like get stabbed again.”

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

[leviathanleva]

Father

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Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Fem Reader

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Request:

This is kind of a weird req and I want to write something for it eventually but-

Fem! Reader who was frozen but eventually escapes and falls for the Ghoul and they fuck a couple times and for some reason she has symptoms of pregnancy and they're like what the fuck but it just turns out that she was pregnant before she was frozen and the Ghoul's reactions and whatever. Angst or fluff I don't really mind :)

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[3.2k words]

[MDNI, Angst, Smut, Fluff]

[ I don't usually do requests, but I wanted to help out a friend who believed they wouldn't be able to do justice to this prompt. It's sloppy, not perfect, but time is limited and I have other projects that need my attention so I hope this suffices. ]

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Freedom.

Freedom was sweet.

Freedom was bitter.

Since the moment you’d awoken in that Gods-forsaken cryo pod in that wasting away vault you’d known there was no other path except the path of freedom. Stepping over mummified corpses, fellow vault dwellers you presumed, you’d lead wobbly legs and a pounding heart to the entrance of the vault. It felt like yesterday you’d first set foot in there. In reality, you had no idea how many years had passed, but from the looks of the rusting walls and thick blanket of dust, it had been a while.

You took what you could, stuffing a stray children’s backpack you’d found along your scavenging mission, anything and everything that would be necessary for a journey into a land you used to call home. A small pocket knife was the best you could get and it wasn’t the perfect self-defense tool, but with no other choice there wasn’t much you could do but stuff it in the pocket of your suit and hope for a miracle if you ran into trouble.

And trouble you found.

Since your first step into the bone-dry, scalding hot, merciless wasteland, you’d found trouble in the shape of a deranged group of people hammering at the vault door with makeshift weapons. You might have been able to fight off one of them, you doubted given how dizzy and out-of-touch with reality you were, but there was a slim chance. Three of them though, all large burly men with enough scars to put a military general to shame? No, that was impossible. You ended up a writhing mess on the ground, face pushed into the cracked soil and screaming and kicking as you were being taunted and tied up like a good catch after a successful hunt. Trafficking, cannibalism, organ harvesting, death. A slew of words so vile they made your stomach churn and your eyes bulge out of your skull because who in their right mind said such things to an outnumbered, weak woman who pleaded in a broken voice and had tears staining her cheeks?

Then he appeared, your guardian angel.

A man so grotesque on the outside, so vicious and bitter and terrifying, and yet he was the one who shot your captors down. He was the one who cut your wrists and ankles free and helped you sit up as you heaved and choked and sobbed. He was the one who checked you over despite the visible revulsion on his gaunt face at the sight of your vault suit. He’d dragged you to your feet, forced some sense into you, given you a stern reality check of the world he came from and never really shooed you away when you’d started following him around like a lost pup.

You loved him since that day.

And maybe it wasn’t the good kind of love because he’d used you as a distraction for his enemies more than once and never shared his water with you even if you were on the brink of passing out from dehydration. But he also let you sit close to the fire at night, told you stories of his bounty hunts, taught you how to handle a gun and always kept you in his sights lest someone thought you were up for grabs. He was a cruel man, but he was also a kind man.

You never overstepped. Always following his every order, whether it was to hide, to strip bleeding men of their valuables, or to get him another drink when his feet were kicked high and he couldn’t be bothered to do so himself. Always pliant, always willing, no questions asked because you wanted to live despite the hellhole reality you were thrust in. Maybe that’s why he grew fond of you over time, you didn’t rebel against him and took what he gave you with a whisper of gratitude. A good dog, that’s how he saw you. He slowly softened for you, split your rations evenly when you sat down to eat, thrust the canteen in your hands when he noticed your lips were dry, and smushed his hat over your head when the sun was too awful and you were too delicate to withstand it.

Cooper Howard, that was his name, a man made ghoul by the sheer toxicity of the surface, a man who gave you enough scraps to keep your love for him flourishing but never progressed things beyond a one-sided infatuation.

That is until he was left struggling on the floor of an old abandoned farmhouse, a feral ghoul looming above him and pinning him in place and snapping its jaws at him as foul-smelling, viscous drool dribbled down its chin. His hunting knife was gripped tightly, but between keeping himself from being bitten to shreds and holding one of the ghoul’s hands at bay before it could sink into his side and tear at his gut, he was stuck.

When the shot rang out and the ghoul slumped against him lifelessly, he saw you. Holding his gun as you shook violently, about ready to piss yourself because you’d never killed anything remotely resembling a human in your life, eyes wide and lips trembling and knees buckling. Smoke leisurely rose from the tip of the barrel and as he pushed the corpse off himself you sunk to your arse and burst into a fit of haggard breaths and disturbed whines.

You didn’t resist when he picked you up with alien tenderness, didn’t protest when he stuffed you in an old rickety couch and crushed you beneath his weight with a handful of sweet praises. You didn’t pull away in disgust when his tongue pushed past your lips in search of your own, twirling, dancing, letting words spill without ever being spoken. He wasn’t gentle, since the moment you heard his belt unbuckling he was all pawing hands and chopped curses, fiddling with your clothes until his need became too much to bear and he simply ripped them off. He threw a weak promise to get you new ones, but you couldn't care less at that moment. High-pitched mewls and desperate grunts bounced off the walls as he took you on that couch, rutting into you like a man possessed and gripping onto you so firmly as if you’d come to your senses any moment now and run away from him.

A radstorm raged outside, clashing against the boarded-up windows as the pitter-patter of acid rain poured against the tin roof. You never even noticed, too drunk on the sloppy sounds coming from the slick mess of your conjoined bodies, on the verge of a climax so raw it would surely knock you out. Blunt fingernails sank in your supple thighs, scarred hips slammed into yours as he fucked you dumb into the couch. His mouth never left yours, whether it was to keep himself quiet in case too many loving words escaped or because he craved your taste like a rabid dog did blood, you didn’t know. When your ankles locked around his waist he snarled, whatever self-control he’d managed to scrape by completely dissipating as he drove himself deeper. The tip of his cock snapped against the barrier of your squishy cervix so deliciously and you screamed his name in desperation and he couldn’t fucking take it anymore. He released one of your hips to slide a hand between your bodies and drag his rough thumb over your swollen clit. Your back arched, eyes rolled back and mouth agape as you bombarded him with barely coherent sentences that he didn’t deserve. He clutched at your hair when you clamped down on him, milking him for everything he had while he rocked out his release with face stuffed in the crook of your neck.

Something in him changed after that night.

It might have been the unfathomably long time without a caring touch or him finally succumbing to the little voices in his head telling him what he held for you wasn’t simply fondness. He took you every chance he got. In a guest house, against the wall of a bar after one too many drinks, bent over on a chewed-up fence after scavenging another farmhouse. He was relentless and you loved that about him. You loved everything about him. Always needy and ready and he couldn’t ask for more because this was the closest he could get to expressing himself when it came to you.

Life was good.

Everything was perfect.

Until it wasn’t.

You wince as the needle prickles your skin before retracting back in the Pip-boy. The green screen whirls, loading up and analyzing your blood sample for a full body scan. You give the damn thing a few smacks when it freezes and stutters.

Now really wasn’t the time for technical difficulties.

“You okay?”

Apparently, no matter how hard you had tried to hide your bubbling panic, it was still evident enough for Cooper to notice. He’s looking at you with a hint of suspicion, attention averted from the steaming can of cram he’d been stuffing in his mouth.

“I’m good, no worries.” you muster up a weary smile and instinctively tuck the Pip-boy closer to your stomach.

When the Vault Boy pops up on the screen with all the information available regarding your condition, you tense up. Your fingers hesitate to turn the cog to the main body scan as doubts and confusion and raw, untamable fear chew at your sensitive stomach and tug you slowly towards the gates of insanity.

“Don’t look okay to me.” Cooper straightens from his slouched-over position over the measly fire and sets aside his food before clasping a hand over one of his thighs. “Was wrong? Was I too rough again?” there’s a teasing scowl brightening his usually stoic expression, he scoffs and shakes his head. “I told you t’ smack my shoulder when I get too loose, woman. You never listen.”

You want to cry and laugh, but you do neither.

“That’s not it, Cooper.”

“Then speak for fuck’s sake!” he grumbles and gestures to you with slight agitation.

You pay him no mind, having delved too deep in the premises of your mind on what you were supposed to do if you read that single life-changing word on the scan. With a huff and a mental pat on your back, you turned the cog and opened the main body scan.

“Pregnant.”

It made sense. It explained the morning sickness that you hid, being forced out of your sleep while Cooper snored lightly next to you, and carefully pulling away before rushing to a safe spot where you could empty your stomach without being seen. You never told him, just jammed RadAway after RadAway, hoping it was poisoning or maybe some sort of flu. When the cravings came, you started second-guessing. You never gave into them, throwing caps left and right for a slice of some nearly impossible-to-get delicacy was unthinkable, you had to survive and there was no room for luxury.

You failed to spot the rugged ghoul as he left his seat and crept closer, spurred by your awkward demeanor, until he was kneeling right next to you and silently sharing the sight of the green graph.

“What in the hell…”

You recoiled at his words, at his realization, and tried to cover the Pip-boy with your hand and hide the thunderous revelation of your condition.

He was having none of it.

He smacked your hand away and gripped your forearm so tight you shuddered, bringing it closer to his eyes as his face contorted.

“What the fuck does this mean?” he spits and looks at you with something vile in those whiskey-colored eyes you loved so much.

“I don’t – ” you swallow thickly, crumbling under his gaze and snuffing out the need to rip away from him and run. You meet his stare for a split second before turning away. “ – I haven’t…Not with anyone except you.”

Lightning strikes into his core and he pulls away like bitten by a snake.

“The hell you mean you haven’t fucked anyone ‘cept me?” he stands, intimidating and cold, berating you with just his visage and nothing more. “How the fuck did you get pregnant then?”

“I’ve been with you since the day I left the vault, you know this.” you reach out for him, desperate for some sort of comfort, desperate for him to calm down because you couldn’t mentally take on both him and the news. “Cooper, please.”

He shoots you down with a snarl and a spine-chilling glare.

“Don’t fucken’ touch me.”

He’s pacing, trotting around like a cornered animal, the spurs on his boots clinking, a sickening cacophony that roots you in place and keeps your mouth shut. You don’t know what to say, you’re not a liar, yet you wish this was some twisted joke and you could laugh it off and confirm it wasn’t real.

A hand is rubbing vigorously at his chin as he tries to think, but there’s nothing in his head except that one single word that means so much and makes absolutely no sense.

He knew you weren’t lying, he’d always kept you within arm’s length, there was no way for you to even sneak past him without being noticed.

It still hurt though, the image of you leaving because he was a rotten man who’d struck gold by finding you. He was no good for you, never would be, and it tore him to shreds because he knew all of this and still he kept you by his side and cocked his gun at anyone who tried to step too close.

Why wouldn’t you bed another man when he looked like a walking corpse and acted even worse? Why wouldn’t you ditch him to be with a nice bartender or a good-mannered farmboy who would treat you like a lady should be treated?

Why wouldn’t you cheat him out of the only happiness he had?

“Is not fucking possible, Sweetheart.” he finally speaks, faltering at your audible sobs. The idea of you slipping past his fingers to sleep with someone else is pushed to the side by the absolutely pathetic sight of you curled up on the floor and crying.

Ghouls were sterile, all of them, 100%, there was no way for him to knock you up even if he wanted to. But the Pip-boy said otherwise and now he was left questioning the very foundation of his existence.

“I know that.” you sputter through choppy hiccups. “But you’re the only man I’ve been with...It doesn’t make fucking sense.” you clutch at your sides, waterfalls streaming down your cheeks and pooling under your chin, eyes distant and jittery. “What if it’s deformed because of the radiation? Or if it’s not even alive? Or – What am I supposed to do…”

His body moves despite his protests.

He kneels in front of you, encasing you between his thighs, his fingers twitching and rising as he drowns in the long-forgotten feeling of being presented with such news. His hands are shaking and he rests them over your shoulders and pretends he can’t feel his pulse rampaging in his throat.

“What do you wanna do?”

It’s such a simple question, but coming from him under such a premise makes your head spin and your heart stop.

“I – ” you press your forehead against the center of his collarbones, arms protectively curling over your belly because despite not showing there was someone in there. Someone precious. “ – I don’t know…I’d like to – I don’t know.”

You stop and start, cutting off words that you weren’t ready to tell him yet and he wasn’t ready to hear either. But life didn’t care if you were ready or not, things happened, consent or not, and now you were both stuck in a mess you’d unwittingly made all by yourselves. There was always the easy route – find a settlement, get to the doc, have it removed, done deal, easy peasy.

But did you really want that?

It wasn’t just your kid, it was his too and him not saying a word, not even mentioning discarding it made things so much harder.

No, he gave you a choice, he put everything in your hands and he was holding you while you fought a silent battle that would dictate the entirety of your future.

“I think – ”

“ – I ain’t goin’ fucken’ nowhere.” he slices through your hesitation like butter, body rigid and jaw clenched because for once he was trying to be a man and not a monster.

Maybe even a father.

You shatter in his arms like glass and he presses one of his palms against the back of your head while the other circles your waist and brings you closer.

“You’d stay?” you ask with such horror and disbelief that it clutches at his chest and he struggles to breathe. You’re no coward, despite how heavy the air feels, you look up at him and you’re so vulnerable and angelic that he forgets every setback that would come his way. “If I kept it…you’d stay?”

He can’t answer, the words refuse to form, but he holds your gaze with calm stability, a good masquerade to hide a mind that was racing and a heart that was pounding so heavily he felt his entire body pulsing. Instead, he leaned in and pressed his chapped lips against your forehead in a voiceless promise.

You suck in a breath like it’s your first and cling to the collar of his coat, disappearing in his form, hiding from the world that was so cruel yet gifted you with something so precious.

The Pip-boy is still lit and waiting, the scan bright and piercing. You skim over it absentmindedly, a simple curious flick, then look again and squint your eyes at the tiny text printed under your pregnancy announcement.

“Four months.”

You’d only been out of cryo for three…

He followed your wide-eyed stare, he was no fool, he could do basic math.

You’d been pregnant before meeting him, before leaving the vault, before the bombs.

You want to puke. You want to rip your skin off and bury yourself alive because for the love of God it couldn’t be just perfect, there had to be some sick underlying thing to ruin everything. It wasn’t his, he was right, ghouls couldn’t have children.

It wasn’t his child.

You look disgusted and utterly pained because the realization makes you mourn at the idea of carrying his baby. You wanted to, you’d give anything for it to be his and not some random bloke you couldn’t even remember the face of. You wanted it to be his…

You search his face for anger or disappointment or anything that would prepare you for what was to come. Why would he stay if the damn thing wasn’t even his? He had his own problems, his mission. You were just an obstacle that had nearly made him believe he was going to be a father and maybe it was his second chance at doing it right.

There was nothing though.

He simply blinked at you, lips parted as he formed a sentence that had you pledge yourself to him for as long as you stood and breathed.

“That don’t change a damn thing.”

Masterlist

Tag list: @bountydroid @v3lv3tf0x @silverose365

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @steddieholidaydrabbles.

Get It Together

Prompt Day 14: Together | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: T | CW: Language, Off-Screen Canon Typical Violence, Steve's Not-So-Great Parents | Tags: Steve's Relationship With His Parents, Or: Snapshots of Steve Harrington at Seven, Seventeen & Twenty-Seven, Future Established Steddie, Post S4, Eddie Munson Lives, Platonic Stobin, Good Uncle Wayne Munson, Hurt & Finding Your Comfort

1973

"Not on my tablecloth!" 

Steve jumps, turning his head, towards the sound of his mother's voice. It's sharp, angry, and he knows it's not at him. Not really. But it scares him, all the same. He knows she's mad at Dad, again. He was supposed to be home hours ago. He's still not home.

"Sorry, mom," Steve says, he'll be more careful. 

He's learned to be careful, but he just forgot. Wrapped up in painting, up on his knees in the dining room table chair, so he can reach everything. And he just forgot about the lace tablecloth his mom had folded back, putting down old newspaper under his paper instead.

"I'm sorry," he says again, and he's pretty sure he didn't get anything on the tablecloth. He was just getting too close to it. That's all.

