#if he had realized a lot sooner that his father was not worth it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

gutsby · 3 months

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Cabin Fever

Pairing: Dark!Joel x Dark!Reader

Summary: Joel saves your life, but help comes at a price.

Warnings: 18+. DEAD DOVE: DNE. NONCONSENSUAL. I’m never ever beating the insane bitch allegations, I fear. Protector-turned-pervert-turned-unwilling-captor-kinda. Corruption kink. Daddy kink. Somnophilia. Misogyny. “It’s too big; it won’t fit” + Joel “I’ll make it fit” Miller. Captivity on both ends. Oral (f!receiving). Gunplay. Oversimplified first-time anal. Uno Reverse Drugging. Evil, inexperienced reader meets evil, feral, slutty Joel. Attempted murder x3. Russian Roulette…as foreplay?

Notes: Both characters SUCK. I condone nothing they do. Please do not take any of their behavior or language to reflect my own moral predilections. That is all 🚬😵‍💫

You were hardly shaking at all when he’d found you chained, maimed, and frozen half to death on the plains.

He didn’t see that every day, that was for-fucking-sure.

Joel Miller barely got to see his share of happy, grinning girls on the cold and bitter frontier he inhabited. Ones that were tied to posts and clinging to life were even less common, so the sight of you there had almost frightened him at first. He’d approached you like one might advance upon a sleeping bear: with the utmost caution and a Winchester Model 70 levelled directly at your head.

He’d learned you were unarmed and defenseless in less than a second. He’d come to realize you were largely unconscious—and unclothed—even sooner than that.

He had been industrious in freeing your hands and feet from their restraints but never uttered a word as he did.

Even on the two-and-a-half mile trek back home, he hadn’t spoken once. You’d hung off his left shoulder like a pretty, frosted slab of meat, covered only with the sherpa blanket he’d secured around your neck, and dangled precariously down his back for the entire fifty minutes.

Your toes were two shades shy of onyx with frostbite.

Your limbs were hanging like lead over his chest.

A whisper of, ‘You’ll be fine, darlin’, I promise’ had just seemed ill-suited for the circumstances and his nature. In truth, Joel didn’t know if you’d be fine. You might die. The blood wouldn’t be on his hands one way or the other, but he never had liked burying bodies this time of year. He’d have to wait until April to break ground, at least.

Presently, he dropped your limp form to the floor of his cabin and hoped he wouldn’t be needing to bury anyone.

You sort of looked charming in the firelight.

He stomped off to the kitchen and began rifling for pans, preparing to defrost the icy stranger as best he could.

You didn’t die.

You didn’t wake for forty full hours, but you didn’t die.

When you stirred on the floor with warm sherpa around your shoulders and a rough calfskin rug under your ass, you thought you had died—maybe taken a pit stop in cowpoke purgatory while you were at it—but then you blinked. Breathed. Realized you were still very much inside your body and most likely still in Wyoming.

You sat up where you were and looked around.

“Da-a-d?”

You knew it was useless, calling for your father.

He had been dead almost eight months; you just wanted to double-check to make sure you were still on earth.

When dead dad didn’t answer, you tried someone else.

“Momma?”

Still no answer.

Figured, since she was among the ones that had left you chained outside in the first place. It’d been worth a shot.

You started to rise from your place, when a sharp pain in your side made you plop back down on the rug. You winced and lifted the blanket, then your old nightie.

A neat little taped-down bandage had your ribs encased in antiseptics and gauze. You frowned down at a stain in the centre, which looked to you an awful lot like blood. That circle of old fluids must’ve been twice the size of your fist and currently oozing tiny, fresh beads of blood from the strain you’d just exerted. You pursed your lips.

Least they could’ve done is kill me, not leave me here.

You’d take it up with your old would-be assassins another day, you were sure. Right now, you were parched, starving, in dire need of a piss, and reeling on the floor to grab hold of something sturdy to lift yourself. But you were as much a child then as you had ever been, swaying in place and clawing at air like someone who’d never kept their balance before. Or might’ve been drunk.

You rolled onto your good side and cast a sweeping look around the cabin. You smelled slow-cooked barbecue.

Thank fuck, you thought.

Now, if I were a juicy rack of ribs, where would I be?

The kitchen was dark and empty; the smell was coming from elsewhere. You craned your neck, tilted your chin, spotted a loft overhead but figured it wasn’t too likely to find someone grilling up there, so where the hell was it?

And who the hell was it, smoking meats and mending up strangers in the cold and lonely dead of winter like this?

You put a pin in that thought as you searched for a place to pee.

By the time you’d hobbled out of the bathroom, the smoky smell had grown even stronger. It was so pungent it bordered on vertiginous, invading every inch of the cabin with a force. Then it was leading you, teasing you by turns to venture outside. All you had on your feet were some oversized socks and two strips of medical tape.

Against your better judgment, you continued to hobble.

Out the door, down the steps, slowly, then following your nose and the first whiff of smoke you smelled to make it to the place you were almost certain you needed to be.

You trudged around a corner of the cabin’s exterior and stopped. Turned around. Cursed your own senses for being so stupid to miss the huge fucking shed spewing smoke out front—or was it the back?—and plodded on.

Your feet might have carried you a third of the way there before your powers of sight and sound eventually failed you again, and you missed another big something.

Big and beige and coated in snow—baring its teeth and snarling at the unfamiliar presence as soon as it saw you.

The next thing you knew, sixty-two pounds of Belgian Malinois had had you knocked to the ground in less than a second. You hardly understood what had hit you until it was barking and chomping away an inch from your face.

You fought hard and frantic to shove the ugly fucker off, but your bandaged hands were no match for its paws. The dog continued to tear at your blanket, nip at your ears, claw at your neck, and all around snuff out any sense of peace you might have acquired in the dozen-odd minutes since you’d first woken up. You screamed.

You yelled as loud as you could and felt yourself cower and sink lower into the snow as you fought.

Just when you tried to raise a knee—to kick the animal in the ribs or else protect your own—a sound broke out above the buzz.

A voice, clear as day:

“CUJO!”

The dog stalled on top of you a moment, just to be yanked off the next, and the closest thing afterward was a face—kinder than Cujo’s but not by very much.

It was a broad, bearded, pock-marked head with more soot to recommend itself than skin. Lips smeared with ash and grime and curved down in the single most decisive frown you’d seen in your life, the man looked to be beside himself seeing you tits up in the snow.

He gripped one arm of yours, then dropped it.

Picked a leg up, paused, then hauled you into a cradle carry as graceless as you’d ever felt it done before.

“Come!” he snapped, and it took you too long to realize that he was talking to the dog. You’d already wrapped your arms around his neck in abrupt complaisance.

He carried you back into the cabin and kicked the door open in front of you. He held you firm for a second, then, just as he had outside, changed course before you knew what to do and was shortly depositing you on the sofa.

You winced when your ass hit the cushion.

You started to sit, grab a pillow for your back or just bring your knees to your chest, when suddenly a palm was pressing flat on your front. Forcing you to lie down.

“Hey, hey!” you cried when the man started lifting the hem of your nightgown.

If he’d heard you at all, he didn’t show it. He just worked his thick, dirty fingers under the fabric and raised the white satin like he might the hood of a car. He frowned.

It was then that you noticed a blooming red splotch on your side, slowly overtaking the terra-cotta color of dried blood on the bandage and spreading out. Then a pain.

Instead of pushing the man’s hands away, you were holding them tight, wrestling that same touch which was trying to keep you from poking around the area now.

“Quit,” the man said, sedate as could be.

“Hurts,” was all you could think to tell him—and you guessed he’d already had that part down by the outpouring of blood. He shoved your hands off.

The brand new crimson hue had already soaked through the bandage. He pulled it off. You caught a glimpse of a wound that seemed to be weeping through its stitches—oozing pus and blood and a gore you could’ve gone your whole life without seeing. You would’ve liked to run a couple gentle, awed fingers over it, but as it was, your coarse and tight-lipped medic wouldn’t let you.

“Hold still,” he commanded.

“Heystopstopstop!” you implored him, feeling a streak of pain up your side as his calloused hands delved deeper.

At your latest flinch and plea, the man seemed to have had enough. Or just needed to angle your body in a different direction for easier access to the site. He gathered you back up in his arms and walked over to the kitchen, where he set you down again on the counter. Hands moved to your hips, briefly, to push you back on the surface and allow him to stand between your legs. Again, the man frowned as he peeled off your pyjamas.

Two warring fears of pain and overexposure fought like wild beasts in your brain for a second—you yelping and trying to cover your breasts in a hurry, then realizing how much it hurt to lift your arms that way when your ribs were dripping blood, then the man making the decision for you both as he pushed your hands behind your back and said a simple ‘Fuck’s sake’ to keep you pinned.