His mother sighs, "It's okay. You're fine," she says, leaning over, and resting her chin on the top of his head. "It looks great. Your father will love it."

"Is Dad coming home tonight?" 

She doesn't know.

Dad is always gone at work.

Steve hears them fight when his dad is home, even if they think he doesn't. And Steve doesn't understand why, not fully, but he gets enough to know she's always sad. 

He nods. And when Dad comes home two hours later, Steve's excited to show him the painting.

"Aren't you a little old for this?" his father asks, and Steve looks down at the piece of paper in his hands. He's too old for art? 

Steve yanks his hands backwards, ducking them behind his back, hiding the artwork. Stupid. It was stupid. A tear slides down his cheek.

"Get it together, Steve," he says.

Steve nods, eyes cast to the ground. It's past his bedtime anyway.

1984

He tries to sneak home without being seen. He knows what he looks like, eyes red, nose running. He cried in the car, away from any prying eyes. 

He's bullshit, apparently. 

Unfortunately, his dad is still up reading files when Steve tries to carefully sneak through the back sliding door. 

"Steven?" his dad questions, and Steve wipes at his eyes again, trying to make himself presentable.

Steve knows he'll want to talk about basketball, his grades. Or something that he's found unsatisfactory, and Steve's just not in the mood. 

"I'm home," Steve says, hoping that's all that will come of this, maybe his dad won't even look up.

But his dad looks him over carefully, "Are you crying? Aren't you a little old for that?"

He can't explain. What's he gonna say? His girlfriend got drunk and was mean to him? No way.

So, Steve lies, "Just the cold air."

"Get it together. You're late," his dad says, pointedly looking at the large grandfather clock. It's three after midnight.

"Halloween traffic," Steve lies again. If his dad can use bullshit excuses, so can Steve.

1993

Steve stands in the hospital hallway, crying. Robin's rubbing his shoulders. He thought they were done with this. It's been seven years. He hadn't been ready for Hawkins to unexpectedly rear its ugly head. He'd settled into a life with Eddie, blending into the city.

Living, being happy, not bothering anyone.

However, tonight, they hadn't realized they were being followed until Eddie had been knocked to the ground.

Andy. Chance. A guy Steve only vaguely recognized. 

And in a particularly cruel twist of the knife, Tommy.

More retaliation for crimes not committed, years later. 

They're fine. Bruises. Some stitches. Eddie's getting a cast on his wrist after being pushed to the concrete. It could've been worse. Being outnumbered, and unprepared.

Eddie didn't deserve this. Not in '86, and not now.

"You're okay," Robin says.

He starts to agree, when a familiar voice breaks the silence.

"Aren't you a little old for this?" his father asks, and Steve fucking hates that question. He's been asked it a thousand times during his lifetime. 

And today, it's too much. 

"For what? What am I doing now that is so fucking unacceptable to you?" Steve snaps, and his dad's eyebrows shoot up. 

Steve's never talked back to him like that. Not once.

But he's twenty-seven. A man.

He's not seventeen, or seven. He's no longer going to be shamed for feeling things.

He doesn't have to get it together. He can cry. 

Nobody should've called them. He didn't ask for that. He wants to be left alone. That should have been clear when he fled Hawkins and never returned. 

"I don't need you here," Steve says.

"We've been looking for you," his mom explains. "The chief of-"

"I don't care," Steve interrupts. And he doesn't care what connection they exploited to find him.

"You should go," Robin snaps, angling herself between them.

"I wanted to know that you were okay," his mom says, and honestly, he believes that. He does. But his father? No. He just wanted to come rub salt into whatever open wounds he might find.

"I'm okay. So is Eddie, thanks for asking," Steve says sarcastically, and relishes them freezing up. 

The exam room door behind him opens.

Wayne. Steve immediately feels more at ease.

"They let him get a black cast," Wayne says, and Steve wipes at his eyes and laughs.

"How very metal," Robin says.

His father starts, "We-"

"Were just leaving," Steve finishes for him, not caring what he was actually about to say.

"Great, I'll walk them out," Wayne says, holding out his arm, waiting. Giving no other option.

Steve loves him.

Robin holds open the exam room door for Steve, and clearly intends to stand guard.

He loves her, too.

Steve doesn't hang around. He slides into Eddie's temporary room, and sees him trying to get redressed with his brand new cast. 

"Need some help?" Steve asks. 

"Uh, yeah," Eddie says, and tosses Steve his pants. 

"Well, I'm more practiced at taking these off," Steve says, and Eddie laughs as Steve squats down, "but I'll try my best."

They'll be just fine. Together.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddieholidaydrabbles and follow along with the fun! ❤️

[witchezandwonderz]

Even the Quiet Burn

Pairing: Sihtric x Reader Word count: 3.5k Sihtric meets a beautifully shy girl Really enjoyed writing this one <3 Master list Prompt List (Requests are open) Tagged list: (If you want to be added or removed, please let me know.) @leftoverp1zza @somebody6468 @cheesesandwichsanto @diorpar @tessakate @miksmom-blog @whitedarkmoonflower @imagines-halfpai

The first time Sihtric saw her, she didn’t speak.

She stood at the edge of the village green, hands wrapped around a bundle of dried herbs, eyes fixed somewhere beyond the horizon. The wind moved her dark hair across her face like drifting smoke, but she didn’t brush it away. She didn’t move at all, she just stood, watching nothing, like someone who had learned long ago to vanish in plain sight.

Sihtric had been sent on a simple mission, one so simple that Uhtred had felt it appropriate to send Sihtric alone. All he had to do was collect taxes from the nearby villagers, however, very quickly into the journey, Sihtric had been stopped and outnumbered by a group of men. He was unsure as to whether they were Saxon, Dane, or either. He didn't care.

Although outnumbered, Sihtric was skilled enough to fight off all men- perhaps six or seven. He was not too badly hurt, but had been stabbed by a blade in his left arm- nothing too harmful, but enough to sting like a bitch.

Hence why he found this village, or settlement, whatever it was. He had never been here before, despite it being not a great distance from where he had been staying.

He dismounted slowly, his hand pressed firm against the wound, his blood warm and sticky beneath his tunic. He sighed, not due to the pain, but due to the inconvenience that lied in how much blood there was. The village didn’t greet him. No one ran to help, no one shouted in alarm. They watched him like prey watches a predator-cautious and still, hoping that he might pass through without trouble.

Only she moved.

Not towards him, no. She moved in the opposite direction, fading back between narrow stone houses, into shadow. She did not see him, for she was so wrapped in her own dark thoughts that she guided her way through life in a most peculiar way.

Sihtric frowned. Something about her-something in the way she moved; elegance clouded her whole being as she walked through the greenery. Her presence lingered even after she’d gone-stuck in his chest like the blade had. She hadn’t looked at him. Hadn’t flinched or stared or crossed herself like the others. Or perhaps she had not seen him, he pondered. If that was the case then she needed to be more aware of her surroundings, especially in this circumstance.

He asked a nearby man where the healer was. He simply shrugged. A woman pointed- without words- toward the woods behind the village.

Toward her.

Of course.

Sihtric rolled his eyes, mumbling a slight thanks to the woman. He could not help but feel like this place was strange.

Shaking away his thoughts, he followed the mysterious woman's trail through the huge trees. He could not help but feel the beauty within the forest that surrounded him; although he spent his days in forests, and surrounded by greenery, it was truly beautiful here- almost magical.

As he walked further, a small hut came into his visions. It was placed right in the centre of an opening in the forest, and quite a significant distance from the village itself. The earth beneath him crunched with each step.

"Boy." He heard a deep voice call. He stopped in his tracks and swung his head up to look at who it belonged to. Across the green, to his left, he saw a man. Not old, but not young, the man stood with his hand in the air in the hopes of getting Sihtric's attention. Sihtric tightened his hand on the held of his sword, always ready to protect himself if necessary.

The man stepped closer, and Sihtric mimicked his actions cautiously.

"I do not mean to bother you." The man began, Sihtric nodded to signal him to continue, which he obliged, "The healer, the girl, she is quiet, and painfully shy." He explained. Sihtric just kept nodding.

"She is painfully shy," he repeated, "I do not know you, and I do not know your kindness, if any, but please just be patient and gentle with her."

Sihtric was slightly taken aback, not because he had never met a shy girl, no. But because it was extremely rare to find kindness in this world. In fact, he found it quite touching that the girl had someone looking out for her.

"Do you know her well?" Sihtric asked. The man shook his head.

"No, no one does, but we do know that she has led a hard life and came here to escape. We just do not know what she escaped." He gave Sihtric a final nod, and then spun on his heel and disappeared into the trees.

Sihtric still thought that the village was strange.

Still, strange or not, he needed someone to look at his wound before the bleeding got worse. He took one last glance at the spot where the man had disappeared, then turned his attention back to the hut.

It wasn’t much. Weathered wood, moss growing between the stones at its base, a thin column of smoke twisting out from the crooked chimney. A single window, shuttered, and a door that looked like it hadn’t been opened with urgency in years. It looked more like a place forgotten by the world than one someone chose to live in.

He knocked once. No answer. He knocked twice. No answer.

He hesitated, then pushed the door open slowly. It creaked like it resented him. Inside, the air smelled of dried lavender, damp earth, and something sharp- like crushed nettle. The roaring fire meant that the small room was warm, and he liked how it made him feel.

She stood near the far wall, half-turned, one hand resting on a bowl, the other frozen in mid-reach. She had gone still the moment he entered- like a deer caught in the open. Her eyes, wide and dark, locked onto his sword before drifting upward, slowly, to meet his face.

“I—” she began, her voice little more than a whisper.

Sihtric raised one hand slowly, palm open, a peace offering. “I was told you’re the healer.”

Her eyes flicked to the blood soaking his sleeve. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed, then nodded.

“Yes,” she said softly. “I-I can help. Sit, please.”

He moved carefully, so as not to spook her, and lowered himself into the chair that she had gestured towards. She didn’t come closer to begin with. She hovered near her shelves, hands trembling slightly as she gathered bandages and salves. In all honesty, she was very much used to only healing the old men within the peaceful village. She had absolutely no dealings with handsome, muscly men trapsing into her home.

Sihtric watched her. Not in a threatening way-just curious. She didn’t speak like the others. No flattery, no fear disguised as respect. Just… caution. Real caution. And soft eyes, kind eyes.

“What’s your name?” he asked gently.

She hesitated. Looked down. Then, without meeting his gaze, replied, “Y/N”

A pause.

“That’s a pretty name. It suits you.” He said, voice softer now. “I’m Sihtric.”

Her face burned a deep shade of crimson, but luckily, they were so close to the fire that she hoped the flames would disguise the blush. She did not realise, however, that he had in fact noticed. She nodded again. Then, finally, she approached him-barely a breath away. Kneeling beside him, she reached for his arm, her fingers cold as they brushed the soaked fabric. She flinched when his breath hitched from the pain, then glanced up, guilt in her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

He frowned, watching her.

“Don’t be,” he said. “It’s only pain. I’ve felt worse.”

She breathed an awkward little laugh, which made him smile more than he had anticipated.

Her laugh faded as quickly as it came, as if she hadn’t meant to let it slip. She kept her eyes lowered, lashes casting shadows across her cheeks as she carefully peeled back the fabric of his tunic. The blood had dried and clung to the wound like second skin.

“This will sting,” she murmured, barely louder than the crackling fire.

Sihtric nodded. “Go on.”

She worked in silence, save for the soft rustle of linen and the clink of a glass jar being opened. Her hands were quick, efficient-but still shaking, just slightly. Not from lack of skill, but from being near him.

“Are you always this nervous,” he asked, tilting his head a little, “or just around men with swords?”

She blinked, startled, and he almost regretted teasing her-until he saw her lips curve upwards, and then part slightly as she replied, “only the ones that bleed on my floor.”

His brow rose.

A shy smile ghosted across her face. It wasn’t confidence-but it was something. He held still, not wanting to chase it away.

“You should lie down soon,” she said softly. “The salve will make you tired.” She finally looked up at him properly- into his eyes. He used the opportunity wisely, locking his gaze into hers.

“And you?” he asked.

She looked away.

“Will you rest too?” he clarified.

Her brows knit together, like she didn’t quite understand the question. Or perhaps wasn’t used to being asked anything at all.

“I- I don’t sleep well,” she said after a moment. “It’s quiet here, but… quiet doesn’t mean safe.”

That struck something deep in him.

“I know,” he said, voice low. “I’ve slept with a blade under my head for most of my life.”

She looked into his eyes again. A long, uncertain pause passed between them, but something shifted in the silence. Not trust, not yet- something softer.

Sihtric leaned back in the chair, wincing a little.

“Still hurts?” she asked.

“Not as much,” he said. Then smiled faintly. “Not with you here.”

Her eyes widened, and she turned away quickly, pretending to busy herself with putting away the bandages. But he could see her smile, just barely, beneath the curtain of her hair.

Despite the smile, he sighed and cursed himself. He couldn't help but flirt with her. She was beautiful, quiet, delicate and sweet. The women that normally surrounded him were the absolute polar opposite to being quiet, delicate and sweet.

"I don't have anywhere to rest." He said, in the hopes that she would offer her home as a place for recovery.

She did not respond right away, and he watched her as she pondered her thoughts, fiddling with jars and herbs as a distraction. After a few moments, she put a jar down and said, "I do not have much, but you are welcome to stay."

He nodded slowly, but didn’t thank her. Not out of rudeness, but because gratitude would only make it heavier for her. Instead, he said, “I’ll sleep by the fire. No trouble.”

She nodded again, and her hands went back to her jars, though she wasn’t doing anything with them now-just moving them from one place to another. Her mind clearly elsewhere.

That night, she didn’t sleep.

She lay curled on the thin bed in the corner of the hut, facing the wall, but her eyes stayed open long after the fire had burned low. She listened to every shift of his weight, every sigh, every small, unconscious sound. He didn’t snore-thank the gods-but the mere fact of another presence, a man in her home, made sleep merely impossible.

But he never moved toward her. Never touched her things. Never crossed the invisible line she'd drawn with her silence. In fact, sometime deep into the night, when the wind howled outside and the trees groaned, she heard him whisper softly-perhaps not even to her, just into the dark:

“You’re safe.”

And maybe, for the first time in months, she almost believed it.

Two days passed.

He healed quickly-too quickly for her liking, and his.

“You’re well now,” she said, her voice quiet, but firm. “You can go home.”

Sihtric didn’t answer at first. He looked at her from where he sat, legs stretched out before the fire, arm flexing slightly as he tested the bandaged wound again.

She waited. Patiently, politely. The kind of patience you build when you’ve spent too much time hoping people will leave you be.

He sighed through his nose, then slowly rose to his feet.

“Well,” he said, brushing his hands on his tunic, “I suppose it’s time then.”

The words caused a sudden pang in her heart; if he left now, she would never see him again. He took one slow step towards the table, where her bundle of sharp tools and a heavy pestle lay, and then, without a hint of hesitation, grabbed the blade’s edge with his bare hand and pulled down as harshly as he could. He cursed as the blade ripped through his skin.

“Sihtric!” she gasped, leaping forward as blood welled instantly across his palm.

He grinned.

Grinned.

It was boyish and smug and so unbelievably intentional that she just stood there, staring, speechless.

"I’m not quite healed after all,” he said casually, holding his hand up for inspection like he hadn’t just sliced it wide open. “That was clumsy, wasn't it?" He smirked.

She blinked at him. Then her lips twitched.

“You absolute idiot.” She said, a rare flash of warmth in her voice, half-scolding, half-laughing, shaking her head.

He liked the sound of it far too much.

She, not so carefully, took his wrist and examined the damage with a small shake of her head. “Why would you do that?”

“I like it here.” He said, with no shame at all

She raised a brow, trying very hard not to smile. “You like bleeding all over my floor?”

“I like you.” His voice softened, dropping just a little lower.

Her hands froze for just a moment.

He felt it-the shift in the air. Her breath hitched in her throat, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, after a pause, she reached for a clean cloth, wrapping his hand again with care.

“You’re ridiculous,” she murmured, her eyes flickering up at him, and then quickly fixating back on his hand.

“Mm,” he hummed. “And yet, here I am. Bleeding, again. In your hut. By choice.”

This time, she didn’t hide her smile. It was small, and reluctant, but real.

“You’ll run out of limbs to injure at this rate,” she warned him.

He leaned a little closer, just enough to brush his shoulder near hers. “Then I’ll just have to start inventing reasons.”

She laughed softly, shaking her head again. A piece of hair had fallen from her loose braid, and was in front of her eyes. Sihtric used this opportunity to test the waters with her. Carefully, he used his index finger of his uninjured hand, and gently moved the hair- staring at her face as he did so.

Her face instantly turned red, and he smiled as it did so. He liked the affect that he had on her. He liked her. A lot. The mere two days that they had spent together meant everything to him. He told her things from his past that he had never told anyone, or simply did not speak of. Equally, hearing his trauma and heartache led her to share the demons of her past.

She didn’t move.

Her eyes flicked up to his, wide, bright and uncertain, but there was something else beneath it. Something curious. Something... unspoken.

Sihtric’s smile softened, no longer teasing. “There you are,” he said quietly.

She blinked. “I don't understand? I have been here the entire time.”

“You. That smile. That blush.” His voice dropped just slightly. “I’ve been chasing it since I walked through that door.”

She didn’t know what to say to that. No one had ever spoken to her like that-not without expectation, not without edge or threat beneath the words. Just simple truth. Disarming truth.

And so, she did the only thing she could think to do-she scowled at him. Or at least, she tried to, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“You’re very full of yourself,” she mumbled, battling with the broad grin that was threatening to give away her true emotions.

Sihtric grinned, leaning back with dramatic ease. “Only because I’ve finally gotten you to speak in full sentences.”

That earned him an elbow to the ribs-gentle, but not undeserved.

“I speak,” she defended.

“Mm, shy little things don’t count,” he teased. “I mean real talking. Like this. With fire in it.”

She looked down again, fiddling with the cloth around his hand, but she didn’t deny it. Not this time.

“I’m not used to this,” she admitted, so quietly he almost didn’t catch it.

“To what?”

Her lips pressed together. Her voice came out in a near-whisper. “To someone being... like you.”

He furrowed his brows, curious, "Like me?"

She blushed again, this time only slightly, sweetly. "Kind, and warm."

Sihtric’s expression shifted, the humour dimming just a little-but the warmth didn’t leave. He tilted his head, voice softer now. “Then let me be the first. And if I’m not the last, I’ll find whoever comes after and make sure they deserve you.”

That startled her. She looked up sharply-but there was no mockery in his face. Just sincerity.

He suddenly shook his head, "I did not mean what I just said."

His words surprised her, and she felt that pang in her heart again. That was, until he continued,

"I want to be the only, I do not want another to come after me."

Her breath caught.

She stared at him, still as stone, his words settling over her like snowfall-soft, but heavy. A weight she didn’t know what to do with.

Sihtric’s gaze didn’t waver. There was nothing teasing in it now, no playful smirk. Just truth. Raw and open and terrifyingly real.

“I don’t say things I don’t mean,” he added, voice lower now, steadier. “But that-what I just said… I meant that more than anything.”

She looked away, almost instinctively, because no one had ever said something like that to her. Not with that kind of certainty. Not with that kind of gentleness. Part of her wished that she could just turn herself invisible- she had wished for this gift her entire life.

Her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve, but her voice came, quiet but clear. “You don’t even know me.”

“I know enough,” he said without hesitation. “I know your hands are careful, even when they shake. I know you speak like someone who’s had to hide their voice. I know you sleep lightly, and don’t trust easily. And I know you’ve made me want to stay longer than I should. I know that you are beautiful, and sweet, and kind and delicate.”

That made her look at him again.

“You don’t belong here,” she whispered. “Not in this place. Not with… someone like me.”

Sihtric leaned forward, slow, measured- so she could pull away if she wanted to. But she didn’t.

“I belong wherever you are,” he said.

She stared at him for a long moment, her eyes shimmering in the firelight. Then, without thinking, she reached out-just a small touch, fingertips to his uninjured hand. A moment, a gesture, but for her, it was everything.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t push. Just turned his hand so that her fingers rested against his palm.

Her fingers stayed resting lightly in his palm, neither of them moving, both quietly stunned by the weight of what wasn’t being said.

The fire cast flickering shadows across the room. Her face was calm now, but her eyes still held that guarded storm beneath the surface-years of silence, of learning to shrink herself into corners. Her thoughts were battling- allow herself to be happy, or say no due to her fear. She wasn't sure what to do next.

Sihtric watched her. Not just her face, but the way her breath rose and fell. The way she tilted slightly toward him, even if she didn’t realise it.

He thought of saying something else. Something soft again. Something slow.

But he didn’t.

Instead-without warning, without a word-he leaned forward and kissed her.

It wasn’t a hesitant kiss. It wasn’t gentle in the way she might have expected.

It was sudden. Sure. Like he’d been holding it back for far too long and finally let go. Like it was a last minute, intrusive thought. Which, in all honesty, it was.

Her breath caught. Her fingers twitched in his.

And then, just as Sihtric was about to pull away and apologise, she kissed him back.

When he finally pulled back, he didn’t speak. He only looked at her, breathing a little heavier than before. Waiting for her to retreat. But she didn’t.

Instead, she stood. Quietly. Walked around behind him.

Then, carefully, and extremely shyly, she knelt beside him again, not to tend his wound, but to slip her arms around his side. To rest her head on his shoulder.

Sihtric exhaled softly, the tension in his chest easing. He smiled to himself, excited to finally feel the comforting warmth of her.

He leaned into her, their bodies curling together like puzzle pieces finally falling into place. No more words were needed.

-------------------

Likes, reblogs and comments are very much appreciated :)

Again, my requests are open so feel free to ask. Prompt list is linked at the top if you wish to use that<3

[neongalaxiie]

Could you write Prompt #217 by @thepenultimateword

I love your style of writing!!!😭

Thanks Anon :D Your wish is my command...