You didn’t like it.

You didn’t like it, and you let him continue, because you knew that you didn’t know shit about doing this yourself.

Joel must’ve fixed your dressings fourteen times before turning you loose. He’d had you perched atop his counter like goddamned Prisoner-of-War Barbie, all riddled with bumps, bruises, and lesions galore, looked your body up and down just once, and nearly grew sick at the sight.

He’d disgusted himself by feeling as aroused as he was.

Shortly thereafter, he’d toted you off—before the blood could rush down to his dick and start to swell—shrugged your gown over your torso, and stepped away. Simple.

Then you’d had to go and throw a wrench in his plans.

“What if I need to pee?” you’d said as soon as Joel started up the stairs with you in his arms again.

He had meant to drop you off on the bed in the loft, out of sight, but it seemed you were more concerned about the prospect of traversing the steps up and down for potty breaks. Joel had audibly huffed above you.

“I can leave a bucket.”

“Yu-uck.” The latter word had been given two syllables to show the full extent of your disgust, like a child might do.

And that was how you’d ended up here: snug in his bed on the ground floor, curled up in more layers of flannel and wool than you could count and staring blankly up at the man who was standing cold and aloof off to the side.

Your eyelids were growing heavy with sleep.

He figured they would be.

Joel picked up the glass that sat beside your empty one on the nightstand and drank, watching you all the while.

“D’you know my momma?” you asked, voice sounding extra small coming from the depths of your cocoon.

Joel finished his drink in four big gulps.

“Sure hope not,” he said once he’d set it back down.

By the sight of the scars he’d found littering your hands and back alone, Joel was able to surmise you’d come from a pretty rough, ragtag group. Maybe even Raiders. Knowing folks like that simply never struck one’s fancy, so he’d been honest. You might’ve argued, or laughed, if you hadn’t been nabbed so tightly in the grips of those first stages preceding sleep, so instead, you nodded.

“Figured,” you mumbled.

7:11, Joel read on the clock. You’d finished your drink at seven, or somewhere thereabouts. Judging by your size, it wouldn’t take long at all for the medicine to take effect.

‘Medicine,’ Joel thought, sounded a whole hell of a lot better than ‘drugs.’ One was meant to rehabilitate, rejuvenate, bring new life to your worn and weary bones. The other would just knock you cold and keep you there.

On second thought, those were definitely drugs Joel had just slipped in your water before giving it to you to drink.

As your eyes blinked from closed, to open, to closed, then open but slightly less open than the time before, and closed again, he felt a sick sense of accomplishment twist in his gut. If only his former-nurse friend could have seen what he was doing with those morphine sulfate tablets he’d traded for—he likely would’ve slapped Joel across the face. And Joel would’ve smiled all the same.

Yeah, okay, drugging the unsuspecting and defenseless female he’d just saved from death’s doorstep two days ago didn’t look great on paper, he would fully concede.

But this was all in good fun.

Great fun, even.

For him.

“Sick fuck,” Joel muttered as he started to undo his belt. The button and zip were taken apart just as fast, and with two steps, he was standing at your bedside—his bedside—and tugging his trousers down his legs. He took his cock in his hand and glanced over at the clock.

7:15.

He nudged your shoulder.

7:16.

Peeling layers of blanket away from your body.

7:17.

“Hey…honey?”

A lot more nothing from the girl sleeping in front of him. He shrugged his jeans to the floor, kicked them off at his feet, and moved onto the bed. You just looked so sweet.

Joel tried working around the fabric of his boxers but got impatient pretty quick. He hauled those off, too.

Soon, his beefy, bare, and surprisingly tan legs were bracketing your hips as he stroked himself above you. His eyes roamed the lax and tranquil features undeniably characteristic of sleep, and he pumped himself faster. Really, there was no need for theatrics or enhancements now—he was already hard as three tonnes of steel—but Joel would be lying if he said he didn’t like the build-up.

You were no longer in danger of dying, thanks to him. You were slowly but surely on the mend, no thanks to Cujo at all, but many thanks to him, Joel Miller, the man who had pried you off of that post, pulled you out of your chains, ushered warmth back into your limbs, and stitched up your side out of the goodness of his heart.

Any objective onlooker could see that you’d availed yourself of his medical attention and aid without ever asking, so why should he request access to you now? This was the way of the world these days, anyway. Sex was no longer so much a question as it was an answer in most scenarios—a mere transaction, wherein the physically weaker of two parties was forced to capitulate. Not within the four unsullied walls of Jackson and a few other pockets of homestead communities here and there, but on the whole, absolutely. Jackson was down the road a ways away and sufficiently far enough from Joel’s cabin for him to be disentangled from their rules. What mattered now was obtaining what he was owed.

Still, the man hesitated a half-second longer above you. He jerked his cock even faster and felt his stomach start to clench. Was that? No—nerves were fucking juvenile. Getting close to cumming from just the sight of you alone was for chumps. Joel Miller was no chump.

He lifted your nightie and lowered the head of his cock to rest between your folds. Then he shifted his knees so that he could rub himself gently against your warmth.

Joel Miller was a monster, but he was no brute. He also understood female anatomy well enough to know that, well…wetter was better. He started moving his hips.

You exhaled through your nose. Nothing major; you probably hadn’t even felt him long enough to whine.

Joel planted a hand beside your head—a preemptive warning.

“There…” He liked to talk as though you could hear him. Like you might be semi-conscious and dimly aware of what he was doing to you then, “Right there…ah, baby.”

He never did catch your name.

That was no matter. So long as you stayed put and made a nice, wet, pretty little hole for him to fuck, you would be fine. By the feel of your folds alone, he could tell you’d be a fun thing to use. Soft and snug and plied with drugs, you could do, and be, anything he damn well needed.

Or maybe nothing at all, he thought without humor.

Joel brushed your cheek with the knuckles of his free hand and watched you turn away, making a face. He snagged your chin and tilted it back to him, sharply, before gliding those fingers down your chest, then your tummy, then your hips, then dipping between your legs. He found your clit and pressed it with a deliberate touch.

“Hey,” Joel whispered, again, as though you might hear, “You’re gonna stay still and let me do this.”

Your nose scrunched in response, thighs clamping together. Joel pried them apart with one push and continued sliding his cock back and forth. He grunted.

“Gonna let me take what’s mine, hear?”

You didn’t hear much of anything, he suspected, but he asked the question all the same. At least now your legs were staying open and he could rut himself gently into that space without having to keep them spread. A first, gentle ‘mmph’ sounded from your lips, and he was glad. He kept thumbing that spot he knew you would like and rubbing along the seam of your cunt with his erection.

Then Joel felt a weight on his shoulders. Remorse? No. Anxiety? Perhaps. This felt more like a fog, though, seizing his muscles and seeping gently between the grooves of his brain. He gave his head a fierce shake.

“Hold still,” he said, more to himself; you hadn’t moved.

Joel fisted the base of his cock and angled the tip toward your entrance, caring much less whether you were ready or not now that his desires had grown stronger.

He was met with resistance on trying to push in. He dug his fingers in the pillow beneath your head and scowled.

“Quit…clenchin’…like that. Ain’t…fair to me,” he huffed.

He was one to talk.

Now, he’d been with a staggering number of women, experiences ranging all across the spectrum, but even the tightest, most untouched pieces of ass he’d ever tapped had given way more than this. Your walls were unyielding, refusing to give him entry. Joel cursed and rutted his hips in a rough, entirely unsuccessful, thrust.

You hummed in response, eyes still closed, one hand fumbling mindlessly for something to hold. Joel seized it.

“Not lettin’ you off that easy, darlin’, I—”

“Fuck,” you breathed, followed by a low whimper.

Joel froze. Had you heard him? Felt him just now?

Something about the uncertainty laden in those questions sent his mind into overdrive, heart beating a wild cadence in his chest. He realized then that his mouth had gone dry, his vision was skewed just slightly on the outskirts. And his cock was throbbing.

“Ya like that?” Joel seethed, not thinking, still rubbing, “Like givin’ daddy a hard time before lettin’ him in?”

“Uh-huh.” Softly.

You little slut. He knew it all along.

Whatever it was that kept your body from being coupled with his was almost immaterial to him now. Joel’s mind was swimming with desire, cock dragging in desperate, fitful bursts between your legs, never penetrating but still wringing massive jolts of pleasure from that place.

With the way he was feeling now, Joel could cum from just fucking your thighs. And that was alright.

You were moaning underneath him. Even…smiling?

“Fuck, baby, you look so pretty.”

Joel had never called a girl pretty before and meant it. But he hardly knew how else to describe you now with how good and sweet and fine you were making him feel. A strange warmth sank into his chest, making it harder to breathe, and then he was panting above you, as if he were really inside that dripping wet spot. He was close.

“Such a pretty…sweet…fuckin’ thing for me.”

That red, raging, leaky cock of his was almost a blur between your legs, he was thrusting against you so fast. Joel thought for one frightening second that it might be his skull that would explode instead, so high was that pressure between his ears, but his fears were promptly put to rest as the first rope of cum came stuttering out. Then another. Then another. Then another.

By the time he finished, he could’ve sworn he’d left a hundred spurts on your tummy. When Joel glanced down and saw a sea of opaque, sticky white, he groaned.

Then he fell. Fully collapsed at your side with his brain in a tizzy of wild, heady feelings and sank into himself.

He hadn’t even fucked you, and he felt like he had.

He lifted a hand to wipe away his spend, but he couldn’t.

He would get to it in the morning, before you stirred, he thought. He thought. He didn’t have the chance to think much longer at all, as darkness started hedging him in.

He slept.

It was 7:57 when he woke.

The man had no real way of knowing that, though, seeing as he was greeted with a nickel-plated revolver between his teeth the second he opened his eyes.

You were straddling his torso, gun pinched between two calm, bandaged hands. You frowned when he jumped.

“WH—” he started.

“Shut up.”

“ST—”

“I said shut,” you cocked the gun, holding it tighter, then shoving it even further inside his mouth, “the fuck. up.”

The man obeyed.

‘Joel M.’—you’d read the name etched on the butt of his pistol before picking it up some twenty minutes ago.

“Pretty fuckin’ thing,” you mocked the man’s Texan drawl as you wiggled the barrel even deeper along his tongue, “Like givin’ daddy a hard time before lettin’ him in?”

The man’s eyes widened.

How dumb did he think you were?

Offering a semi-clear liquid that should’ve been water; he hadn’t even waited for the morphine tablet to fully dissolve before handing it over to you. Fucking idiot.

You were more disturbed by the fact he’d thought you stupid enough not to notice than him actually trying to drug you. The latter was almost to be expected from predatory, execrable men like him, but the insult to your intelligence? Unacceptable. You’d remedied that affront fairly quickly, though, swapping his glass with yours the second he hadn’t been looking, then nestling into his bed and playing pretend for what had felt like an eternity.

You’d been awake the whole time the man touched you, not knowing what the hell was going on but feeling like you had to stay still. Let him finish. Out of fear, at first, then curiosity, then some strange and unfamiliar sensation that you couldn’t quite describe as anything but a pleasurable itch between your legs. You let the man continue, hearing him grunt and groan and swear up a storm before he shot something hot all over your tummy. By the end of it all, you knew it was wrong, and you knew it was dirty—though you weren’t sure exactly what it was that he had done—but you wanted to learn more.

Which was probably why you hadn’t just shot the old pervert right between his eyes the second he’d stirred.

You shifted atop this ‘Joel M.’ and frowned once more.

“Why’d you stop?”

Gun still wedged in his mouth, Joel’s voice sounded garbled as he spoke, “Wha-agh-at?”

You retracted the metal just long enough to pose the question again. When you had, he still looked stunned.

“Answer me,” you barked, and feeling your patience lapse, got straight to pistol-whipping the motherfucker upside his half-grey head, “You DUMB, or somethin’?”

The man sputtered again.

“No, no— I don’t— dunno what you mean.”

He sounded dumb. You would need to spell this out.

“Why did you stop rubbing me like that?”

If anything, the clarification only seemed to baffle him further. He opened his taut, bearded mouth, then closed it, then eyed you up and down with a look that said he was considering something. Then he stared at one spot.

You glanced down at it too.

“And what is this, anyway?” you asked, swiping one finger at the mostly dried moisture on your stomach, “Why’d you spit this stuff up all over me, huh?!”

“I ain’t—”

You raised the gun as if to hit him again. He jolted back.

“I didn’t mean— shit. Shit, I just…came on you, ‘s’all.”

“Came?”

The word hung in the air like a grenade, waiting. Mr. M was already bracing himself for the impact, it seemed.

“Came?!”

That bracing served him well, because in the next second you were lifting the weapon even higher and eyeing him with the most pointed, putrid look of disdain. You’d never been one for letting grenades go untouched.

“Ejaculated!” Joel hissed, lifting a hand to shield himself, “Felt— felt so good I just couldn’t stop and I-I-I came.”

You paused.

Came. Felt good. Couldn’t stop.

You had felt good when he’d rubbed you. You had not wanted him to stop. But then he had. And you were mad. You’d never been touched that way in your life, and now you were feeling fifteen hundred emotions at once.

Were you supposed to ‘come,’ too? Why did he stop?

“Why didn’t you let me…ejaculate, too?” The words felt foreign and strange on your tongue.

For the first time, you saw one side of Joel’s lips twitch. Evidently fighting the urge to turn them into a smile.

“Girls don’t really…do that,” he said. Then, after a beat, “Why? Ain’t ever had your pussy rubbed on by a man?”

You shortly landed the blow you’d been holding over his head, splitting the skin along his brow with one hit from the butt of his gun. Joel jumped again, then moaned.

“Crazy bitch!”

“Creepy fuck.”

Your eyes narrowed with loathing, unable to comprehend how a man so vile had just made you feel so good. Your stomach was twisting in knots while Joel rubbed his forehead, pawing helplessly at the gash you’d just left.

“I saved your life,” he grumbled, low, “You owed me.”

“Did I?”

Abruptly, and without really thinking, you were sinking the muzzle of the gun into the spot you’d just cut, mouth kicking up in a smile at the sounds of pain it elicited.

“Did I, Joel?” you cooed.

“How the— the fuck do you know my name?”

Momentarily, you yanked the revolver from his face and tilted it to show him his name carved into the bottom.

“What’s the ‘M’ stand for? ‘Molester’?”

“Means ‘mind’ your fucking business,” he spat.

You probably would’ve hit him again had it not seemed as though he were trying to sit up just then. You slid swiftly from his frame—just to take a step off the bed, gun still pointed at his head. Then you backed away.

One by one, rapidly, you unloaded the bullets from the cylinder, maintaining a safe distance from the man all the while. You watched him blink and try to get some thing from his eyes, but he didn’t seem keen to move.

You left just one live round inside. You made a point to spin the cylinder and, again, aim it straight at his head.

The man was blinking even harder. Rubbing now, too.

“I feel…” Joel murmured.

“Drugged?” you returned, “Yeah, that must suck.”

A set of wide, irate, and horrified eyes met yours. His mouth hung open in a stupid look of shock. Trying to piece the last bits of this fucked up jigsaw puzzle together and growing angrier by the second.

“You fuckin’—”

Joel’s words were cut short by the weight of your body barreling back over his. Graceless, you imagined, but still nothing close to something you cared about now. You planted your knees on either side of his ribs and grazed the tip of the six-shooter down the length of his nose.

“Tell me,” you said, “How’d you make it feel so good?”

Your hips twisted for effect, jostling the man’s own parts beneath yours and clearly causing some effect in him. The muscles in his jaw jumped up as he gritted his teeth.

“You know damn well, slut,” Joel griped.

Without another thought, you squeezed the trigger.

Click.

The man’s whole body lurched underneath you. Trembling with the realization that you’d left just one lone bullet for him—and he didn’t know which chamber.

As far as foreplay went, Russian Roulette was probably a first, even for a man as wanton and depraved as Joel. You smiled sweetly and made another gyration with your lower half, which prompted him to grip you. Tight.

“What? Ya want me to fuck you, is that it?” he growled.

“I thought it wouldn’t fit.”

“I’ll make it fit.”

“How?”

Try as you might to conceal it, your gaze likely betrayed a hint of sincerity as you made that last inquiry. Joel’s eyes flickered between yours, searching for something there, and just when those glossy brown irises had found it, they stopped. Blinked. He shook his head, incredulous.

“My mind ain’t…right,” he said, slowly, “But I— I know you know what I mean by that, sweet pea.”

Something in your tummy fluttered at the sound. You gripped the pistol tighter to get rid of the feeling.

“I don’t,” you answered.

Again, Joel was stumped. For the first time, though, there appeared to be some sympathy behind his eyes. Or stupidity. Or just a shit ton of morphine coursing through his veins as he tried to make sense of this situation.

As if to confirm an idea in his drug-addled brain, he lowered a hand between your legs and hovered there a second. He watched you; you watched back but didn’t move.

Then slowly, almost clinically, Joel slipped two fingers underneath you and found a soft, pulsing warmth—far wetter than the last time he’d touched down there. When he pulled his hand away, both fingers and half of his palm were glistening with a fluid. You let out a startled cry at the sight of it and nearly dropped your gun.