Prompt is here. Credit to @thepenultimateword for it.

~~~

Hero crawled up the corrugated metal roof of the abandoned warehouse to where a stray laser had torn a hole. They snuck their fingers over the warped, jagged edges and peeked inside. Their team was down there in a heated battle, fighting against Supervillain.

And despite being severely outnumbered, Supervillain seemed to be holding off well, although the heroes were steadily pulling over the rope.

"I need to help them," Hero muttered. They pulled themselves to their feet and jumped neatly through the hole, landing in a dramatic pose in the middle of battlefield. Several daggers flew past from behind, slicing the air just a few inches away from them.

"Hero?" Leader puffed, exhausted and exasperated as Hero turned and shouted a friendly greeting. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I came to help!" Hero spread their arms out wide, oblivious to the multiple attacks aimed at their unprotected back, and deflected by their teammates. "What does it look like I'm doing?"

Leader fended off another attack, grunting with the effort it took to protect themselves. "Weren't you kicked out of the agency? You're not part of this team. Now leave, before you get hurt."

"But--"

"Now, Hero." Leader shook at finger at them. "That's an order."

Hero stomped, balling their fists. "I'm a hero, and heroes don't just abandon their team." Hero ran off to the side of the room before Leader could reply, joining in the chaos.

They integrated easily, getting into the rhythm of the battle. Dodging lasers, shooting force fields, and... spotting an unsuspecting Other Hero about to get fried. On instinct, Hero dived toward them, knocking them down and taking the hit instead. Hero rolled near the wall, in pain. Other Hero rolled away gracefully, risked a glance in Hero's direction, and returned to the fight.

Hero spun onto their back, groaning in pain. Their breaths came in short gasps, and their vision blurred. The ceiling looked kinda woozy. That hole in the ceiling kept moving, and... something else outside was moving as well.

That something was pointing another something into the room.

A gun?

Hero's eyes widened as the figure came into focus, tracing the sniper's aim to Leader. Hero raised a hand, and a blue force field appeared high above Leader's head, just as an explosive hit and jarred everyone's attention. The shield dissipated and Leader stared up at the panicking sniper.

"It's an ambush," Leader shouted, turning to the team. "Go, go, get out of here!"

Some of the heroes blasted holes in the walls and ceiling, escaping however they can. More henchmen were waiting on the other side, armed to the teeth although no bullets were flying. The heroes made their getaway without having to fight for it.

Supervillain stood at the back of the room with a smirk, unmoving, watching the heroes flee. Then they noticed Hero.

Hero had turned onto their stomach, mouth open as their team left them. Once the heroes left their field of vision, Hero realized that now they were left alone with their bruised body, armed henchmen.

And Supervillain.

Hero swallowed, wanting to push up to their feet, and feeling entirely too weak to do so. Seeing their feeble attempt, Supervillain snapped their fingers and pointed to Hero. Several henchmen rushed over to drag them across the floor, depositing them in the center of the room. Hero stopped moving, opting to fall onto their face instead.

"Well, well, well," Supervillain chuckled, clasping their hands behind their back. They sauntered over, slowly circling Hero's wounded figure. Hero let out a confused whimper and raised their head to look at Supervillain. "Poor little Hero, all alone and no one to turn to. Abandoned by your team, kicked out of the agency..."

Supervillain stopped and bent over in front of Hero. Hero's eyes widened as a wolfish grin took over Supervillain's lips. "What's your next mo--"

Supervillain was interrupted by Hero's lips on theirs. It took a moment for Supervillain to realize what happened before they stumbled back, ears burning.

"W-what...?" Supervillain clapped both hands over their mouth, exclaiming muffled, "What are you doing?"

Hero cocked their head. "You leaned in. Weren't you leading to the 'join me and I'll give you unimaginable power' speech anyway? I'm just speeding it up a little."

Supervillain's hands slid down their face, uncovering a confused expression. "What the hell?"

"Well, y'know, after all that happened," Hero tried again to push themselves up, and managed to get into a sitting position. "I'm kinda in the market for a new job."

Supervillain hummed, raising a hand to their chin in thought.

Hero continued, "I don't know what you'd do with me otherwise. I mean, it's pretty obvious no one's gonna come for me or pay a ransom if you decide to just take me hostage, and I'm not really sure what else a hostage is good for. Also, I think..."

"Okay, can you just stop talking," Supervillain said, showing both palms. "You're sitting here, suggesting that I hire you, but are we really ready to ignore the fact that you just kissed me," Supervillain swept their hands across the room, "in front of all my henchmen?"

Hero's eyes darted to the floor, and back to Supervillain. "Yes?"

"Good." Supervillain's hands dropped to their side. They stepped forward and extended an arm to Hero, pulling the latter up to their feet. Supervillain turned the contact into a handshake and smiled. "You're hired."

Hero's face broke out into a grin. "Amazing! Where do I start?"

Supervillain's smile morphed into something darker. "Oh, you're about to see very soon."

[goodlucktai]

I don’t know if you’re still taking the angsty dialogue prompts but if you are could I humbly request 18 and/or 25 with either the twins or Leo and Gio?

dialogue prompts

18. “Stop. No. Wake up. Wake up! I said wake up!”

x

When Donnie designed the broadhead arrow with an explosive tip, it was after a vision board evening with Mikey that someone definitely should have crashed before the peanut butter half of their iconic duo starting pitching chaotic and nefarious ideas to an audience of the only mad scientist in the greater Manhattan area willing to indulge him. 

A few of the trick arrows they came up with skirted the line of comic book fantasy and practicality neatly—the smokescreen and knockout arrowheads were things of beauty, to name a couple. The three hours spent in an abandoned grain elevator in Brooklyn testing the range of Gio’s brand-new arsenal was some of the most fun Leo could remember having post-invasion. 

But the explosive ones—those were unmitigated destruction in a tiny unassuming package. Gio considered one of them for all of two seconds before sliding it back into its designated sleeve. 

“Aww, what?” Mikey said. 

“We’re on the fourth floor of a derelict grain terminal,” Gio said, which was a very compelling argument. Raph looked a little greener than usual at that reminder, and glanced down at the floor beneath his feet as if visibly reliving the way the whole building had shuddered from the concussive force of the knockout arrow Gio had fired through the window into the overgrown field outside. 

Mikey still pouted about it until their eldest brother, physically incapable of not spoiling little siblings rotten whenever he had half a chance, notched one of the zipline bolts into the barrel of his bow and said, “Angie, how fast do you think you could get down to the field and back up on this?”

Brightening predictably, Mikey shouted, “Like, two minutes, probably!” 

It turned out to be more like eleven minutes, but Michelangelo was not the giving up kind of turtle. Leo had a stitch in his side from laughing by the time their youngest had clambered gracelessly back up the line, and Donnie was muttering about electric rope ascenders to add to their usual kits. That was about when a security truck rolled up to the grounds and they had to skedaddle, and those explosive arrows were left unassessed. 

Donnie built them because he could and because they sounded cool and because when Mikey says anything with stars in his eyes it makes you want to pluck it out of thin air and present it to him before common sense can elbow its way to the front of your brain and say, ‘hey, uh, is that, like, the best choice we could be making?’ 

He didn’t build them for this. 

Whoever the EPF are, they’re coordinated and heavily armed, and have the turtles backed into a corner in a manner of minutes. Fighting baseline humans isn’t really their bag—their bad guys tend to be Foot Clan goons, or mutants running amok in New York City, or any random yokai from the Hidden City they manage to tick off just by existing—and Leo’s heart thuds in his chest when he finds himself on the wrong end of a dozen guns. 

What the heck, he wants to ask, where did you guys come from and where were you ten minutes ago when the mutant silverfish outnumbered us ten to one?

He doesn’t ask, because he really doesn’t think this is a situation that can be solved with their words. 

His hand drifts toward his sword, just an inch, just to see. One of the men in riot gear fires a warning shot so close that Leo feels the heat of it on his thigh. It punches a noise out of Raph instantly, a chest-deep rumble of panic that sounds, to the untrained ear, like a dangerous snarl. Leo can practically see trigger fingers getting itchier around the room. The situation is spiraling out of his control by the second. 

I just need two seconds to reach my sword, Leo thinks, mind racing for a way to pull those seconds out of thin air. 

And then a bolt shatters through the window of the warehouse behind him and hits the floor right at the foot of one of the EPF agents. The room is filled with rolling curtains of thick gray smoke instantly and enthusiastically, and Leo has his sword drawn a second later. 

He teleports to Mikey first, and then opens a portal beneath their feet that deposits them in front of Donnie, and opens one next to them like a door that Raph’s huge hands reach through instantly to scoop them up and yank them in close to the armor of his plastron. 

“Get us back up to Georgie,” Raph says, and Leo has another door open to do exactly that almost before Raph has even finished speaking.

Something makes him look back over his shoulder. A tug on one of the strings tied around his heart. 

None of the humans have pinpointed Leo and his brothers yet, despite the light show Leo has put on, and in part that’s because Donnie designed this smokescreen the way he designs everything he puts his Genius Built stamp on, so it looks like it could be dense enough to bear Leo’s weight if he were to test it. 

But it’s also in part because those humans have someone else to gun down, and that’s the spotted turtle making a clear and present target of himself on the other side of this huge abandoned packaging plant. 

No, Leo thinks in the one corner of his brain that hasn’t shuddered to a stop like a cold-stunned reptile. 

Raph’s hand on his arm starts to pull him backwards, through the portal, and it shocks Leo into action, propelling him forward, body on autopilot. Something bad is about to happen. Something bad, something bad. Something like a Krang spike piercing through shell and shoulder, something like an escape pod that wasn’t his carrying him to safety, something like a big brother left behind in the hands of people who want to hurt him. 

Time slows to a crawl. The tableau burns itself into Leo’s mind. 

No, he thinks. 

Gio’s dark eyes swallow all the light in the room, unflinching when they meet Leo’s. He slips a white bolt from the quiver and Leo’s heart climbs right up his throat. He fights the hands grabbing at his shoulders and the arm wrapped around his middle but it’s three against one and he’s hauled through the blue light a second later. 

“Leo, what the hell was that?” Raph bites out, shaking hands gripping him by the arms as the snapper crouches to look him in the eye, searching Leo’s face for any clue as to why Raph had had to wrestle him to safety. “Why would you try to—”

The explosion cuts him off. It’s the loudest thing in the universe. Leo exists outside his body. His mind is the aftermath of a flash grenade, burnt white nothing. 

It feels like watching the portal close around the Technodrome, feeling the searing heat of it on his skin before the void vacuumed even that away. He’s floating. He’s back in the dark. It’s the end of the world again. 

“Wait, where’s Georgie?” Mikey says, loud over the sound of crumbling concrete and tearing sheet metal. He’s looking around the roof they’d left their eldest brother on when they noticed the mutant silverfish making a racket, their archer in overwatch position behind them as always.

Donnie notices the zipline first. The usual rich gold of his eyes is bleached with fear, neon yellow, when he turns to meet Leo’s. As always, they’re a perfect mirror of each other. 

Leo doesn’t remember saying anything. He doesn’t stick around to see understanding creep into his twin’s face, or to listen to his baby brother’s questions get loud and hysterical, or to watch his big brother’s expression slacken with horror. He clenches his fist, feels the familiar shape of a hilt beneath his fingers, and falls through a portal back into the warehouse. 

He has to pull the collar of his jacket up to breathe through the dust, squinting to see anything. There are still wafts of thinning gray smoke, and the disconcerting loose-gravel sound of broken concrete giving way. It’s disquieting to feel a structure made up of tons of concrete, among other things, wobble above and around him.  

“Gio!” he shouts. The call reverberates and goes unanswered. A first time for everything. 

Running footsteps thunder past him, too many and too heavy to belong to his brother. Leo slips around behind an upstanding pillar and watches the humans appear through the grit and gloom like spectres as they beat a hasty retreat. A few of them are supporting the weight of a few others, but a quick headcount proves more or less all of the agents are accounted for as they pile back into the armored cars outside. 

Leo wouldn’t lose any sleep if a few of them had been turned into pancakes, but he’s pretty sure of his math, and—and the warehouse is still standing. If Gio had fired it at the roof, or at the ground where the agents were standing, the building would have come down matter-of-factly. 

But, Leo thinks, heart remembering how to beat and doing a really messy job of it, all uneven and in his ears. But—if he’d fired it away from himself—if it went off outside—it would have been enough to scare the goons away without anyone getting hurt. 

Still a risk he shouldn’t have taken, still a call that was much too close, but better than the alternative. Better than the waking nightmare Leo almost had to live in.  

“GIO!” he screams, hands cupped around his mouth. 

His phone is ringing in his pocket, he realizes belatedly. The ringtone is Kesha’s We R Who We R, which means it’s his twin trying to reach him. He scrambles over a collapsed metal shelving unit with tinny synthpop blaring from his hoodie and feels detached from reality. He feels like a studio audience is waiting for the cue to laugh. It doesn’t feel like real life. 

Then he feels a tug again—that muted gray string in the multicolored skein of his soul, pulling him forward—leading him right to the crumpled form of his oldest brother. 

The music cuts off and starts up again. The strength goes out of Leo’s legs and he folds to the floor. He cuts his knee on something sharp, and as he crawls over to Gio’s side, the cut stings every time he puts pressure on it. It shakes him out of the strange haze he’s in. His hands tremble as he rolls Gio over. The music cuts off and starts up again.

Shaking fingers wrap around Gio’s wrist and find a pulse. Leo plants his finger at the pulse point beneath Gio’s jaw just to double-check. That stubborn heart is beating loud and clear. Leo has to blink a few times, because for some reason his eyes are all wet. He runs a careful hand over the back of Gio’s head and doesn’t find anything broken or bleeding. The facts are presenting a tentative case that the world isn’t ending after all, but the fear is loud and clear and shouting over everything else.

Gio’s face is slack and still manages to look tetchy, two spots on his forehead drawn low above his eyes. Leo has only known him for the better part of a year and he can’t imagine life without him. He can’t imagine waking up from a bad dream and not having Giorgio’s steady presence beside him at the dinner table at two o’clock in the morning, tireless and patient, like he had nowhere else to be when Leo needed him. 

“Stop,” Leo says thickly. He feels stupid. He knows better. It doesn’t stop him. “No. Wake up. Wake up!” His voice climbs into a shout, echoing around the empty cavernous room, “I said wake up!”

He’s not expecting it when the hand in his turns, and cold fingers close around Leo’s tightly. He’s startled into silence, staring down at the proof of life he’s holding. He doesn’t miss it when Gio’s expression twitches, brow furrowing, like he’s fighting sleep. 

“Oh,” he mumbles. “You’re okay. Sorry for shouting. You’re okay.” 

His ringtone goes off for the hundredth time. This time, S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.’s voice pipes up over the music, announcing, “I’m pushing this one through, boss.” 

“Nardo,” Donnie says on speakerphone. 

“Tello,” Leo parrots automatically. “He’s okay,” he adds. 

There’s a loaded second of silence. He doesn’t have to hear his twin’s relief spoken out loud to know it exists. 

“Disappear like that again and I’ll disappear you,” the softshell bites. 

“Can you get the two of you out of there, big man?” Raph says with that forced calm that has never fooled Leo once in their lives. “Can you, uh, meet us back up here now? Please?”

Leo’s knee-jerk reaction is to respond to that particular tone with reassurance. To spring to his feet and create a solution. To banish his brothers’ fear with a dumb joke or a silly scheme. But when he tries to pull himself up, his limbs wobble like jello and he gets exactly nowhere.

“I, um,” he admits, embarrassed, “I don’t think I can stand up.” 

“Oh, buddy,” Raph says, his whole heart in it. “Raphie’s coming.”

“Yeah, sit tight, Lee,” Mikey’s voice rings through, force-of-nature cheerful. “I’m the master of this zipline thing now. I’ll be down in two shakes. Maybe a shake and a half.” 

Leo hums, grateful to have their overlapping chatter keeping him company. It’s not the end of the world. It’s not the prison dimension. It felt like it for a second back there, but he’s sinking slowly back into his body now. His knee stings from whatever he cut it on, and his eyes are itchy from all the dust and smoke, and Gio’s grip on his hand tightens as his eldest brother claws his stubborn way back into consciousness. 

They have a new bad guy to be on the lookout for, and since they don’t do anything by halves, this new bad guy is an entire evil organization. They have explosive tip arrows to dispose of, since clearly Giorgio can’t be trusted with that much firepower any more than Donatello can. Dad’s gonna have a conniption when he hears about the events of this evening—if they manage to make it past the part about the EPF agents drawing guns on them without being grounded until their thirties it’ll be a miracle. 

But they’re all okay. It could have gone so differently. It could have been a lot worse. 

Leo has a brand-new understanding of what that view from Staten Island had looked like for three of his brothers, and he hated every second of it. There has to be another way to do it. To keep them safe without hurting them. To be the kind of hero that comes home. 

Gio’s eyes finally open, two narrow slits. Usually so quick to alertness, his gaze skates muddily over Leo’s face for a few seconds before finally focusing. 

“You’re not allowed to disappear, Gigi,” Leo says quietly, feeling bruised and fragile and one harsh wind from coming completely apart. “‘Cause I’m not going anywhere without you. You made me your problem and now you gotta live with it.”

If Gio held his hand any tighter it’d probably hurt.

“You are my problem,” Gio mutters through gritted teeth. “All of you. And if anyone ever tries to tell you otherwise, I’ll blow them up next.” 

“Uh, we’re gonna have to have a serious talk about that one,” Leo says. “I don’t think it’s gonna be a viable option. Ever again.” 

“Hm,” Gio says, very clearly a ‘we’ll see about that.’  

The laugh that bubbles out of Leo is entirely involuntary, and probably makes him look like an insane person when their brothers arrive to extract them from the structurally unsound warehouse they’re hanging out in. 

But it could have been worse.

[fandoms-in-law]

Sticky Tricky

Summary: Steve and Eddie get back to Steve's house to find his kitchen a disaster zone and the four boys responsible watching them in surprise. Now they just need to figure out what on earth the brats were trying to achieve.