“What is that?!”

Joel looked to you, equally awed—for different reasons.

“What do you mean?”

“Why’s it all…sticky?”

You couldn’t even try to hide your horror at the thought of that weird, syrupy stuff leaking out of you. It was strange enough feeling it come out of a freak like Joel, but from your own body? He had to be fucking joking.

“It’s normal.”

“Like hell it is— you— STOP!” The last fragment of your sentence was swallowed by a scream, leaping back when Joel moved his fingers toward your face.

“What? You’ve never seen this?” He sounded like he was teasing. You could shoot him for how smug he sounded.

In very small amounts, you’d seen stuff. Blood every month. Bits and pieces of bodily secretions that, to you, had always seemed gross. But never this. Never big, sticky globs of…whatever the fuck this was. You continued to back away on the bed, gun still tipped toward Joel but now trying to put some distance between your bodies. You didn’t know how else to act.

You did know you wanted to scream when Joel stuck his fingers in his mouth. Bile might’ve jumped in your throat.

He sucked the dew clean off the digits, then wriggled them to show what he’d done. You felt the urge to vomit.

“That came from— from— why are you eating it?!”

Joel grinned. Big.

You weren’t sure why, but he looked psyched to be alive in that moment, and not just because of the narcotics.

Before you knew what was happening, he’d pushed you flat on your back, hips pinned underneath his hands as he moved over your body. He didn’t even try for the gun.

“And here I was thinkin’ you were just fuckin’ with me,” he chuckled, palms sliding under your nightdress. When you felt the residuum of wetness from his spit and your slick stuck together on his fingers, you wanted to squeal.

But you didn’t. You tried propping yourself up on elbows until Joel was sliding your one and only article of clothing over your head, then beckoning you down on the bed in front of him. You watched his gaze flit down to your side.

“Still hurt?” he murmured, tracing over the bandage.

You shook your head no, though it did, a little. At the moment, it seemed the pain was the furthest thing from your mind as you saw Joel slide down your body and try to take up residence between your thighs—with his face planted right there. You kicked his shoulder in protest.

“Quit!” you cried, pulling your legs up to your chest.

“You quit,” Joel returned, yanking them back.

Then you felt you had no choice but to brandish the gun, taking the thing between two palms while you pointed it again—as if he needed the reminder.

“Fine. Why don’t you keep that thing aimed at my head while I give you some?” he muttered. The subsequent ‘See if I give a shit’ was silent.

“Give me some what?”

“Head.”

Head. You’d never heard something phrased that way. Joel’s head was down there, sure, practically grinning from ear to ear as he hooked your legs over his shoulders, but certainly he didn’t mean to do a thing as drastic and dirty as—

“JOEL!”

“Hm?” His voice was muffled by your thighs.

You tried to shy away, but he held you down.

“Joel, I— I pee out of there,” you hissed, “Why the fuck would you wanna put your mouth on that?”

As if your groans of disgust and vehement attempts to get away weren’t enough to deter him, you watched Joel’s tongue dart between his lips and down to yours. The sick fuck was actually licking your folds, tracing the tip across that warm, sticky place and moaning into your skin. Holding you tighter when you pleaded for him to stop. Then, with the hand that wasn’t prying your legs apart, he reached down and started stroking his cock.

Again, it felt dirty and wrong. Beyond the fact that this man was a perfect stranger and easily decades your senior, you were repulsed by the sight of his lips and his tongue and his spit mixing up in that messy, wet place you still didn’t quite understand yourself. You didn’t know much about your body, but it had never once occurred to you to be kissed down there. Joel was roaming every contour and crevice with his tongue like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like he liked it.

“I hate it,” you whined, feebly.

You knew you could’ve easily blown the man’s brains out, but some small part of you was still plagued by curiosity. ‘Hate’ was just the first word that came to mind when you were faced with something that made you scared.

“It’s weird,” you tried again. This time pressing the gun to the top of his bobbing head while you grit your teeth, “And wrong.”

At that, Joel stopped.

His eyes flickered to yours, all glass-like and hooded.

“Why? Practically lickin’ ya clean here,” he said, starting to grin to himself as his words came slightly slurred, “There’s nothin’ wrong about this, sweet pea.”

You felt something flutter between you. He felt it, too.

“Like when I call ya that? ‘Sweet pea’?” he said, pausing to flick his tongue over the spot that had just stirred at his words. He watched you fight back a whimper.

“No,” you choked. You pinched your eyes shut, unsure whether it was pleasure or pure revulsion overtaking you—or both.

Suddenly, you felt Joel’s hand smooth over your thigh, still warm from when he’d been stroking himself below. He placed an affectionate kiss to your belly and grinned.

“Is that what this is? Feel guilty about feelin’ this good?” he murmured, “Think it’s…dirty, what we’re doin’?”

At length, and just barely visible to him, you nodded.

“It is dirty,” you corrected him quietly.

Then you saw that stupid pseudo-sympathetic smirk tug at the corners of his lips, and just when you thought he might nudge his way back up your body—to do what, you weren’t sure—he sank between your legs. This time, he made sure to hold your gaze as he re-assumed the position. His palm continued to rub at your thigh, as if to distract you from the rough brush of his stubble or the fact that his mouth was hovering so dangerously close.

“Sweet pea,” he rasped, “Ain’t nothin’ dirty about this.”

As if to punctuate his words, Joel dragged his lips down your slit to press a kiss to your centre, eyes never leaving yours.

“Not here…”

He pointed with his tongue, moving it deftly between your folds. You gripped the sheets, trying to ignore the pleasure that the simple act wrought through your body.

“Not here.”

He kissed your clit. You squeezed even tighter.

“Not on my tongue, on my fingers, anywhere, y’hear?”

You were about to answer—maybe tell him he was supremely full of shit, then flash the gun in his face—when Joel shifted onto his knees on the bed. He moved slowly and as calm as he ever had, motions languid while his mind was likely steeped in the morphine by now. He snagged one of your ankles. He slid his hand up the back of your calf and tugged you down to the edge of the bed. Then he stood up, right between your legs. The warmth radiating from his bare lower half was immediate, almost suffocating from where you lay. You didn’t like it at all.

You refused to meet his gaze, grip tightening on the gun.

“Joel…”

When that warmth at your front shifted inward, though, you hardly had a say in what your reflexes did or didn’t do. You jumped when you felt the head of his dick slip past your pulsing core, closer to the other hole below it.

“Not here, either,” Joel continued, grin still evident from his tone.

Before you could even think to ask what he meant to do ‘here,’ Joel moved one of your legs up, tilting your hips, and pushed ahead with just the tip of his cock. Not breaching it fully, but nudging—prodding at that hole.

For the first time, you let out a moan.

You hastily clamped a hand over your mouth to stifle it.

“Aw, honey,” Joel murmured, “Did that feel good?”

His words reeked of condescension. You scowled at the ceiling.

“No.”

You felt him push a little further—this time making the head of his dick notch into that tight ring of muscles.

No, the word rang through your skull once more. Your curiosity was shortly supplanted by disgust—how the fuck could you let this creepy old man, this stranger, press into you like that? Talk to you like you were dumb? You seized hold of Joel’s pistol with both hands and aimed directly for his chest.

“Stop doing that,” you growled. When the man’s grip on your leg only tightened and you couldn’t writhe away, you lifted the other and tried kicking him in the gut. Of course, Joel caught your foot midair, and it never landed.

“Just givin’ ya options, darlin’,” he said, easy-going. Not seeming to care about the firearm pointed his way.

Fuck it.

You squeezed the trigger again.

Empty chamber.

If Joel flinched, you didn’t see it. He did, however, knock the gun right out of your hand the next second, sending it tumbling with an unceremonious thump on the bed behind you. You tried to leap back for it, but your arm was quickly pinned. Joel cocked one silver-flecked brow.

“You done?” he asked, almost bored.

Your last—and only—leverage taken away from you, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of anger. And desperation.

“I don’t wanna do this,” you cried, trying to squirm away.

Joel didn’t move his cock, but he did hold you still. Blinking with indifference and a fair bit of drug-induced dissociation, it seemed, from the far-away look in his eyes. He pushed both of your legs so they were folded up to your chest, and ignored your whimpers when he did. At length, he pulled out just enough to smear some of your wetness down to the hole he was trying to fuck.

“You want this,” he countered gently.

“I DON’T!”

Joel continued as though he hadn’t heard you, and moments later, you sensed another slick something pooling against you. From your position beneath him, you could see a bead of spit slip from Joel’s mouth and stretch into a thin, glistening string all the way down to the space between your thighs. You watched him rub the saliva in with his fingers, almost meticulous as he did it.

Then he eased his hips forward an inch, wedging himself back in your ass. He groaned when he felt resistance—and a sharp clench of your muscles.

“I can teach ya…show ya everything…there is to know.”

His words somehow made it out through ragged breaths. That broad, tan chest was heaving with every labored pull of his lungs, and you could tell he was feeling good.

You might’ve been able to say the same for yourself, were your mind not singly occupied by the desire to escape. Still at war with yourself, wondering how it would feel or what you might see that first time, all the while despising the man who seemed hell-bent on forcing it.

He might’ve saved your life, but there was no fucking way he’d get to use you like that and stay breathing.

You were raised better than that.

You could do better than anything this man had to offer.

You resolved to kill him as soon as the drugs knocked him out—just like you’d had planned from the second you woke up on the floor of his cabin that afternoon.

Of course being chained, maimed, and frozen half to death on the plains for some well-meaning stranger to find you had always been part of your mother’s—and the rest of the Raiders’—grand plan. Having this stupid, horny sap take you into his home with the hope of claiming you as his own was just the icing on top.

Now you had a reason to kill Joel and steal all his shit.

At present, he fed another inch of himself inside you and grinned when you let out a startled cry.

“Atta girl,” he said, smirking, “Feelin’ okay?”

“Fuck you.”

“Will do.”

Then, as if to prove a point, he bottomed out, sheathing his cock to the hilt in spite of your cries. Your hands fisted the sheets, and you tried to pull off. It didn’t work.

In fact, all it accomplished was giving Joel more room to thrust back into you. And pull out. And shove back in. The snap of his hips was like cruel and excruciating clockwork, completely unhindered by your words or your gestures or your pleas to stop fucking doing that Joel, it fucking hurts! If anything, the sounds of your censure only got him harder, and with it, made it that much easier to fuck you rougher. His eyes shone with pride.

“What’s’at, sweet pea?” he hummed, strokes coming into a steady pace.

“It’s too…big…doesn’t fit,” you whimpered.

In response, Joel glanced down to see the spot where your bodies were joined. He pushed even deeper.

“Yeah?” he said when you yelped, “I think it fits just fine.”

Motherfucker, you wanted to wail, but then your neck craned sideways—your mouth trying to find purchase in anything you might grit between your teeth—and the only thing that escaped your throat was a sob. You tried burying your face in the comforter, only for Joel to yank it back.

Cupping your chin and pinching both your cheeks in a single, punishing squeeze as he continued to fuck you, “What’s the matter, darlin’? Too much?”

You groaned and clenched your jaw, head jerking away.

Per usual, Joel was undeterred. Even smiled.

“My pretty girl need somethin’a bite, huh?” he hummed.

He probably knew you wouldn’t nod, so he went ahead and decided to oblige that one need he saw anyway. Snagging your nightie, Joel raised a hand to your face and proceeded to push the fabric inside your mouth.

Just as he started to lift his hips to deliver another thrust, he had to stop. A sudden, sharp ‘FUCK!’ left his mouth, then a groan, and his hand retreated fast.

You’d bitten him.

You were grinning just a little, and you’d bitten him.

Joel promptly slapped you across the face. If you weren’t so fucking amused by the sight of his bright red fingers, you just might’ve winced. Instead, the smile stayed on your lips, the slap barely registered, and, to your utmost disbelief, something else had just then started to form.

Pleasure, in the pit of your stomach.

“Fuckin’—” Joel snarled.

“Shit,” you finished, eyes rolling back.

You couldn’t help it. Joel was rutting into you relentlessly. That brief hand bite detour had only stoked the flames of his hatred—and arousal—and now he was practically splitting you in half with the force of his thrusts. He slapped you once more for good measure.

“Oh, that you fuckin’ like?” he seethed, cheeks flushed, “Can’t get off with my…tongue on your cunt, but a slap— and my cock buried deep in your ass gets the job done?”

“Uh-huh,” you answered softly. Mindlessly.

Really, there were no two people more fucked up than you in this moment, you thought. Joel growing harder with each desperate objection of yours, you going all soft and hot and bothered the second he slapped your face and fucked you rougher, and together, the two of you letting out grunts and moans of pleasure while the bed shook like an earthquake just shy of a 9.5 on the Richter scale. Were you not already planning to slit the man’s throat after all of this was over, you just might’ve wanted to marry this Joel M for how wonderfully he fucked you.

You let him know as much when you seized his forearms.

Bouncing into his thrusts, you bit your lip and finally met his gaze. Joel’s eyes were trained in somewhat of a daze, pupils all but swallowing his irises as he fucked you.

“Like being daddy’s little cocksleeve, huh?”

Only the sentence was slurred so bad you could scarcely make out half the words. You nodded just the same.

“Like it when he fucks you in the ass?” Joel panted.

You nodded again.

That pleasure in your belly had worked its way up to a full swell—and whatever it was, you couldn’t bear the thought of losing it now. You gripped Joel’s arms even harder as his chest swayed into you, then sank further and further until your fronts were pressed flush to each other and your ankles were hooked tight around his back.

It almost felt intimate. That coarse, weathered, sweat-coated face spattered with patches of grey seemed to you nearly handsome as his lips hung limply in an ‘o.’

Joel’s cock dragged back and forth between your walls at this new, snug angle, and moans fell out of you both.

“Baby.” His voice was hoarse. Strained.

You couldn’t quite make sense of the expression above you, but there was an unmistakable, muted desperation lurking somewhere beneath it. Joel rutted into you quicker, balls leaving rapid smacks against your ass with every thrust. His hair was disheveled, and his hands were making fists in the sheets on either side of your head.

“Joel—”

“Jus’ lemme use you.”

Words so low they were barely audible as he panted.

“But—”

“Daddy’s…almost done, sweet pea. Just take it.”

You were surprised he’d had it within himself to be so soft. A peculiar sort of haze hung over his face, the pace of his hips picked up even more, and suddenly those plush pink lips were hovering a mere hair’s breadth away from yours. Mumbling. Rambling on and on about how wet you were, how perfect you fit him, how nice and sweet and tight your body felt as he fucked you stupid.

That sensation in your own stomach grew even stronger.

Unsure of what to do, you pressed a palm to his chest.

“Joel, I…I feel funny,” you whispered.

Joel hummed. Didn’t slow.

“I know.”

He knew?

“What’s it—ah, fuck.” Your words broke off in a whimper.

Instead of proffering a verbal response, Joel just slipped a touch between your bodies—thumbing sloppily between your folds to earn a couple more high-pitched moans. Your legs tightened around his middle.

“Joel, s-stop!”

It felt so good it almost hurt. He didn’t stop.

“S’just an orgasm, baby,” Joel panted, “You’re okay.”

And, in spite of his own impending climax and the effect of the drugs likely reaching a fever pitch inside him, Joel managed to slide his other hand beneath the back of your head. Cradled you to him while he fucked you into the bed and made you come unraveled with his touch. You tried to writhe away, but he was used to the drill by now—he just fucked you harder and rubbed you faster.

Whatever he wanted would come soon. You doubted there was anything you could do to stop it, but you tried.

Without thinking, you grabbed hold of the damp locks of hair at the nape of his neck and yanked on them hard.

“Joel, I can’t— I can’t,” you keened.

The hand at the back of your head held you firm.

“You can,” Joel returned, tough but surprisingly calm, “Give it to daddy, ‘s’all ya gotta do.”

What exactly ‘it’ was was still unclear. You just knew you felt good and warm and full—about ready to burst. When you felt tempted to give his hair another tug, Joel’s eyes met yours, and they were soft. Insistent, still, but soft.

Dilated as all hell and probably swimming in clouds of a delirious, bleary haze, but always soft. Almost tender.

“Be a good girl and give it to daddy,” Joel slurred, slow, “C’mon, sweet pea…cum for daddy, please.”

For the first time in that short, rough, utterly deranged time you had known this man, he was begging you. Pleading with you, now, as his body grew overwrought with pleasure and just needed release. You needed it, too, not even knowing how you would get it, but the force of his thrusts, the warmth of his body, the look in those warm, bare, powerless eyes—you fucking loved whatever it was that could make a man like that so weak.

You had to strike while the iron was hot. You slid back.

Joel didn’t notice, too focused on your face and the feel of your body to see when you’d reached for the gun.

Just as you took hold of it, a jolt of pleasure tore through you. Your heels dug into his back, and you nearly lost control of the pistol. Joel groaned in your mouth, begged you once again to cum all over this cock, make a fuckin’ mess of it, baby, please, and you could only whine, grip the metal tighter, and raise it slowly to the side of his head while he buried his face in the crook of your neck.