Author's Note: The prompt I gave myself for today was actually people flirting in the song 'Night Falls' from Disney's Descendants but I've had a hell of a day and can't quite make that fit a fic at all. Instead you get this, which I guess could read as Steddie but doesn't feel like it to me.

~

“Tricky, tricky, tricky.” Eddie surveyed Steve’s kitchen in amusement.

Behind him Steve choked back a laugh, “I think you mean sticky.” He turned an annoyed glare at the younger teens gathered in the room, “What the hell were you trying to do?”

The annoyance was justified. There were various powders covering every surface, indistinguishable enough they could only hope Eddie’s supply hadn’t been raided and everything actually was flour, sugar or cocoa powder. There were spills of water, milk and cracked eggs scattered amongst the powders and dripping from the cabinets too, and Steve’s hand were tight, wanting to snap to his hips and order the kids to get cleaning immediately.

“Now, now, Stevie.” Eddie held a hand up, smiling a crocodile grin at the room, “Let’s not be so hasty. I’m sure they’ve got their reasons for seemingly having a food-fight without inviting us.” They both looked expectantly at the group.

A few moments passed, looks and gestures being exchanged by the kids until Steve quietly asked, “Even Dustin isn’t answering, and we’re outnumbered. You sure that voice is going to get answers?”

It was clear to both of them that their kids were trying to think up excuses, but at the question Eddie had to momentarily turn away, biting his lip from the tone he used to DM being recognised. A second to compose himself and he was meeting the eyes of each teen in turn, silently demanding an answer again.

Mike broke first, huffing when Eddie leant over the counter at them, hands carefully placed to avoid the mess though he made it look effortless. “You can’t yell at us for trying to do something nice.”

“Really? Nice?” Steve exclaimed, waving at the egg dripping down.

“And what, young novice, nice thing were you trying to do?” Eddie asked instead, narrowing his eyes.

Behind Mike, Lucas and Will were gesturing for him to shut up or stay quiet while Dustin tried to close and hide a book that had gone unnoticed behind the flour bags that must have contributed to the mess.

Mike didn’t notice, matching Eddie’s stare considering before trying to convince them, “Cookies for Hellfire. Everyone always wants snacks when we play and Gareth says homemade cookies are the best for it.”

“You’re a week early for that since Thursdays was cancelled with all of your agreement.” Steve folded his arms, inspecting the door frame for any mess before leaning against it. “Try again.”

“No, we wanted to try and make them early in case this happened.” Dustin backed Mike up. “You can’t say it would be better if we’d done this the day before. We’d be risking poisoning everyone and cancelling it a second time.”

Eddie nodded, as if agreeing, but Steve didn’t. “AND-” He began loudly as if he’d never paused for that argument to be given, “If you were baking for Hellfire you’d have asked me to help as you’ve done many times before and especially because you chose my home to try baking in.”

Mike and Dustin tried to encourage each other to be the one to give the next argument for their case then, neither actually having one from the faces they were pulling.

Lucas sighed and Will nodded at him. “Nancy said it was Steve’s birthday. We wanted to make a cake but our oven is faulty currently. Dustin said you’d be fine if we used yours and it would mean the cake didn’t need transporting here after we made it.”

Steve looked around his kitchen again, nodding slowly. “A nice thought and a horrible execution of the plan.”

“It looks like they executed a lot of things but that plan is not one of them.” Eddie quipped.

“You are cleaning the kitchen now. Then you are calling Jonathan and El to come and help you actually bake something if you don’t want me to be making my own cake.” Steve decided, pointing at each boy in turn to emphasise how serious he was. “El will be upset you didn’t ask her to join you in the first place and Jonathan actually knows how to cook pretty well so should at least be able to follow whichever recipe you’ve found. I want this kitchen spotless before anyone is called though.”

For a moment it looked like Mike and Dustin would protest, but Eddie straightened, expression identical to the one he wore before revealing a threat in a campaign. Meeting his gaze they both nodded. “Fine. We’ll tell you when it’s cleaned.” Dustin grumbled.

“Thank you.” Steve smiled, tugging Eddie back into the living room with a roll of his eyes. “Why do we let the shitheads get away with so much again?”

“Can’t undo the failures of their parents in a day, Stevie.” Eddie laughed.

[ghostofskywalker]

if there is still space for the clone uary requests, would you consider something with “How– how did you find me?” and/or “Will you hold my hand?” where fem!reader is dating either crosshair or fives and gets saved or rescued by him? Thank you! :D

thank you for the request! i went with the second prompt for crosshair, and i hope you enjoy!!

Penance Unrequested

words: 1,063

summary: while you're recovering from time spent as a pirate hostage, crosshair struggles with his self doubt. thankfully, both you and his brothers are around to set him straight.

clone troopers masterlist

From the moment Wrecker placed you down on one of the bunks on the Marauder, Crosshair could be found no more than three paces from your bedside. It was a profound and caring gesture, especially from someone who, up until he met you for the first time, rarely showed any emotion around people who weren’t his brothers. 

Unfortunately for Echo, who was the person tasked with treating your wounds and caring for you until you woke up and were well enough to do it on your own, this gesture was also a huge inconvenience. 

“You missed a spot.” 

No matter how much he tried to hide it, Echo was definitely thinking about killing Crosshair at that moment, and he quickly finished applying the bacta gel to the wound on your head before turning back towards his brother with a scowl on his face. “Don’t you have something else to do?”

Crosshair’s response, like him, was terse, to the point, and didn’t bother with any kind of fluff. “No.”

Echo sighed. “I know you’re worried about her, but I promise that everything will be just fine if you decided to take a few minutes in the sonic shower. You’re still covered in dirt from the mission and it was over a rotation ago.” 

Crosshair shook his head. “I need to be here.” 

“She probably won’t wake up until tomorrow, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Crosshair practically growled in response. “I need to be here.” 

A moment of silence descended over the two brothers as Echo took in the unspoken meaning behind Crosshair’s words. “What happened to her was not your fault,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper despite the fact that you could not hear anything.

“I should have been paying closer attention to the exit,” Crosshair snapped. “If I had noticed the pirates sooner, none of this would have happened.” 

Echo sighed as he finished changing your bandages. “Every one of us should have been more aware in that factory, but it doesn’t change the fact that we were outnumbered. And you know, she wouldn’t want you to keep beating yourself up over something that isn’t your fault.”

His brother had left the area before Crosshair could even think of a response, and the silence in the room started to take over. Echo was right, even though there was a part of his brain that didn’t want to admit it. Staring at you, laying out on the bunk looking weaker than he had ever seen you before was a sight he simultaneously couldn’t tear his eyes away from and never wanted to see again. 

As he fell asleep, his head leaning against the durasteel wall in a position that couldn’t possibly be described as comfortable, he found himself hoping with everything he had that you would wake up soon. 

***

Moments turned to hours, then to rotations. Your skin was looking better and the wounds were beginning to close, though he knew some would likely leave scars for years to come. Your breathing was rhythmic as you slept, and it echoed in Crosshair’s mind as he sat by your bedside and waited, glaring at anyone who walked in and barely stepping aside when it was time to change your bandages. Hunter had taken to just throwing ration bars at Crosshair’s head, knowing that convincing him to leave your side to eat would be a fight he could never win.  

Up until this point, your budding relationship with the squad’s sniper had mostly taken place behind closed doors, a secret dalliance that he hadn’t yet told his brothers about. Right now though, he doubted that he’d ever be able to lie and say that his concern for you was nothing but platonic, not with the way he’d held vigil by your bedside from the moment the mission was done. 

It was the sound of bed sheets rustling that alerted him to the fact that you were awake, and immediately he had wrapped his hand around yours. “Cyare,” he breathed, relief pouring out in his voice. “How are you feeling?” 

“Like banthashit.” Despite the fact that your voice broke from lack of use, the sarcasm was evident. It was something he loved about you, even though now he wasn’t exactly amused. 

And as your face curled into a smile, Crosshair playfully rolled his eyes.  “So eloquent.”  

You matched his expression. “Shut up.” 

“I’m sorry,” he said next, filling the silence as it just began to manifest. He pulled his hand away from yours, regret filling his eyes. 

A puzzled expression overtook your face. “What do you mean?” 

“If I had been keeping a better watch on the exit, I could have seen them before-” 

“Crosshair,” you cut him off before he could finish the thought. “What happened in there was not your fault. I wasn’t awake for much of my time as a hostage, but the fact that I’m here now is not an accident.” 

He sucked in a breath as he tried to fight the self deprecating voice in his brain. “Still,” he eventually responded. “I just want to protect you.” 

“I know,” you said. “And I have a suggestion on how you can do that now if you want.” 

“Anything.” 

You smiled. “Will you hold my hand again?”

Your request was accepted almost immediately, and Crosshair could feel some of the worry and fear melt away as he intertwined your fingers together. “I think my brothers have figured out that something is going on between us,” he said softly. “I’m sure the way I acted after you were taken didn’t help.” 

A small snort escaped your lips. “Based on the fact that no one has come in here to check my bandages or see how I’m feeling after I woke up, I think you’re right. Hunter does have advanced hearing after all.” 

“Sorry.” 

“Don’t you dare apologize,” you said, squeezing his hand. “We were going to have to tell them eventually, this just takes some of the worry out of it. Now get up here and lay with me.”

“Cyare.”

“I’m not going to break!”

Crosshair huffed playfully as he climbed into the bunk and wrapped his arms around you. “See?” you said, a wide grin on your face. “Isn’t this better?” 

A smile crossed your boyfriend’s face as he placed a soft kiss on your forehead. “Infinitely.”

- the end -

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[jasmines-library]

Blow To The Head

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

WHUMPTOBER DAY 10: prompt: Blow to the head/slurred words

MASTERLIST WHUMPTOBER 2024

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

The fight was relentless. The five of you had Bane trapped in an alleyway, straining to fight against him. Although he was heavily outnumbered, with the venom pumping into his veins he was nearly unstoppable. The five of you were working hard to try and sever the connection between the tubes hoping that it would weaken him enough for you to be able to detain him. But so far nothing was really going in your favours.

Tim’s bo-staff had already been snapped in two so he was now down to his fists and you were sure that Damian was going to run out of energy at any second from the way his punches lagged and his left side was slightly flagged open. But you were making do. The five of you had come up with some sort of system that seemed to be working.

Damian attacked from below as you swung down from above. Then Dick swiped from the left. As he swung, his stick sparking, Bane leaned back to dodge but in doing so was close enough for Tim to land a good blow from the right. Bane groaned, but then more enraged swiped at the three of you. You had tried to dodge it, but his large fist had knocked you back with a heavy force, which sent you flying backwards and skidding across the asphalt. Punch had hit you with such force that you collided hard with the wall with a heavy blow to the back of your head.

There were various cries of your code nade which you hardly registered. Your head swam as your vision doubled. And your ears were ringing louder than a church bell. And then you felt the hot, stick liquid seep down the back of your neck. It was warm and unsettling and you think there were more shouts of your name but you couldn’t quite tell. Spots moved before. Blue. Green. Red. They dashed from side to side as you tried to make out what was happening but you couldn’t think straight. Your head was pounding.

And then Tim’s face focused in front of you. It was worried looking and his hand came up to cup the back of your head. His frown deepened when his fingers came away sticky. And his lips were moving. But you couldn’t get yourself to focus on what he was saying.

“ -with me?” There was a tap on your face as his voice suddenly cut though your daze.

You blinked at him.

“Hey. Can you hear me? I said are you with me? Can you hear me?”

You scrunched your face up and then tried to push him away. “‘M f’ne…..” you mumbled, struggling to get up.

Tim frowned at your slurred words. “Hey. No. Sit back down, sweetheart.”

“We gotta stop Bane….” You slurred.

“We’ve got it, sweetheart. We gotta focus on you right now okay? You hit your head hard.”

“….okay……” you blinked.

Dick then came to your side and took over. He spoke to Tim. “She alright?”

Tim frowned. “She hit her head hard. It’s bleeding a fair bit and she’s definitely concussed. Her words are slurring too.”

Dick’s forehead creased. “I’ll get Damian to call medical. Jason’s already on Bane.” He said, brushing his thumb over your cheek gently. “Can you hear me, sweetheart?”

“Yeah….” You mumbled.

“Can you tell us how you’re feeling? Dizzy?”

“A little….” You slurred as your vision did somersaults.

“Alright……medical are on their way, okay? You just gotta stay awake and then we can get you patched up. It’s not too bad but you probably need to get that looked at kiddo.”

“…Kay….”

“Good girl.” Dick said, giving you a once over for anymore injures just as the sound of the medical team pulling up could be heard in the background.

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

TAGS:

@hearts4robs @kingshitonly @alicedawitchbish h @hell-o-kittys @azure-drag0ness @harleycao @thewhispersofthewaves @batfamsstuff @xxrougefangxx @rosecentury @noisymutantherelol @killxz @rhiodes @inlovewhithafairytale @that-wannabe-vangoghgurl @canthavetoomuchchaos

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

<- DAY NINE DAY ELEVEN ->

[kybercrystals94]

Veiled Threats and Bloody Knuckles

Read here on Ao3!

Whumptober 2024 - Day 16 - Prompts: Wound Cleaning // "No, I can't feel anything."

Rated: G | Words: 545

A/N: **throws fic into the World Wide Web abyss** All I can say is, at least I got something written today 😅

“Does it hurt?” Wrecker asks, watching Tech clean Hunter’s bloodied knuckles. 

Hunter grimaces, but he tries to pull it off as a grin. “No, I can’t even feel anything.”

Crosshair snorts. “You’re such a liar.” 

“If you truly did not feel anything, I would be concerned,” Tech puts in. When he sprays disinfectant over the broken skin, Hunter hisses and tries to pull his hand away, but Tech keeps a firm grip on Hunter’s wrist. “Please hold still.”

“I thought you couldn’t feel anything,” Crosshair mutters with a grin.

“Kriff off,” Hunter growls. 

“Which reg did you punch?” Wrecker asks. 

Hunter shrugs.

“Well, why’d you punch him?” 

“Not worth talking about,” Hunter says.

“Oh, so you just punched some random reg in the teeth for no reason,” Crosshair says, rolling his eyes. “If you’re going to keep lying, Hunter, at least make it convincing.” 

Hunter glares. “I’m not lying.” 

“Then tell us what happened.” 

“And then what?” Hunter asks, “You and Wrecker try to find these regs and pick a fight? No. Not happening.” 

Tech begins wrapping Hunter’s hand. “Perhaps we can come to a compromise. You tell us the circumstances, but not the parties involved.” 

“Why does it matter?” Hunter cries, “It doesn’t matter!” 

“Because whatever the issue was, it was worth being outnumbered and fighting back,” Tech replies simply, voice remaining level. “If it matters to you, it most certainly matters to us.”

Hunter takes a steadying breath. “I didn’t punch anyone. I punched a wall,” he bites out. “It was stupid.”

Shocked silence follows the confession, his brothers exchanging glances. 

Finally, Tech asks dryly, “And what did this wall do to offend you?” 

“It was because of the evaluation this morning,” Crosshair says. He leans forward. “What did those long necks say?” 

“What they always say,” Hunter mutters. “Veiled threats, letting me know without directly telling me that if we fail…there’s no point to us. We are experiments that can be thrown away as soon as we aren’t useful. I know they’re just trying to scare me into making sure I keep our records up, to make sure I push you guys in training and simulations. But I’m so kriffing tired of being objects to them.” 

“We might be objects to them,” Wrecker says, “but we know better.” 

“Wrecker is correct,” Tech says, adjusting his goggles. “Despite the Kaminoans best efforts, we are not exact copies of a desired product. We are individuals. It is a miraculous defect in what they perceived as a flawless design. Even the regs show variance. Whether they acknowledge it or not, it is a fact.” 

Hunter glares at the floor. “Facts don’t keep us from being decommissioned, Tech.” 

“No, but being the best does.” Crosshair stands up. “And we are the best, and we’ll keep being the best.” 

Wrecker laughs. “Yeah, we are! We’re the best squad Kamino has ever seen.” 

A grin tugs at the edge of Hunter’s lips. “Yeah, we are the best, aren’t we?” 

“That is also a fact,” Tech agrees. He takes Hunter’s injured hand, examining the white bandage already tinged pink with fresh blood. “Next time you forget that, may I recommend a punching bag as a viable alternative to a wall?” 

Hunter chuckles. “Yeah, I’ll keep that in mind.” 

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[scary-grace]

Enough to Go By (Chapter 16) - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

Your best friend vanished on the same night his family was murdered, and even though the world forgot about him, you never did. When a chance encounter brings you back into contact with Shimura Tenko, you'll do anything to make sure you don't lose him again. Keep his secrets? Sure. Aid the League of Villains? Of course. Sacrifice everything? You would - but as the battle between the League of Villains and hero society unfolds, it becomes clear that everything is far more than you or anyone else imagined it would be. (cross-posted to Ao3)

Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17

Chapter 16

“We can’t stop here.”

“Why not? It’s out of the way. There are abandoned buildings. It’s perfect.” Dabi gestures down at the small village between the hills. “I don’t get what your problem is.”

Spinner crosses his arms over his chest. “Just trust me. It’s not a good place.”

“Why not?” Toga asks – whines, almost. “I’m tired. It’s dark. Can’t we just find somewhere and –”

“We’ll protect you if there are ghosts!” Twice chimes in. “Or you can sleep in a tree.”

Spinner’s shoulders stiffen. “Hey,” you warn. You turn your attention to Spinner. “If you know something we don’t that makes it not safe for everybody –”

“It’s safe for you all,” Spinner says. “Not for me. This is a sundown town. The CRC has a branch here.”

Your heart sinks. “The who?” Tomura says blankly. Everybody else looks just as confused.

“The Creature Rejection Clan,” you say, before anyone can prompt Spinner to explain. He shouldn’t have to explain. “They’re a hate group. Against people whose quirks visibly alter their bodies.”

“Mutants,” Spinner says shortly. “If they catch you with me we’ll all be in trouble. It’s safer to find somewhere else.”

“No,” Tomura says. You look askance at him, and you’re not the only one. “Fuck them. They don’t own this town. Why should you have to leave? Let’s just kill them and then we can all sleep.”

“Um –” You feel like you should say something about this turn of events. Like that murdering however many people are in this town’s CRC branch is a bad idea if you’re trying to keep a low profile. “Shouldn’t somebody scout and find out what we’re looking at as far as numbers go? I can do that.”

“Yes,” Compress agrees. “We should plan –”