The peak of your pleasure had come into view. You felt it.

You nudged the muzzle through those soft, slick, salt-and-pepper shaded tufts of hair near the edge of his temple right when the first throes of euphoria seized you.

“FUCK!”

You squeezed the trigger.

#NEED DARK!JOEL TO TAKE ME TO HIS PENTHOUSE AND FREAK ME IN WAYS UNIVERSALLY CONDEMNED BY POSTMODERN FEMINISM #IT'S SOOOOO BAD Y'ALL #this might be too niche but i hope at least one person enjoys LOL #joel miller #joel miller tlou #joel miller smut #joel miller imagine #joel miller one shot #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us #tlou #the last of us fic #joel miller x you #dark!joel

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billthedrake · 6 months

Text

This story inspired by the classic writings of @macstevens.

THE NIGHT BEFORE

"You feeling nervous, Dad?" I asked as we walked back into our hotel room. We'd taken a walk around and had scoped out a lot of the other men we'd be seeing tomorrow.

Dad was surprisingly earnest as he thought over for a second. "I should be telling you I'm not," he replied. "I guess I get a little too caught up in the competitive thing."

"You wouldn't be here if you didn't," I assured him. "Trust me, you're gonna kill it tomorrow."

I could read all the doubts in my father's head. In 2018 he'd come here and had fallen short of placing. The pandemic came, and that meant time away from the gym. More than that there was Dad's self-imposed backaway from bodybuilding. "It's just not worth it," he'd said. "The time, the dieting, making yourself into some muscle bimbo," he said.

Until it was worth it. About a year and a half ago, Dad started getting that itch again. It took even more work this time, as he was in his mid-50s now, which meant would be competing in the Master's 50+ division

Now, Dad was probably in his best form of his life. Growing up, he'd always seemed just big - tall, beefy, ex-jock kind of body. Around the time of my parents' divorce, he'd gotten into better shape. My his mid 40s, that fitness kick got channeled into serious lifting. No two ways about it, my cop dad was a beast now.

And he was pulling off his XXL t-shirt, showing me all the ripped muscle he'd been bulking and fine tuning the last year. Dad tossed the shirt aside and turned to me. "Guess it's time for you to work your magic, Drew."

"Jesus, fuck," I gasped. It wasn't from surprise, since I was well familiar with my dad's body. But it never failed to take my breath away. He was hard, vascular, and covered with a pelt of silvery hair.

Dad chuckled. "I know you like the fur, buddy."

I gulped. Something had changed the last couple of years where the salt and pepper in Dad's chest hair was getting closer to full-on silver. "Yeah, I do," I admitted. "But you gotta show off your work, Dad."

"Yeah," he said, and started taking off his shorts. "You get everything ready."

I'd learned the hard way to put down newspaper on the bathroom floor. Dad's really fucking hair. I pulled out the supplies from my backpack - clippers, shave gels, a couple of additional razor cartridges, some aloe moisturizer. I used to wax Dad down, but we both enjoyed the slower, more intimate ritual of the shaving. And this way, his hair would grow back sooner, which was a plus for us.

"I'm afraid I'm giving you a lot of work," he chuckled as he stepped into the small space of the hotel bathroom. Dad was fully naked and his cock was already firming up into a healthy-sized hardon. We'd gotten beyond the awkwardness of this process and now got turned on by it.

I realized I was fully hard in my basketball shorts and I was glad I decided to freeball it, because otherwise my erection would feel uncomfortably constrained. I stripped off my shirt and affectionately patted his back, taking some time to feel the competition-ready muscle. "Jesus, Dad... being away at college... it's incredible to see you now."

That made my father smile. But he didn't say anything more. It was time for the shavedown.

I started the clippers and sheared off big swipes of that thick fur, watching the silvery curls fall down to the floor, some catching on his hair below. I then worked the clipped on the other side, from his lower abdomen to the base of his giant pecs. His cock jerked as I did and I could see the hunger in his eyes.

I pulled back the clippers and kissed him. Tongue and all, we make out, and I felt his prick nudge against the hard ridge in my shorts. I was actually a couple inches taller than Dad, a classic basketball jock build, and times like this, I loved the similarity and yet contrast between our bodies.

Dad was thinking something similar, too, and as I pulled back he growled. "I swear each time I see ya, you're bigger, boy."

I flexed for him some and laughed. In high school, I'd been on the leaner side, and even now my muscle looked less imposing because of my height. But I'd been working a lot with the team's strength coach and my effort had paid off. I placed the clippers back on him, focusing on the round swell of his chest muscle. "I got a bodybuilding Dad I gotta keep up with," I said.

It was Dad's turn to flex, making his knotted arms almost balloon in size. "I couldn't have gotten here without you, buddy," my father said, a twinkle in his handsome brown eyes that seemed lighter in color now that his hair was graying.

"Lift your arm," I instructed. This was the one part where the hair seemed less thick as Dad got older, but his pit was still well-furred. Dad's hair just had a way of growing in fast and thick.

It was going now, as I buzzed the clipper along the growth, shearing it down to a quarter inch.

Then I did the other arm pit.

My father's back isn't that hairy but I zapped away a couple of patches, along his lower back and along his upper traps. The forearms needed touching up to.

Dad reached down and gripped my boner, massaging it through the nylon of my shorts. It felt tantalizing, but we both kept the libido in check for now. Still, I pulled back with a huge wet spot at the tip of my cock. Dad used to tease me for my lack of patience in the bedroom, but now I knew how to be a good boy.

I squatted down and trimmed the legs, front and back. Then the hard cannonball ass that had been the first thing that required Dad to size up his police uniform.

This whole process took a while, about five to ten minutes for the initial trim. Now I turned off the clippers and set them aside. I wiped down the legs with a wet washcloth and put a good amount of shaving gel in my palm. This was the laborious part, but Dad would have a fresh, close shave for competition tomorrow.

It was quiet and sexual, Dad's prick dripping that slick clear fluid as I ran the razor over the quads, revealing hard muscle more fully. His dieting and diuretics meant every vein popped on the surface of his leg. I finished and wiped him down, admiring my handiwork. I took a strange pride in this, not only my skill in shaving Dad down but also an embrace of my kink. It was like each swipe of the razor blade was an act of power, of taking away Dad's masculinity, and yet giving him an even more amazing masculine form.

I started on the other leg. We broke the spell of silence some by talking about the likely competition he'd have tomorrow. Soon, I was wiping down the smooth muscle and rinsing off the blade in the sink.

I took my time with his calved and powerful hamstrings. Dad's hardon flagged. Mine didn't. I remembered when my father's ass has a little of that meaty give to it. The first time I'd touched his bare buns, or eaten him out, of fucked him. Now it was hard steeliness in my hands as I ran the razor over it, clearing a path in the foamy gel to reveal the smooth hard skin beneath. I don't know what it was, but there was something about a 55 year old's skin that was distinctive from a younger man's, even in Dad's competition ready muscle physique. Maybe because of his muscle physique.

"Want me to get in there?" I asked, my voice hoarse in excitement.

"Might as well," Dad said. And like that, he was leaning over and bracing his arms on the shower-tub rim, spreading his legs for me.

The first time Dad showed his hole to me, I had a premature ejaculation, I was so turned on. Those days were past me, but my heart always pounded double time to see this sight.

"I love you, Dad," I hissed. I had meant to save that kind of talk for later in the weekend. Or at least for a more appropriately intimate moment. But it just came out.

"Love ya too, Drew," he replied.

I could tell he was holding himself dead steady. This part involved more delicate razor work. I spread his crack further open with my fingers and flicked away the hairs around his pucker. My father's ring had seen more use lately. It wasn't a puffy, slutty hole or anything, but he'd gotten fucked more regularly, even with my absence at school.

"There," I announced, splashing some water on the pucker and wiping it down.

Dad leaned up and turned around. His prick was throbbing again. "You're the best, son," he said, reaching down to ruffle my hair.

I laughed. "Dad, you know how much this drive me crazy." I was already taking the shaving gel and smearing it around his lower abdomen. Dad trained natural and competed in a natural tournament. It put a cap to his size but also meant his belly was normal and relatively flat for a man his age.

He looked down with a look that had a good deal of pride mixed in with the lust. "I've been too scared to ask, but you having fun in college?"

I knew what he was getting at. I kept my attention on the shaving process but as I rinsed of the blade, I answered him. "Not really. Playing ball and keeping up my GPA keeps me pretty focused, you know?"

I knew he liked my answer but he nodded. "Well, I wouldn't mind if you found someone, you know." I think he half believed it. Trying to be the good parent.

I stood up. I was SO hard now. I knew I was tempting myself, but I pulled the waist band over my cock and slid my shorts down. Dad's eyes widened. "He'd probably have to be a cop," I said. "You and Rick spoiled me."

Dad chuckled. "I can't tell if you're kidding sometimes."

I raised my eyebrow. "I'm not kidding," I said. I pumped some more gel into my hand. The can was running low now, and I'd have to start on the second. I smeared it over his hard round pecs. I wetted down a new blade and brought it up. "I've been thinking a lot actually... I don't know, I'm seriously thinking about going into law enforcement."

"Drew," Dad objected, but he didn't complete his thought.

I shaved the chest in slow, broad swaths. It was beautiful to see Dad's new body emerge before my eyes. "Basketball's great, but I know I'm not NBA material," I explained. I gave a wry smile as I quickly glanced from his chest to his face. "And the pension's good, right?"

He laughed. "Pretty good," he replied. "But it's better in a city." Dad was police chief in a small town force.

"Then you get big city problems," I countered. I now ran the razor gingerly around dad's thick brownish nipple. "But you know what I'm thinking, right?"

"Yeah," he replied. "Just promise me you're not gonna rush into that decision lightly. I want you to think practically before you commit to anything."

"I will, Dad," I said. Feeling chastised some, but he was right. I had a way of letting my cock do the thinking for me. I leaned in as I flicked the razor along his upper chest, next to the neck. Our cocks touched, wet and leaking.

"Fuck!" Dad gasped.

"I didn't nick you, did I?" I asked, concerned. I'd been more prone to that when we started this, but I'd gotten better and a lot more careful.

"No," he responded. "But please tell me we're gonna make up for lost time this weekend, son."

"We're gonna make up for lost time, Dad," I breathed. Then setting down the razor, I kissed him once more. This once feel deeper and more powerful.

"Damn, buddy," my father said as we broke off. "You've gotten even better at that."

I grinned. "Finish you up?" I asked. "We're almost done."

He nodded and lifted his right arm to let me get the trimmed hairs beneath, then the other. Up close, my father's hard muscled body now seemed bigger and heavier. We were both tall and our combined sized made the bathroom quarters seem particularly close.

"Maybe you can trim the crotch tomorrow. Figure out how much you wanna do." Dad said as I shaved his arms smooth. I could never decide what I thought about a shaved crotch. I used to hate it, but now there was a kinkiness in seeing his mature muscled cop body shaved completely smooth. Dad mostly like not worrying the posing trunks area and was glad for me to go as tight a shave as I wanted.

"Yep," I said.

Finally Dad started up the shower and we both got in. I loved sudsing up his shaved-down body and making out with him. We'd barely stepped out and dried off when we heard a knock.

"What fucking timing," I heard Dad say as he turned his upper body some.

I patted his smooth rump and picked up my shorts to slide them back on. I was achingly hard in them, obscenely so, but I had a good idea who was at the door.

"Am I interrupting anything?" Rick Caldwell grinned as I opened the door. He was fifteen years younger than Dad and six inches shorter. He was pretty much the textbook example of meathead cop, having been lifting and competing since he was 18. He stood now in full uniform, the bulletproof vest beneath his poly-blue shirt making his chest look that much more expansive, and his huge guns straining the sleeves.

"Dude, it's your room, too," I laughed.

Rick stepped in and set down his bag. He had a big grin on his closely shaved face. "Been too long, kid," he smiled as he stepped up for a kiss. I used to joke that Rick was Dad's boyfriend, but it seemed more and more like he was mine. I groped his hard body and felt him up beneath the uniform.

"Bout damn time, Caldwell," Dad joked as he stepped in to see us making out.

Rick pulled back. "Hiya Chief. Hit some traffic after my shift." He looked up my father up and down. "Your boy does good work."

"He does," Dad said as he stepped up, pulling his hand on my bare shoulder. "Takes his time."

Rick smiked. "I bet." Then, "You guys see all the beef parading around? Lots of law enforcement, too. I figured Junior here's gotta be pretty worked up," he winked at me. I didn't share a first name with my father but that didn't stop Rick from using that as a nickname.

"Understatement," I said. While Rick always encouraged my horndog side, I didn't always like to scope out other guys around Dad. But it was impossible to hide it on occasions like this .

Dad didn't seem to mind now. His fingers playfully dug into my delt muscle. "Drew here's thinking about signing up for the Academy after college." There was some pride in his voice, even tough I knew my father was stubborn enough to try to talk me out of the idea a few times over the upcoming year.

"Yeah?" Rick asked, turning to look at my own smirk. "You'll make a good officer, Junior," he said. Already he was crouching down in front of me and working my shorts.

I almost objected and I knew my body stiffened defensively. Dad and I had just had the most exquisite 40 minutes of foreplay and I worried now that all my patience would be squandered in a half minute's time.

"It's OK, buddy," Dad whispered hoarsely, pullling my upper body tighter against his nakedness. "Let him."

I gapsed as Rick sank his mouth over my precum-wet boner.

"Holy fuck," I gasped, looking down at him, beginning to blow me in full uniform. Big muscle head cop going down on me. Rick was skilled, but more than that he just loved doing it.

It was the two personalities of the men in my life. Dad always telling me to take it slow, to be patient. Training me almost. Rick indulging me and encouraging me to be as horny as any 20 year old would. Rick knew I had several loads in me in a given night. Why wait for the first?

I now rode the pleasure that Rick's bobbing mouth and throat were now giving me. Dad's eyes were cast down too, watching my thick son dick and his reporting officer's talented mouth quickly milking me.

"You're beautiful to watch, son," my father now whispered in my ear. Just us, something Rick probably couldn't hear. That excited me. "And Rick's right, buddy. You'd make a great officer."

I turned and like magic our mouths met. Tongues connecting a second before I started cumming. I shot hard and heavy into Rick Caldwell's craw. He not only swallowed greedily but kept working me to get the dribbles out of me.

"Goddamn," I muttered when Dad finally pulled back.

"Need a minute?" Dad asked. I knew his need was getting more urgent. And Rick had now turned his attention to my father, his chief. Licking along the thick tool that matched mine.

"Yeah," I replied. "Just a sec." I knew I should cool off completely, but I couldn't keep my eyes off these two men.

Rick sucked some more then went back to teasing mode. I don't know why he was doing this to Dad while he went right to sucking me off. But it was hot to watch. Rick finally turned to me. "You up for shaving me down in a bit, Junior?" He ran his hands openly along my father's smooth abdomen. "Get me competition ready?"

"God, yes," I said.

Dad chuckled. "Drives my boy crazy, doesn't it?" he said, looking at me.

I blushed. I don't know why I was embarrassed of the fact but I was.

Rick grinned, seeming to enjoy seeing my shy side. "Junior's gonna be SO worked up after tomorrow afternoon, he might even let us fuck him." Since going to college, I'd gotten into more of a top kick with these guys. Rick and I liked to have playful arguments about that, but he'd just shake his head and said it was a phase for me, that I just needed to prove something.

Rick never felt like he had anything to prove, at least in bed, and Dad was increasingly very open and flexible.

"How long has it been, Junior?" Rick teased, standing up and undoing his utility belt. "You let any of those college coaches sweet talk their way into your hot jock hole?"

Dad laughed. He was enjoying this. "Drew's been a monk up at school," he chimed in. "So he says."

Rick's blue eyes lit up as he pulled up one uniform shoe to a nearby chair to take off, then the other. "Is that right? Well, it's a whole weekend of bodybuilding, buddy," he said to me. "I'm pretty sure you're gonna get laid." It wasn't clear from his words whether he meant just him and Dad, or some other guy. Maybe for Dad's sake he kept it ambiguous, though I knew Rick liked to fool around and encouraged me to get my rocks off when I could.

"Come on, Rick," Dad complained. "Don't corrupt the poor boy."

Rick smirked. "Junior doesn't need me to do any corrupting. I've never met a dude so wired for big muscle."

Dad gave an exasperated smile. He knew his fellow cop was right. Fer christsake, I'd first come out to Dad when he discovered cum-crusted bodybuilding mags in my bedroom. He now turned to me and I could see a lot of emotion in his face, with the lust that had been building. "I know I keep a short leash on ya, Drew. But you're 20 now... you're your own man."

I didn't know if I was gonna take advantage of Dad's implicit offer. Or if I'd even have a chance to. Rick Caldwell had some wild talk sometimes, but the reality didn't always live up to it. I felt strangely touched by the idea of Dad letting me go off for some fun here.

I turned to Rick, "Why don't you get on the bed?" I asked, almost ordered. "No... leave the uniform on." His cock was already poking out of his zipper but it had been a while since I'd experienced a uniform scene.