“We don’t need a plan.” Tomura cuts him off. “We’ll tell them we’re there to steal their shit. When they attack us, we’ll kill them, and then we’ll steal their shit. Easy.”

“Like an item drop,” Spinner says, and cracks a weak, angry grin. “Fine with me. Let’s go.”

The CRC branch headquarters isn’t hard to spot. The League strategizes quietly on the walk there, trying to decide who will attack what, and you walk in the middle, unsure of what to do. They’ll tell you what to do, right? Somebody will. It’s not like you can fight. Sure enough, Tomura drops back from a conversation with Twice and falls into step beside you. “I want you to stay out front.”

“Still keeping your precious Saintess’s hands clean?” Dabi sneers. “She’s on the run. It’s too late.”

“We need a lookout,” Tomura says. “If it looks like backup’s coming, we need to know. And if anybody gets out –”

“Not likely!” Toga trills.

“Someone needs to stop them,” Tomura continues. “Can you do that?”

“Yes.” You answer before you’ve really thought about it, but you won’t be any use in the main fight, and if they’re doing this, you need to help. Besides, how hard could it be?

The answer to the question “how hard could it be” turns out to be “pretty hard”. The League is outnumbered, unable to use Dabi’s wide-range quirk without potentially burning themselves alive, and Toga and Spinner are the only ones who actually use weapons in hand-to-hand combat. The front door locks from the inside, and while you know Compress locked it on the League’s way in, it must not be very hard to unlock, because there are multiple people trying to open it and escape. You throw your weight back against it to keep it shut, but you’re not going to be able to forever. “Um –”

“Hey, where are you guys going?” Toga’s voice is syrupy sweet and all the more terrifying for it. You hear an agonized shriek. “Come back in! We were just starting to have fun!”

The pressure on the door lessens significantly, but a moment later, there’s a crash, followed by someone in a creepy mask diving through a window and sprawling out on the ground in front of you. This is your job to deal with, but you don’t have a weapon. A quick check of your surroundings reveals an umbrella stand by the door. You knock it over, spilling the umbrellas, then pick up the stand. The CRC member is on their hands and knees, struggling to rise, and you deliver a sharp strike to their kidneys with the base of the stand.

You knew what you were aiming at. You know it hurts. The CRC member shrieks, and your stomach turns. “Stay down.”

Toga vaults through the window and lands on the ground, graceful like a cat. “Thanks for grabbing him,” she says. She stabs one of her syringes into the man’s leg and his body jerks as the device on her back begins to suction blood at a rate that collapses his veins. “We’re almost done in there. It’s too bad you couldn’t see Tomura-kun fight. You’d like it when he gets angry.”

You don’t know that you would. You don’t feel very good about what you just did. You’re not sorry that you hit the guy who tried to escape, and you’re not sorry that the members of a hate group are getting what’s coming to them, but – you don’t really know why you feel weird. You just know it’s the kind of thing you should keep to yourself.

The front door opens just as Toga’s finished draining blood from the man you hit. Dabi sticks his head out. “Grab that guy and get in here. We’re searching the place.”

Toga grabs the dead man’s feet, leaving you to grab beneath his shoulders, and the two of you drag him up the front steps and into the house. You’re used to handling the injured. You’re not used to dead bodies. You’re more than a little relieved to set him down, and you don’t feel entirely better until Tomura’s touched him and turned the corpse to dust. “We’re searching in groups, in case anybody hid,” he informs you and Toga. “Toga, you’re with Compress. And you’re with me and Spinner.”

You nod and follow them deeper into the house – Tomura in front of you, Spinner behind. “Did either of you get hurt?” you ask. There’s an awkward silence. “I need to know.”

“I got clipped. It’s not that bad,” Spinner says. You glance back and see him grimacing, and you switch spots with him in line without another word. “It’s not that bad. Seriously.”

“I’ll look at it once we’re done,” you decide. You address Tomura next. “What about you?”

“They couldn’t touch me.” Tomura disintegrates the first door the three of you come to and peers inside. “Empty. Let’s search.”

There’s not much in the room. Some antiques, but those are easier to trace than regular stolen goods and would be harder to sell. There’s a bookshelf, and a case full of ancient bladed weapons, which Spinner promptly breaks and begins to sort through. “These are old but good,” he says. “They did a better job with steel back in the day. Here.”

He’s holding out a knife to you. “You should have a real weapon. I don’t know how you stopped the guy who got out –”

“Umbrella stand.”

Spinner looks honestly taken aback. “A knife’s faster,” he says. “Take it.”

“Thanks,” you say. You’ll have to think of somewhere to put it later. It won’t be much use in your backpack.

Out of everybody who’s searching the house, you and Toga come up with the items with the highest resale value – Toga has a good eye for clothing, and having recently hidden your own jewelry from Compress, you have a good idea of where to look for concealed objects. Rather than helping with the search, Dabi’s gone looking for food, but in spite of the fact that he’s found whatever the CRC was planning to eat at the conclusion of their meeting, he’s still in a mood. “Why are we doing this? Wasn’t the point of the supply caches so we wouldn’t have to?”

“This wasn’t just for food and a place to sleep. It was about taking out the trash, same as dealing with Overhaul was.” Tomura starts picking through the food. You sit Spinner down to check out his injury. “There’s no place for them in the new world.”

Dabi makes a derisive noise, and nobody else is paying attention – but you’re right up close with Spinner, and you see his eyes widen. “The new world?” he asks quietly. “I’ve never heard him say that before. Do you know what he’s talking about?”

You nod. “You should ask him.”

“No, you should tell me so I can decide if I want to know. I – ow.”

“Sorry,” you say. “Do you know what this is from?”

“It was a pitchfork. Classic, right?” Spinner scowls, grimaces, while you explore the wounds. They’re deep, but not deep enough to do real muscle or organ damage. Infection will be the biggest risk – like it usually is. “How’d you know about the CRC? Most people who have quirks like mine – don’t.”

“Most big cities have CRC offshoots. Yokohama’s no different.” You clean out the wounds one at a time, doing your best to be gentle. “They have neighborhoods they hang out in, and the clinic I worked in sat near the border of one. People they attack come to the clinic for treatment. Or hide in there to get away. The CRC are, um –”

“Top-flight assholes.”

“Yeah.” You pick up some bandages and a roll of medical tape. “I shouldn’t have talked over you earlier. I just didn’t want you to have to explain.”

“It’s okay. I’m glad somebody else knew what I was talking about.” Spinner gives you a curious look. “How are you doing with all this?”

“This?”

“Being on the run.”

“Oh,” you say. “It’s fine.”

It’s been three weeks since you took a leave of absence from work and ran for the hills, and since then, life’s been broken up into long periods of travel and short periods of stillness. Kurogiri was captured by the heroes sometime after the temporary alliance with Overhaul was made, which means that overland travel at night is the only way the seven of you can get anywhere without getting in trouble. You aren’t doing hardly any fighting, and your medical skills are only needed when somebody needs patching up, but you’re keeping busy in spite of that. You’re still the only person the police aren’t looking for.

Scouting, supply runs, running interference if the daytime hiding place is at risk of being found – all of it falls to you. You’re supposed to be a medic. On a day-to-day basis, you’re logistical support. It’s exhausting, but not particularly dangerous. It feels more like a hard day’s work than anything else, and at the end of it, you’re with Tomura, which is the important thing. You’re there to remind him that a new world can be built after the old one’s been destroyed, to convince him that the new world is something he wants to be a part of. That’s your job now, more than anything else.

Tomura comes over to check on you and Spinner. “How bad is it?”

“Painful, but they aren’t deep,” you report. “I’ll monitor them, but the infection risk is low so long as we all stay clean.”

“That’s the hard part,” Spinner mumbles. “It’s too cold to take baths outside.”

“Saintess said no more baths outside anyway,” Twice calls from the other side of the room. “Since some people can’t swim.”

“You can say Tomura-kun,” Toga says. “It’s okay.”

The realization that Tomura can’t swim was an unpleasant one for everybody, since it necessitated yanking him out of an icy pond while avoiding contact with his quirk. Twice and his clones came in handy, and nothing bad happened other than embarrassment on Tomura’s part, but it’s still not an experience you want anybody to repeat. “We’ll find ways. Worst comes to worst, I’ll rent us a motel room.”

“One motel room for all of us? You’d be doing the heroes’ work for them,” Dabi sneers. “If I have to sleep in a confined space with all of you, you’ll be dead by dawn.”

“Fine. The roof of the hypothetical motel room is all yours.”

Tomura looks irritated. “He’s this close to being more trouble than he’s worth,” he says in a low voice. “We could cut him loose without the risk he’d turn us in. He hates heroes as much as I do.”

“Yeah, but he’s our only ranged attack,” Spinner says practically. “I say stick it out.”

Tomura glances at you. You hate it when he does that on questions about strategy. “Keep him,” you agree. “He’s all talk.”

Tomura nods, still dissatisfied. Spinner looks a little nervous about it, but you aren’t – it’ll dissipate, like most of Tomura’s bad moods do sooner or later. He’s moody, but not volatile. “Do you want food?” he asks abruptly. You nod. After a second, so does Spinner, and Tomura gets up and walks away.

“Is he really getting food for us?” Spinner asks. You nod again. “And you’re sure about the new world thing. It’s not going to piss him off if I ask?”

You shake your head. Tomura mentioned Spinner specifically as someone you should talk about it with, but you think the idea itself should come from Tomura. The mission all of you are on is Tomura’s dream, really – you’re just trying to make sure it doesn’t kill him.

Tomura comes back with some of the food that Dabi scavenged, passes it out, and sits down next to you to eat. Spinner waits until Tomura’s mouth is full before he asks. “So, uh – you mentioned a new world. What’s that about?”

“Ask her.”

“No.” You glare at Tomura. “I’m your sidekick. It’s your idea. Tell him like you told me.”

“I’m not telling him like that,” Tomura says, and you elbow him, exasperated. He’s smirking slightly behind the hand as he addresses Spinner. “The old world has to be destroyed. Once it’s gone there’s a blank slate. And you –”

You elbow him again. “We get to decide what it should be like,” Tomura corrects himself. “Mainly her. And the two of you should talk about it, because you have ideas, too. Right?”

“Uh –”

“Anti-discrimination laws,” you suggest. Tomura snorts. “Come on. Anarchy isn’t sustainable long-term. A new world won’t automatically be better than the old one. If we don’t want it to be worse, we have to make sure it isn’t.”

“If you say so.” Tomura wolfs down his last few bites of food, then lies down, stretching out with his head in your lap. “I’m done planning for today.”

You can tell Spinner doesn’t like seeing Tomura call it quits when there are things to do. You make eye contact with him and try to bridge the gap. “You wouldn’t have checked out from the world if you thought it was a good place to be. Tell me what’s wrong with it.”

You and Spinner talk a bit while Tomura dozes, but things are winding down, and eventually the League barricades the front door, shuts the windows, and retreats into two of the back rooms to sleep. Tomura stirs when everyone else leaves, but when you try to get up, he won’t let you. “We can’t sleep out here,” you remind him.

Tenko kisses you. “Who said anything about sleeping?”

“Tenko –”

He cuts you off with another kiss, one hand sliding inside your jacket, the other dipping into the pocket where you keep his gloves. Tenko’s hair is getting long. You weave your fingers through it as he puts on the gloves, trying to ground yourself, to find a second of calm. You know there won’t be any once Tenko gets his gloves on.

In retrospect, having sex with Tenko for the first time the night before you went on the run might not have been the best idea, because Tenko’s been taking advantage of every second where the others are looking away ever since. In some ways it’s hot. You’ve never had a boyfriend who’s this handsy with you, this addicted to you, and the fact that Tenko barely cares about being caught in the middle of something makes it even better. But as hot as it is, you’re not sure about doing whatever Tenko’s got in mind in a place where at least two dozen people just died.

You don’t even know what he’s got in mind. “Tenko,” you mumble as his lips press against your neck. He bites down slightly and you shiver. “What are you doing?”

“Give me a second.” He’s leaving marks. One at the side of your mouth, one down against your shoulder, and you feel almost uncomfortably hot at the idea that it’ll all be visible without your veil. “Don’t rush me.”

You’re not going to rush him, but your discomfort is building, and if you don’t do something soon, it’ll be too late. You plant your hand on Tenko’s chest and push him back, crawling over him to press your lips against his. You know Tenko likes it when you show you want him, and it’s not hard for you to do. It’s not the idea of hooking up right now that bothers you – more the venue, and you find yourself caring less and less about it with every second that passes. Something is wrong with you.

Knowing that doesn’t stop you from straddling Tenko’s lap, grinding against him. There are multiple layers of clothing between you, but you know he’s getting hard, and you can pretend that the heat between your legs is the result of his touch rather than simple friction. Tenko’s kisses are eager and messy. His hands slide beneath your shirt, up from your waist to your breasts – but your bra is in the way. He taps it impatiently and speaks without pulling away. “I hate this thing.”

“I taught you how to unhook it.”

“Still.” In fairness to Tenko, you’re wearing a front-fastening bra. “I’m banning these in the new world.”

“You don’t get to ban stuff in the new world unless you’re planning to be in it,” you say, and your heart leaps when he doesn’t argue. Then you think about it. “Hate groups, heroes, and bras. That’s really what you want to get rid of?”

“I’ll think of other stuff,” Tenko says, unconcerned. He unfastens your bra, then runs his gloved fingers along the underside of your breasts. One of your nipples is captured between his thumb and forefinger, and he tugs and pinches lightly at it, making you squirm. “This is a good start.”

You hate it when he does this. You hate how much you like it. The friction between your legs provides the only relief, so you grind further into Tenko’s lap, looking for more. “Stop,” Tenko says, an edge to his voice. “Don’t do that if we can’t –”

“Who said we can’t?” You made one last addition to your med kit before you left, hidden in an inside pocket. You slide your backpack off your shoulders, reach inside, and produce one of several condoms. Tenko’s eyes widen. “What do you think?”

He slides his hands out from under your shirt to pull at your leggings and underwear. You decide that counts as a yes. Getting out of your clothes is a pain – your boots have to come off, followed by your leggings, followed by your underwear. Your boring underwear, according to Toga when she helped you pack. A thought crosses your mind, and like your thoughts usually do when you and Tenko are together, it comes out of your mouth. “Do you think my underwear is boring?”

“I think it’s in the way.”

You weren’t sure there was a right answer, but that counts. You kiss Tenko and work on unbuttoning his pants. It’s much less of a production for him, and once his cock is free, you can’t resist taking him in hand for a few strokes. Tenko’s body tenses in response, and you watch as his red eyes dilate. He picks up the condom on his own this time, putting it on with sharp, frantic movements, and as soon as it’s in place, you shift forward, lining up and sinking down onto his cock.

All the air leaves your lungs, and Tenko’s breath hisses out from between his teeth as you settle fully into his lap. “You didn’t give me a second,” he mumbles, his voice strained. A questioning sound is all you can manage in response. “I was going to eat you out.”

Your stomach ties itself in a knot instantly. You shift your weight, drawing your attention to the stretch and pressure of Tenko’s cock inside you instead of on what he just said – or maybe you’re trying to get him to stop talking. You’re not sure which. Either, way, it doesn’t work. “We haven’t done that yet,” he continues. Riding him isn’t shutting him up. You try kissing instead, but leaning forward to do it leads to an unsustainable change in pace, one that leaves you gasping. “I like how you taste.”

Tenko’s hands are on your hips, holding on with an iron grip. You were trying to set a faster pace, but his hold on you forces you to slow down, prolonging the slide of his cock against the most sensitive spots inside you and making you shudder. You wish you’d taken off more of your clothes. You feel hot and shaky all over and somehow even more out of control than you did when you were underneath him the first time. Tenko’s eyes are wide, pupils dilated so far that his irises are noting more than a thin red rim. His hips lift slowly beneath you as his hand leaves your hip to wrap around the back of your neck, pulling you down for a kiss.

Tenko’s pace is slow and intense, almost agonizing. Your legs are trembling so badly that you couldn’t maintain a rhythm of your own if you wanted to. Tenko holds on even as his control deteroiorates, while he twitches beneath you and moans into the kiss. When you draw back to breathe, you find his eyes squeezed shut. A tear leaks from beneath one of his eyelids, and you stare for a moment in shock before leaning in to kiss it away.

From there you kiss the scar over his right eye, the one you’ve never asked about, just like you’ve never asked about the one on his mouth – the location of your next kiss, once you’ve decided against kissing the birthmark on the other side. Tenko sucks down a breath, mumbles your name. Then: “I love you,” he says. Your stomach twists again, this time with anxiety. It doesn’t make a difference to Tenko – he moans and thrusts sharply upwards. Your body shifts independent of your mind, making sure his cock hits the right spot. “Fuck. I can’t – I love you –”

Whatever unspoken rule there is against saying I love you during sex, Tenko’s clearly never heard of it, and seeing and feeling him fall apart between your legs sends you over the edge in a few seconds more. For a moment, your mind goes totally blank, and in the absence of thought or restraint, the worlds almost slip out of your mouth, trailing after his name. “Tenko. Tenko –”

I love you. The weight of it keeps you silent. But only just.

Tenko doesn’t comment on the fact that you haven’t said it back. He never does, which is a relief. You’ve shown that you love him, and you’ll show it again, so it doesn’t need to be said. What does have to be said is the same thing you said last time. “We can’t sleep like this.”

“I know.” The sulky note in his voice almost makes you laugh.

By the time the two of you retreat to the back rooms, some of your anxiety’s worn off, and like always, you feel better once Tenko’s asleep next to you. You have him. All For One can’t take him away from you. He belongs to you, and you’ll keep him with you, through the end of the world and into the new one. The thought comforts you, but it’s not comforting enough to fall asleep on. You’re awake most of the night, like you have been for months.

The League of Villains is awake and in motion before dawn, heading towards Kurogiri’s last pre-capture coordinates. You’re not sure what’s waiting there. Tomura isn’t sure, either – just that it’s something his master left for him, some power that’s supposed to help him reach his goal. Dabi’s theory is that it’s some kind of super-Nomu, while Spinner thinks it’s a weapon. “What kind of weapon?” Twice asks. “Like a sword?”

“No, like a really big gun.”

The idea of Tomura with a really big gun is inexplicably entertaining to you. You struggle to muffle your laughter. “My quirk is better than a gun,” Tomura says. “If it’s a gun, Spinner, it’s yours.”

“Shouldn’t it be mine?” you ask. Tomura looks askance at you. “I don’t have a quirk or a real weapon. And I’m an okay shot.”

“In Call of Duty,” Tomura says. Spinner wheezes. “It’s a game.”

“We should get you a gun,” Toga decides. “Those creepy yakuza guys had one, and they had quirks. You should definitely have one, because you don’t.”

“A gun or a quirk?”

“Both,” Dabi says. He stops walking, and you walk directly into him. “Did you feel that?”

“Feel what?” Twice asks, and makes a fart joke that has Toga and Spinner groaning. “I gotta tell you, Dabi, if you can feel them –”

“There it is again,” Dabi says. He twists around to look at you. This time, you picked up on it, and so did Tomura. “What is that?”

“If I knew I’d say it,” Tomura snaps. “Sensei didn’t tell me.”

“You should have asked. If you had asked, then we wouldn’t be –” Dabi breaks off as the vibration strikes a third time, hard enough to make all of you stagger. A plume of dust rises from between the hills ahead of you. “What the hell is that?”

Not a hill. It’s not a hill. What you thought was a hill is the curved back of some giant thing, and now it’s straightening up, getting to its feet. It rears up, taller than you and everybody else by orders of magnitude, and you see that it’s human-shaped. Its features are craggy, like it’s been carved inexpertly from rough stone. Looking at it, it’s hard not to imagine that this is what Kurogiri was looking for, and it’s impossible for you to imagine that he was unable to find it – or that the heroes didn’t find it, too. All For One didn’t leave Tomura a weapon. He left him a mountain that walks.

The mountain-that-walks steps towards the group of you, rattling your bones on every step. “Master’s heir,” it says, in a voice that sounds like rocks shattering. “Where is he?”

Tomura steps forward. “Here.”

For a few moments they’re simply looking at each other, Tomura looking up and the mountain staring down. Then the mountain’s face distorts, an anguished howl issuing from a mouth filled with jagged teeth. “No! He’s too weak!”

“What?” Tomura snarls. The giant is clawing up dirt and stone from the ground, looking for something. For a weapon. Your blood turns to ice, but Tomura steps forward. “If you think you can just –”

“Die!”

The giant hurls a massive chunk of stone at Tomura, and you throw yourself forward, too, hitting Tomura in the back and knocking you both to the ground. You land hard, biting the inside of your cheek as the rock crashes down in the same spot as Tomura was standing a split second ago. The giant wails again, tears running down its face. “Weak,” it howls. “Too weak. Master, how could you do this to me?”

You’ve got seconds before it throws something else. It’s already looking around for another weapon. You drag Tomura to his feet and pull him away, ducking around the boulder and back to the League. “We need to get out of here.”

“Right now!” Spinner looks just as scared as you feel, which makes two of you who are reacting normally. “If we split up and run –”

“Outrun that thing? No way.” Dabi’s face splits into an eerie grin. “We’ll fight, right, Shigaraki? Or is that thing right about you?”

Tomura yanks his arm free of your grip and takes off toward the giant, throwing an order over his shoulder. “Get her out of here, Spinner!”

It makes sense. Spinner’s quirk doesn’t equip him well for a fight like this, just like your lack of a quirk doesn’t equip you at all. Spinner doesn’t look insulted at being stuck on girlfriend protection duty, and you’re not opposed to getting out of here – except you’ve got a job to do. “I’m the medic. I can’t leave!”

“If they get hit, there will be nothing to fix,” Compress says shortly. Your stomach turns at the thought of Tomura being struck by a flying boulder or getting crushed in the giant’s fist until he’s nothing more than a bloody smear in the dirt. “And he won’t be effective if he’s worried about your safety. Get clear.”

A wave of blue fire fills your vision, then dissipates. Toga’s voice is bordering on a shriek. “That didn’t work, Dabi!”

If Dabi’s flames aren’t having any effect, this opponent’s too dangerous for the League. Tomura’s the only one who could take the giant down, but he’d have to get close. There’s a horrible crash from somewhere ahead of you, and Spinner grabs your arm. “Let’s go!”

You balk again, agonized, but then you hear a voice – one that’s not the giant’s, not Tomura’s, not Dabi’s. Someone else. “How are you, Shigaraki? Are you well?”

“Sure,” Tomura says, tense and frustrated, “but I might be mincemeat in a second.”

“Then let’s have a chat, shall we? Stand by.”

Stand by for what? The giant’s coming. You can’t stand by. You all have to run. You try to say that, but suddenly a foul taste pervades your mouth, and it fills with something slimy, something that makes you cough and gag. Everyone else is doing the same. You hear Dabi curse, the words muffled and then choked off entirely. Your own body contorts in discomfort, and when you force your eyes open, you see black slime emerging from the others’ mouths, engulfing them entirely, engulfing you. It obscures your vision, and when you open your eyes, you’re somewhere else entirely.

It’s some kind of warp quirk, and overall, you much prefer Kurogiri’s. You glance around at your surroundings, just like the others are doing. They’re completely unfamiliar – an enormous room, high-ceilinged and dark. The only light comes from the tall capsules filled with bodies suspended in glowing liquid on either side of you, and from a bright screen up ahead. In front of the screen sits a man.

The location looks unfamiliar. But as you cough and struggle to clear the taste of the sludge from your mouth, you catch a familiar smell. Rot. Like a morgue, and suddenly you know exactly where you are. It was even darker last time, but the smell is unmistakable. This is where you met All For One.

All For One’s not here, and you have a feeling about who the man is, a feeling that’s confirmed a moment later when Tomura speaks. “Doctor,” he says. “It’s been a while.”

“Indeed. I always intended to reach out, but I wanted to see how you would do on your own. It’s been –” the doctor makes a displeased sound. “Underwhelming.”

“What part of taking down the Shie Hassaikai is underwhelming?”

“The fact that it wasn’t your doing. The heroes did the lion’s share of the work,” the doctor says, “while the lot of you merely swooped in, crippled Overhaul after he had already been captured, and kidnapped a child – only to return her. If you’d held onto her, I would have reached out sooner. That was quite a quirk you let slip through your fingers.”

“That wasn’t him. That was me,” you say. You’re not about to let Tomura take the fall for something you did, particularly when you aren’t at all sorry you did it. “If you’d reached out and let us know you were interested, I might have held onto her.”

You wouldn’t have, but there’s no need for the doctor to know that. He rises from his chair and turns to face you. “And who were you to make the determination to let her go?”

“I’m the one who’d have wound up taking care of her,” you say. You already didn’t like the doctor – the fact that he refused to care for Tomura when he was hurt leaves a bad taste in your mouth – but you like him even less now. You keep yourself conciliatory with an effort. “We didn’t have the capability to contain her quirk long-term. It was too much of a risk.”

“And you allow your underlings to make those decisions, Shigaraki?”

“I trust my comrades’ judgement,” Tomura says. “The League of Villains is functional whether we’re working as a group or not.”

“It’s quite a group,” the doctor says. “Let’s see – one teenage girl, one societal reject, two petty criminals, a serial arsonist and murderer, and a civilian to round things out.”

“You went with ‘civilian’ for Saintess? Really?” Dabi never says your codename with anything less than scorn. “Try quirkless next time. Then you’d be eight for eight.”

Now that you think about it, it’s weird that he targeted your lack of a record, when anyone else would agree that your quirklessness is the larger problem. The doctor ignores Dabi. “Still, it’s a team worth paying attention to – and perhaps worth helping, depending on what you intend to use them for. What do you intend to do with them?”

“Destroy All Might.”

The doctor tsks. “Those are your master’s words, and you aren’t him. Try again.”

“Destroy hero society.”

Tomura sounds like he’s taking a test. Taking one, and failing it. The doctor tsks again. “Close, but not quite.”

“Destroy everything,” Tomura snaps, and the doctor smiles. That smile cements your dislike for him for good. “Everything I see, I hate. There’s nothing about this world that’s worth saving, so I’ll destroy it all at once.”

Toga makes a skeptical sound. “What about me, Tomura? Are you even going to destroy the things I like?”

“There’s always room for my comrades’ wishes,” Tomura says. Toga grins. Tomura glances sideways, meets your eyes, then faces the doctor again. “My comrades can’t live as they want in this world. I can’t live in it at all. So I’ll tear it down, brick by brick, atom by atom, until there’s nothing left in our way.”

“Anarchy, then?”

“Anarchy’s not sustainable,” Tomura says, and you find yourself hiding a smile under your veil. “What happens next isn’t my problem. My comrades can choose what to do.”

“What if I don’t want to do anything?” Twice asks. “I want to drink coffee and eat sushi.”

“Ugh,” Dabi mutters. “I don’t give a shit about any of it. As long as nobody stops me from doing what I need to do.”

Every so often, Dabi alludes to some mission of his, trying to lure one of you into asking so he can tell you to fuck off. You’ve all learned to ignore it by now. “As long as the things I like are here, I don’t care what happens,” Toga says. “Everybody else can choose.”

It’s quiet after that, other than Twice musing out loud about whether sushi and coffee go together even slightly. The doctor raises his eyebrows. “Three of you are awfully quiet. Compress, Spinner, Saintess – what plans do you have after you’ve helped Shigaraki destroy everything?”

“I’m keeping my options open,” Compress says. “A true performer waits for the right moment to claim the spotlight.”

The doctor lets that go, probably because Compress is a real adult and not somebody he feels like kicking around. He faces you and Spinner. “The shut-in and the civilian. What will you do?”

Spinner opens his mouth and you cut him off. “I’ll do what Shigaraki asks of me,” you say. It’s not a lie – he’s asked you to build the new world, and you’ll do it as long as he agrees to live in it with you. “I’m his sidekick. That’s my job.”

“I’m not a sidekick, but I’ll do what Shigaraki asks, too.” Spinner’s smart enough not to bring up Tomura’s instructions about the new world. “I don’t have my own vision. I’ll follow the person with the best one.”

“And you believe Shigaraki’s vision is the best one.”

“Yes.” Spinner doesn’t hesitate.

“Remarkable,” the doctor says, but he doesn’t follow up with Spinner. Instead he turns to you. “I have no need to question your loyalty to Shigaraki. You had more to lose in following him than the others.”

More to lose, sure – but losing him would have been worse. The doctor returns his attention to Tomura. “It seems you do have some degree of vision, as warped and simplistic as it may be. And you are capable of inspiring some degree of loyalty. The situation is not as dire as I originally thought.”

“Thanks.”

“It’s still rather dire,” the doctor says, like Tomura’s acceptance of the backhanded compliment wasn’t the most sarcastic thing you’ve ever heard him say. “Still, I’ll assist you on a limited basis for now.”

“How limited?”

“Some financial support. You’re still lacking in that department. That being said,” the doctor continues, “I can promise significantly more should you convince Gigantomachia to submit to you. He was your master’s most powerful servant. If he accepts your rule, I’ll throw my considerable resources behind you.”

“So we have to fight him until he quits?” Dabi sounds skeptical. “Fuck that. I’ve got better things to do with my time.”

“Like what?” Spinner asks.

“There’s a potential ally I’m cultivating. If I’m right about him, it’ll be a coup for us. Way more than converting some random civilian.”

Tomura’s shoulders tense, and you pray he’ll let it slide – and he does. “I look forward to meeting them.”

“While you’re doing that, perhaps you can assist with the testing of a Nomu,” the doctor says. So he’s the one who makes them. You weren’t sure. “I’ve created a class of high-tiers, far more powerful than the Nomu Shigaraki deployed at USJ, and they’re ready to be tested against powerful heroes.”

Dabi looks like he’s about to tell the doctor to fuck off. Then he tilts his head, considering. “How powerful of a hero do you want?”

“As powerful as you can secure. If I’m correct about the strength of the high-tiers, lesser heroes will fall before them easily.”

Dabi cracks a nasty grin. “I’ve got somebody in mind.”

“Excellent. As for the rest of you –” the doctor snaps his fingers, and the smallest Nomu you’ve ever seen scurries forward. It’s carrying a box, and when you look closer, you see that it contains earpieces. “Take these. This is how I’ll contact you from now on.”

You each step forward to take them. “This is really it?” Twice asks, not all that quietly. “We just have to get the big guy to bow down?”

“It won’t be easy,” the doctor says. “His strength and stamina are unmatched. I’ll be very impressed if any of you survive.”

Spinner looks worried. You’re worried, too. Tomura isn’t. “Thanks for the tutorial,” he says to the doctor. You’re last in line to collect your earpiece, and you tuck it into your ear. “Send us back. I feel motivated all of a sudden.”

The doctor signals something – another tiny Nomu – and black sludge begins to erupt from the others’ mouths. The others’ mouths, but not yours. You look to Tomura, a surge of panic rising within you, and Tomura reaches out, his fingers closing on your sleeve for a split second before the warp tears him away. He’s gone. They’re all gone, and you’re alone in here. With the bodies floating in the glass capsules and the two tiny Nomus and the doctor.

You have the knife Spinner gave you strapped to your back, concealed with your backpack, but you don’t know the doctor’s quirk, and you still can’t fight. The only way out of here is if the doctor decides to let you go. “Sir, please –”

“Manners for me, too? I’m glad to see that someone in Shigaraki’s gang of misfits respects common courtesy.” The doctor smiles. It’s not quite a leer, but it’s enough to make your skin crawl. “Don’t worry, my dear. I’ll send you back to your master in short order. I just need to run some tests.”

“Tests?” you say uncertainly. “What kind of tests?”

“Nothing too painful, or too invasive.” The doctor beckons you closer, and you take a few hesitant steps. You don’t want him to get mad at you. This, whatever it is, will be worse if he’s angry. “All For One had a hunch when he met you, and I’d like to confirm it. You want to be as useful to your master as possible, don’t you?”

You don’t like that he keeps calling Tenko your master, but you do want to be as useful as possible. You nod. “Excellent. Hold out your hand,” the doctor says. You do, at which point he jabs a needle attached to an electrode into the meat of your palm. You yelp in pain. “Oh, hush. Has anyone explained the theory of quirk latency to you?”

Even with your palm stinging, even in fear for your life, you can’t help rolling your eyes. “Yes.”

“And you seem not to set much store by it.”

“It’s a lie,” you say. “Something they tell quirkless children so we’ll stay hopeful instead of recognizing how the world really sees us.”

“Explain it for me.”

The needle in your palm is buzzing. It feels like there are insects crawling beneath your skin. “Quirk latency theory suggests that the majority of people who appear to be quirkless are not. Instead, they possess latent quirks – quirks that don’t manifest for the first time unless certain conditions are met, and if those conditions are never met, the person in question appears to be quirkless for their entire life.”

The doctor yanks the sensor out of your palm. “Give an example.”

“If someone’s quirk is driving stick-shift perfectly,” you say. It’s the example you heard in school. It was stupid then and it’s stupid now. “It’ll never show up if they never get behind the wheel of a stick-shift car.”

“Sounds plausible, doesn’t it?”

“Maybe, but it doesn’t matter,” you say. The doctor wraps a blood pressure cuff around your arm. At least, it looks like a blood pressure cuff – when it constricts, it jabs dozens of needles into your bicep, and you whimper in pain. You can slice into your skin without blinking, but it’s different when someone else is in control. “If it never manifests and you never know what it is, it’s the same as not having one at all.”

“Mm. I suppose.” The blood pressure cuff squeezes your arm agonizingly tight, then beeps and releases. The doctor peels it away. “Your decision to release the girl, while frustrating on a professional level, was the correct decision with regard to Shigaraki’s survival. Lift the veil.”

“Sir –”

“I know your face already. Lift it.”

You raise the edge and flip it back, at which point the doctor stuffs a thermometer into your mouth. That one doesn’t stab you, but he jabs a needle into your lower lip a second later. A mask lowers over your eyes, ringed in tiny needles just like the cuff, and all the needles deliver a low, buzzing shock. The thermometer in your mouth beeps, but the doctor doesn’t remove it. “It’s intriguing that Shigaraki selected you, of all people, to serve as his sidekick – but far more intriguing is the fact that you accepted the role. All For One had charisma. The strength of his character drew others to him, and his wealth and benevolence certainly didn’t hurt. Shigaraki Tomura possesses nothing of the kind. How on earth did he entice a civilian away from what for all intents and purposes appeared to be a relatively normal, happy life?”

Not by being Shigaraki Tomura – and not just by being Shimura Tenko. You call him different names depending on who you’re with, but he’s the same person, the same man, regardless of whether you use the name given to him by his master or his father. The thermometer in your mouth beeps sharply, and the doctor extracts it in a hurry, followed by the needle in your lip. Then he lifts the eye mask away. Next he slaps electrodes onto your temples, the sides of your neck, your forehead, your chest – the same microneedles, the same electric shocks. You clench your jaw against the pain. You’re not going to make another sound.

Why are you letting this happen? The same reason you let Overhaul touch you, the same reason you didn’t give in to panic when All For One’s hand descended over your face. You’re doing it for Tenko, so you can stay with Tenko, so no one will try to take you away from him or take him away from you. When you think of it like that, it’s – not easy to survive, exactly. But it’s easier. Easy enough that the chorus of stings and shocks from the last set of electrodes don’t visibly break your composure.

It’s only once you’re free of electrodes and needles that you remember you were asked a question – and that you don’t remember what it was. “I’m sorry I didn’t answer your question. Would you mind repeating it?”

“Don’t worry. You’ve answered it,” the doctor says. “And All For One’s hunch about you was correct. You’re a victim of quirk latency. You are not quirkless.”

You look blankly at him. Your skin is stinging in a dozen places, and there’s an unpleasant buzz in your nerves. “The tests I just conducted were tests of the most common locations of quirk factors,” the doctor says. “The hands, the eyes, the mouth and nose – when receiving certain types of stimulation, quirk factors produce an abnormal response. I was unable to identify a discrete quirk factor for you, which indicates that your quirk is not vulnerable to external attack. Overhaul, Shigaraki, Compress – remove their hands, and they’re useless. Your quirk factor, however, can’t be separated from your body so easily.”

He's looking at you, clearly pleased with himself, clearly waiting for you to respond in kind. “I don’t have a quirk,” you say. Your instruments are wrong.”

“My instruments are never wrong,” the doctor says. “Neither is All For One. You have a quirk, my dear. It’s latent, and without a discrete quirk factor, we have few clues as to what it might be, but make no mistake, a quirk is present. You said you wish to be as useful to Shigaraki as possible. Imagine how much more useful you’d be with your quirk.”

“I don’t have a quirk.” You know you shouldn’t argue, that you should pretend to be happy or at least let it go, but you can’t. You’re quirkless. That’s it. That’s all you’ll ever be. “If I had an actual quirk factor, maybe I’d believe you. But those abnormal reactions – you jabbed needles into my face and shocked me. Of course my system acted up.”

“Your system reacted normally to the electric current. What indicated the presence of a quirk factor was something else. Don’t question me, my dear. This is my area of expertise.” The doctor’s smile is horrendously smug. “I’m tempted to keep you here, and send you back to Shigaraki once we’ve awakened your quirk –”

“No!”

You clamp your hands over your mouth too late to silence yourself, and the doctor continues speaking like you didn’t say a word. “But I’d prefer that Shigaraki stays focused on mastering Gigantomachia, rather than hunting me down to retrieve his favorite toy. I’ll send you back, but well away from the battlefield. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you before we’ve discovered your quirk.”

You know better by now than to argue about whether you have a quirk or not. You nod mutely, and since you have your mouth shut, the black sludge oozes from your nose instead. You squeeze your eyes shut and wait for the taste and the sensation to fade, and when you open y our eyes again, you’re on a wooded hillside somewhere in the middle of nowhere. There are clouds of dust rising in the distance, and in the midst of them, you can see Gigantomachia’s silhouette. Tenko’s already fighting him.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you take it out. Twice has been messaging you. A lot.

Twice: Saintess

Twice: hey Saintess

Twice: are y coming back or what

Twice: I k already had to make ten clones of Shigaraki to go get smashed because the real one can’t focus long enough to fight the big guy

Twice: sorry TWELVE clones

Twice: i won’t make any more fart jokes if you come back right now

Twice: WHERE R U HES GOING BERSERK

Damn it. You call Twice, praying he’s not up close and personal with Gigantomachia right now, and he picks up on the first ring. It’s colossally noisy on his end of the line and you find yourself having to shout. “Hey! Tell Tomura I’m fine and tell him to get his head back in the game!”

“Hey, you’re back! What took you so long? I – hey, boss, you might want to get back out there –”

“Make another clone,” Tomura snarls, and a moment later you hear his ragged breathing on the line. “What happened? Where are you?”

“I’m fine. He just wanted to talk. I’ll tell you about it the next time we have a second.” You speak quickly, calmly, even though the sound of Tomura’s voice and the fact that he’s worried about you are this close to making you burst into tears. “He dropped me off away from the battle so I wouldn’t get trampled. I’ll make my way back. Just focus.”

“Drop a pin. Spinner and Toga will come get you.” Tomura swears into the phone a moment later. “It’s not fucking fine. He can’t just –”

“Just focus,” you say again. “We’ll talk. Be careful.”

“I love you.”

Your heart twists. “Be careful,” you say again, and you hang up the phone.

You drop the pin as requested, then use your phone camera to check out the damage the doctor’s tests did. It doesn’t look good. Your lower lip is swollen, and you’ve got a rash around your eyes and your forehead and your neck — everywhere a microneedle went in. Your eyes are puffy, maybe from the needles, maybe from wanting to cry this much and holding it in. But maybe you shouldn’t hold it in. You’ve got some time before Spinner and Toga get to you. Maybe you should just get it out of your system. You sit down on a rock, bury your face in your hands, and cry, but the longer you cry, the worse it gets. A quirk. The doctor says you have a stupid quirk, and your whole life –

You can’t think about it. You can’t stop. You have to stop right now before anybody sees, and with no one else to turn to, you find yourself turning to a coping mechanism you thought you gave up on. It was nice of Spinner to give you the knife. You know for a fact you weren’t supposed to use it for this.

But it works. You wouldn’t do it if it didn’t, and by the time Spinner and Toga come to get you, you’re neatly bandaged under your shirt and sitting behind your veil with dry eyes. “Where have you been?” Toga asks. “Tomura-kun was really upset.”

“The doctor and I needed to talk about something. It’s all okay now.” Your voice sounds perfectly steady, and you’re perfectly calm. The doctor is wrong. You don’t have a quirk. You’ve never had a quirk, and since you’ve never had a quirk, your entire life hasn’t been built around dealing with something that was never even true. “How’s Tomura?”

“If we didn’t have Twice, we’d be screwed,” Spinner says. He looks grim. “Let’s go. Somebody’s probably going to be hurt by the time we get there.”

“What did the doctor want to talk to you about?” Toga asks as the three of you hike through the woods. “Something fun?”

“Not really.” You shrug. “He just wanted to give me a hard time about letting Eri go.”

It’s a safe lie, you think. One the others will buy, if Toga’s reminiscing about how cute Eri is are anything to go by. The real question will be if you can sell that same lie to Tenko. You think you probably can. You’ve lied to him directly before. And you’ve lied by omission, every time he tells you he loves you and you don’t say it back.

[jokeringcutio]

Abijah Fowler x (f) Assassin Reader Drabble [ Warnings: Smut]

AN: On popular demand, another Abijah Fowler x Reader. You are an assassin set out to kill Fowler. It doesn't go according to plan.

Warnings: Non-con/dub-con content, SMUT (not as detailed as you're used from me, sorry, I'll give the prompt a retry in the future, possibly as a consensual forbidden love fic >D ), Not beta-read. Quick Drabble. ~~ Masterlist - Request Box - Ebooks&Website - Support me on Ko-Fi ~~

You watched him through the slats of the ceiling, your heart a drumbeat in the silence. Abijah Fowler, the man with the soul of a serpent, was seated at the head of a long, dark table. Such an outlandish habit. His fingers, stained with the ink of sin, traced the lines of a map that plots downfall and destruction. The other men, shadows in the dim light, nodded and murmured their assent to his vile plans — willing puppets dancing on his twisted strings.

Corrupted souls, all of them. But they weren’t your concern.

Your grip on the hilt of your dagger tightened. You had memorized the layout of this place, moved through the corridors like a ghost, unseen, unheard. Now you hovered above them, an angel of vengeance poised to strike. Your mission was clear: end Abijah Fowler.

He was explaining something, his voice a gravelly melody that carried tales of violence and power. His strong and broad shoulders moved, dipped backward as if he tried to loosen the muscles in them. His oddly colored hair captured your attention, thinking it had been a color akin to bronze or perhaps even gold once. But streaks of grey made him seem more like the other old men in this country. If it hadn’t been for his distinct facial features, the pale color of his skin, and the large shape of his bright-colored eyes.

An angel of death you saw in him. Anyone else called him a demon.

He regaled them with stories of conquests past, painting pictures with words dipped in blood. They laughed, a chorus of discordant notes, and you felt the bitterness rise in your throat.

"Of course," Fowler's voice sliced through the laughter, "it all depends on eliminating any... unexpected threats." His eyes, predator green, suddenly fixed on you, turned upward to the ceiling and straight at your hidden person. A cold smile curled his lips. "Isn't that right?"

The room fell silent. Every muscle in your body tensed, ready to spring, to fight. But you remained still, barely breathing. There was a chance this was all just a bluff, that he hadn’t seen you. But then you saw his unwavering gaze, saw the unnatural bright green eyes that rested firmly upon you, and you knew that you were exposed, the advantage lost. You cursed inwardly, waiting for his next move, knowing the game had changed.

"Come now, don't be shy," he coaxed, his tone mocking. "Join us."

You dropped down gracefully despite the hammering in your chest. Standing before them, outnumbered but unflinching, you refused to let them show any fear. Stoically, you faced them, thinking of all the lessons and all the training you had. The men stared, their gazes ravenous, but it was Fowler who held your attention. A dangerous dance awaited, everyone could feel it in the air. But you knew his moves, knew how he could react, knew you stood little chance in a hand-on-hand combat.

Especially if he brought his demon guns.

You needed a distraction, something that could increase your chances of survival. Your heart raced, a wild drumbeat in the cavern of your chest. Words, like poisoned arrows, flew from your lips as you stepped closer to Abijah Fowler.

"I've heard tales of your prowess," you murmured, voice a silken thread designed to ensnare. "They say no man can match you in the dark arts of war and pleasure."

Fowler's green eyes glinted, a predator basking in the glow of his prey's admiration. He let out a low chuckle, the sound rumbling through the tension-thick room. "Flattery will get you nowhere, my dear." His words were honey-laced with venom.

One step. Another. Close enough now that you could count the lines etched into his weathered face. You felt the heat emanating from his broad frame. Fowler's hand shot out, swift as a striking snake, clasping your wrist in an iron grip. The trap snapped shut.

"Gotcha," he whispered, a taunt wrapped in a victory.

Instinct took over. Your body remembered its training before your mind caught up. You twisted, a flash of movement, wrenching against his hold. The element of surprise was on your side, for a heartbeat or two.

"Feisty," Fowler observed, almost admiringly.

The dance of death began. A ballet of blows and blocks. You lunged, struck, kicked—each move a desperate plea for freedom. Fowler countered, effortlessly, his strength overwhelming. The other men watched, wolves observing their alpha.

"Should we help?" one ventured, doubt lacing his voice.

“No, he can take her, easily,” another one guffawed.

You hated him for the comment and wanted to punch his face in, but you knew he was right. Fowler was bigger than you, broader, heavier, and more skilled in combat. You were trained to be a silent creeper, someone who brought death without being seen, a shadow of mercy, or an anger of hell.

Another heroic block of his attack, but your underarm was smarting. Pain shot through you, your body feeling sore. When he finally landed a blow that sent you staggering back, you tasted the copper tang of defeat.

"Never send a child to do a killer's job," Fowler sneered, advancing on you, the space between you charged with the promise of pain and something darker still.

Breath short, chest heaving. His presence loomed, an oppressive shadow eclipsing your tumultuous thoughts. Abijah Fowler's green eyes glinted with a predatory gleam, the corner of his mouth twitching upward in a macabre grin that set your nerves on edge.

Was he studying you? The feeling that settled in the pit of your stomach was unsettling. Abijah Fowler was an attractive man, despite all his oddities. And hadn’t his character been so devilish, you might have fallen for his charm. But he was a demon. And in his eyes, you now saw demonic thoughts rise as he studied your features, eyes roaming your skin as if you were unclothed.

You felt the grip of his hands around your wrists, squeezing just a bit tighter. Felt the calloused skin of his thumb as it brushed gently past the mouse of your palm.

"Outside," he commanded, voice low and laden with dark promise. The men hesitated, exchanging leering glances that spoke volumes of their wretched character. "The lass and I need privacy."

"Seems Fowler's got himself a new plaything," one of the men chuckled, coarse laughter bubbling up from the others as they filed out, their intentions thick in the air like a miasma.

Your heart thrummed against your ribs, each beat a silent drum heralding doom. He was close now, too close; the heat from his body mingled with yours. You could kill him—if only you could reach your weapon. But he had smacked it out of your hand with the first blow, it had clunked to the wooden floor aimlessly. You couldn’t even tell where it was from where you stood. Your fingers twitched, betraying the urge.

"I'm not some doll for your amusement," you managed to say, words edged with a defiance you didn't feel.

"Oh, by the time I am done with you, you will wish I’d killed you sooner,” Fowler murmured. You could smell the odd sourness of his breath and wondered what had caused it. His grip on you tightened.

“Who sent you? And why would they send someone so young and unqualified," Fowler murmured, cruel satisfaction seeping through his tone. His breath caressed your ear, sending involuntary shivers down your spine.

The room cleared, the door clicking shut behind the last man. Silence fell heavy, punctuated only by your ragged breaths and the pounding of your pulse. Then, movement. Fowler's hands were upon you, guiding you with unwanted familiarity—a predator toying with its prey.

"Let's see what you've made of," he said, pressing you down forcefully over the table that dominated the center of the room. Your cheek met cold wood, and you flinched as the ink from the maps smeared beneath you, staining your skin with the blueprint of their vile machinations.

"Consider this a different kind of battle," Fowler whispered, his voice a serpent's hiss as he leaned over you, his weight an unspoken threat.

Fowler's hand slithered up your leg, rough fingers catching on the fabric of your clothes. A tug, a deliberate pull, and the material gave way to bare skin, your exposed calf a pale contrast against the darkness of his touch. His breath hitched ever so slightly, a sign of his burgeoning arousal not lost on you.

You struggled on instinct, but stilled when you felt the bulge against your thigh increase. This didn’t actually arouse him, did it?

"Fight me," he growled, a low rumble in his chest as you twisted beneath him, struggling for leverage. "I do love it when you struggle like that."

Your muscles coiled, ready to spring, but he was a slab of stone pinning you down. The heat of his body radiated through the thin barrier of your clothing, igniting a reluctant fire within. You hated how your body betrayed you, responding to his proximity despite the storm of loathing raging in your heart.

His hand wandered with more audacity, venturing into forbidden territory. A gasp tore from your lips, unsanctioned pleasure sparking along your nerves. Fowler chuckled, a sound laced with darkness, as if he relished in pulling these reactions from you.

"Good girl," he purred, his breath hot against your ear. "Let go, just for a moment."

You fought against the tide rising within, but the dam broke under his relentless pursuit, waves of reluctant ecstasy crashing over you. Your climax hit with the ferocity of a tempest, leaving you shuddering and vulnerable in its wake.

He wasted no time, freeing his aching long cock, the size and girth you had never seen before. A gasp tore from your lips as he sheathed himself inside of you, bottoming out with little mercy. He set a grueling pace, showing little care for your pleasure or well-being at this point. But your core was slippery, your walls fluttering around him with passion, and you had to bite your tongue to keep from moaning loudly with each and every deep thrust his foreign body gave you.

Was this how it had been for every lover he had ever taken, forced or otherwise?

A second orgasm wracked through your body. You’d find an excuse for this later on, if you were to survive this ordeal. You would find a way to condone the liquid that dripped from your core and onto the table below, the way the stained ink brushed past your nipples, the way your body pulsed with pleasure after Abijah Fowler found his release.

You felt a hot palm on your naked back, gently caressing the skin there, and heard the low hum that came from his lips. He sounded pensive, as if he were determining your fate. Your thoughts slid back to your weapons and the many ways to get your hands on them, but his body still kept you trapped underneath him.

As you lay there, trembling, Fowler's voice slithered in your ear once more. "There's a task I need done," he murmured, the words vibrating against your skin. "A certain individual who needs to be...taken care of."

His implication was clear, an order veiled as an offer. "Do this for me," he continued, "to my satisfaction, and I shall spare your life."

"My life..." you rasped, your voice laden with the weight of reality. There was no choice, only the illusion of one. You nodded, sealing a devil's pact, while inside, a lethal promise took root. Fowler had ignited a vengeful blaze, and from its ashes, you would rise—his destruction, your sole aim.

This was not the end. It was a twisted beginning, and you swore to yourself, to the silent gods of retribution, that you would have your revenge.

Abijah Fowler would pay.

~ AN: I want to do this character more justice (and the smut). But quite frankly, it is a bloody miracle I have been writing anything at all. Things don't go well health-wise, but we'll know more at the end of this month. I hope to feel good enough soon to write a better drabble for Abijah and Reader.

[pinturas-sgm-aviacion]

1942 04 Spitifires over Malta - Robert Taylor

Between the summer of 1940 and the end of 1942, Malta became one of the most bombed places on earth. The Royal Air Force's desperate fight to retain control of the diminutive Mediterranean island is one of the epic stories of World War Two.Crucial to the Allies in their battle with the Axis forces in North Africa, Malta's naval dockyards and airfields provided the only base from which ships and aircraft could attack the convoys supplying Rommel's desert forces. The German High Command, fully aware of its importance, made every effort to bomb the island out of existence. By April 1942 the RAF was down to just six serviceable Spitfires and Hurricanes, Allied convoys were being decimated unopposed, and Malta was in danger of starvation. Two and a half years of relentless bombing had blitzed the dockyards out of operation, prompting Axis Commander-in-Chief Field Marshal Kesselring to tell Hitler that Malta was neutralized.But the Field Marshal failed to take into account the heroism of a tiny force of RAF fighter pilots, the British Merchant Navy, the decisive role played by the British aircraft carriers Eagle and Furious, the American carrier Wasp, and the iron will of the people of Malta.In the spring of 1942, when Spitfires flown from the decks of carriers HMS Eagle and USS Wasp, arrived at the island's battered airstrips, the battle took a new turn. At last, though still heavily outnumbered, the volunteer pilots from Britain, Australia, America, Canada, New Zealand, and other Commonwealth countries were able to put up a meaningful defense. Never again would the Axis raids be met only with token resistance and gradually the Spitfires began to dominate the sky above the beleaguered island. They had arrived in the nick of time.Robert Taylor's magnificent tribute to the gallant pilots who fought against such overwhelming odds, and the people of Malta, depicts Australian John Bisley of 126 Squadron dog-fighting with an Me109 from JG-53 during one of the intense aerial air battles over Valetta in April 1942. NOTE: The Maltese people had withstood the siege with such resolve, King George VI, by way of recognition, awarded the island of Malta the George Cross - the highest decoration for civilian gallantry. Such was the sacrifice made by the people of this tiny island.

[kay-elle-cee]

@jilytoberfest 31 Prompts: Day 24 || 273 Words || Read on Ao3 —

5 March 1979

After the meeting, a group of them hang around the outside of headquarters, quietly mulling over the news. The darkening sky paints the lot of them—all young, barely twenty—in shades of deep blue and rich reds. It’s a somber sight to match their defeated moods.

‘The other side has seen a surge of recruitment in the last few months. Our estimates are that we’re outnumbered 10 to 1. We need to be smart in how we engage.’

‘Hughes didn’t pull through after the last mission. We’ve let her family know.’

‘We’ve got reason to think there’s a spy in our midst.’

Every now and then, someone will open their mouth to speak, only to cut themselves off with a shake of their head, maybe dig their heel in the dirt below.

Slowly, they start peeling off—Peter first, then Dorcas and Sam, Remus, Fabian—until Lily and James wave goodbye to Sirius and the rest of the stragglers and walk towards the apparition point, their hearts and limbs heavy with the bleak outlook on the prognosis of the war ahead.

As they walk, James’ arm hangs slumped over Lily’s shoulder, offering wordless comfort. It drops when they cross the anti-apparition wards, and Lily reaches for his hand, giving it a squeeze that draws his eyes to meet hers. Green eyes blaze with the embers of a fire that refuses to be smothered, and she nods encouragingly, lacing her fingers with his.

“We’ll be okay.” Her voice is wobbly, tired, but her grip is strong as they Disapparate away with a loud crack!, and prepare to fight another day in an endless war.