The request made Rick smile. He gave a mock salute, "Aye aye, Junior." I watched as he got on, lying back, his big muscle body making the mattress sink. I had confidence in my father, but he'd have a hard time winning his division. Rick would have no problem winning his.

I climbed on, mounting his reclined, clothed body and meeting him for a kiss. Dad still didn't know what I had in mind but he stroked his cock and stepped closer to the bed. He told me he never thought he had a voyeur side until he first watched me and Rick fuck. I made out with the cop and pawed the muscled body before I pulled back and looked at my father.

"Just take it easy, Dad, OK?" I said. "It's been a year and a half."

"Yep," Dad answered in his deep voice.

"Fuck, Junior," I heard Rick say. I looked back into his handsome mug. He now whispered to me, almost mouthed the word. "He's missed this, you know?"

I felt bad, but any misgiving were pushed aside as I felt my father's strong hands run my hamstrings and over my bare buns. Then I felt a cool drizzle of lube and his warm finger press it into me.

"He's good at this right?" Rick said as he watched me get into my dad's prep work. The man was kneeling beside me and Rick. I'd alternate between kissing the cop and just enjoying the fingering.

Finally, I was mid-kiss when Dad stretched his muscled body on top of mine and guided his prick to my tight ring. He had the force to work me open, but he didn't rush it. Just steady prodding at my defenses, and once he entered me slow mini thrusts to open me up.

This was incredible. Getting fucked by Dad in the first time in a while. Getting past my stubborn top-only phase. And being there with Rick while I did.

Dad's thrusts were getting more vigorous, more athletic. I could feel the smoothness of his torso against my bare back as he fucked. The man had a hell of a lot of power in him, and Rick and I both gazed into each other's eyes in a feedback loop of horniness. Me getting off on him seeing the incestuous mating and him egging me on.

"Hold on a sec," I finally said. Dad's pumping stopped and he held his body still against mine while he softly kissed my neck.

"You OK, son?" he asked. I could tell from his voice he SO wanted to fuck to completion right then.

"Pull back," I instructed. As he did, I pulled back enough to give Rick enough room for what I was gonna ask. "Flip over officer," I urged.

Rick got the message, pulling down his uniform trousers all the way, his belt clinging and his prick jerking hard. But I didn't have long to see it. Already the big man was squirming to maneuver to a face down position.

Dad figured out what I was angling for and already was smearing lube on to my cock, adding some extra.

I was getting impatient now, and I reached down to guide my boner into Rick's muscle ass. He gave a soft grunt as I found and penetrated his cop hole. I should have gone easier, I knew, but Rick sensed my need and wanted this too.

Already my jock body was collapsing onto his meatier one, fucking deeper into his ass while I felt my dad cover tightly from behind, his own cop dick finding my entrance naturally and boring back in easily.

A sandwich threeway fuck isn't easy to get a rhythm on, and ours wasn't perfect. It was our first, in fact. But Dad did the driving, his hips and ass piledriving that meaty cock deep into me, jamming it against my throbbing prostate and pushing me into Rick, too.

I heard Dad's rumble of orgasm first and the idea he was shooting inside me had me nutting too. My body spasmed as I gave it up and simultaneously accepted Dad's load deep inside.

"Nice, Drew," my father whispered and slowly eased his body off mine."

I now worried it all been too hard on Rick, but as I rolled off, I saw him turn on his side, finally unbuttoning his uniform shirt and peeling it off his kevlar. His prick was angry red and it took me a second to realize the tip was wet.

"You fuckers," he laughed. "I don't know the last time I had a load fucked out of me like that."

"As long as I don't have to sleep in the wet spot," Dad deadpanned.

Rick grinned, peeling down his trousers, down those tree trunk legs and kicking them off. "I think Junior usually takes the middle spot," Rick said.

I got up off the bed. I'd gotten off twice now, in the span of twenty minutes, and I now felt more than a little drained. "I'll take it," I said. "Gladly." My dad was circling around the king bed to step up to me. I was used to the way his fur would get wet with sweat during sex but now the dewy perspiration rolled down smooth muscle.

"That was amazing kiddo," he said. "Thank you."

We kissed softly. We got so absorbed in our making out that I didn't feel Rick's presence until he placed a hand on both of our backs.

"I love watching you guys," he said.

I turned and leaned down to kiss Rick now, and Dad then had his turn.

"OK if we take a rain check on the shave down?" Rick asked. "There should be enough time tomorrow right?"

Dad felt up Rick's front. "You just got some stubble," he observed. "Shouldn't take as long for Drew to do his thing."

Dad rinsed off first, and then while Rick hopped in the shower, I applied the aloe to Dad's body. It was sexual and intimate, but the orgasms had taken the edge off and I could enjoy the act in all its sensuality. Dad and were both chubbed by shy of fully erect.

"You're killing it, Chief," Rick said as he towelled off. I still had to pinch myself that I had both these amazing muscle men to play around with. "You're gonna blow 'em away on stage tomorrow."

"We'll see," Dad said, that earlier nervousness and doubt creeping into his voice again.

The younger cop hung his towel on the hook. "You ever think of competing, Junior?" he asked.

"His body's perfect, Caldwell," Dad interjected. My father had an embarrassed look as he turned to me. "You should do what makes you happy, buddy, but I mean... you're fucking perfect." His voice cracked in a serious tone. "And any one of those muscle heads walking around this weekend would be lucky to make it with you."

Rick patted my back and winked in a conspiratorial way. "Chief's a big softie. But he's right. You are looking extra studly these days." He turned to Dad. "They looking for some extra tall recruits at the Academy, Chief?"

Dad grinned and nodded. "If that's what the boy wants to do... I'd say so." My father held my gaze and then winked, patting my on the shoulder before going back into the main part of our room.

Somehow, unbelievably, I had a fully hard cock once more.

"You want another crack at my ass, Junior?" Rick asked quietly.

It was tempting. But I needed a break, and I knew waiting would make it all the better. "Tomorrow, OK?"" I asked.

The big cop reached down and gave my dick a quick tug. "You got it. A celebration after I win, maybe?"

"Definitely," I said. I knew Rick would win, all right.

"All right, Junior, let's get some rest... big day tomorrow."

"Yes, Officer," I said and followed him back into the bedroom.

#drakestories

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lansplaining · 5 months

Note

Can you imagine the shock and grief JYL felt when she was supposed to receive the news of WWX coming to celebrate? instead, she had to receive the news that her husband had been killed by none other than the Ghost General/WWX. The realization that her son no longer has a father, and she no husband, is... harrowing. No words can express this.

Can you imagine the shock and grief JC experienced when he watched his beloved sister's life fall apart upon receiving the same news that JZX was killed bc his bro glitched, and WN killed JZX, the light of JYL's life? And that his nephew will sooner or later be in danger?

I just KNOW everyone's heart stopped that day. There was no turning back anything now. No fixing anything. No mending anything. There can only be so much to be done, knowing that wherever and whatever WWX does, it was impermanent death for him and the Wens. (not that it wasn't already bad and JGS was already plotting things, but adding this fuel to the fire only rallied/forced everyone to rally together)

And then JYL dies??? bc of WWX again?

JYL? Widow of JZX, who was wife to the late-sect heir? eldest sister of JC who is a sect leader? mother to JL, whose son is the son of the late sect-heir?

This is so fucking personal and had JC not joined the fight, to me, it would be unbelievable. Ignoring the politics and their roles for a second, JC's bro-in-law and sister were killed by none other than the man they all tried to hold onto and reconnect, but this resulted in orphaning his nephew.

ik not everyoen ignores this and i'm sure it gets talked a lot about but there certainly are still fans who still refuse to look at this situation in the eye and confront what just happened.

I really think the acting in the scene in CQL where they both find out is pretty exquisite-- just the complete shock (also worth noting that Jiang Cheng very much lets the moment be all about Yanli)

and YEAH you make such a great point-- how could Jiang Cheng NOT participate in the siege, and frankly, how could he not lead it? You can headcanon whatever you want about whatever ulterior motives or plans he may have had-- as Lan Wangji found out, sometimes not being there is worse, because you have no say in what happens-- but politically speaking, there was absolutely no way for him to sit it out without igniting all-out war between himself and the other clans

#ask answered

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raspberryfingers · 1 year

Text

A Lion In the Garden -Tywin Lannister x Reader- (Part 6)

WARNINGS: None

Word Count: 12k

—————

Angry. It had made me angry to consider that Lord Tywin’s name would end up next to mine in the history books, because why should it?

It had been just under two weeks since I’d last had a proper conversation with the Hand of the King, and since then I’d done plenty of thinking about the subject. It was incredibly frustrating to me that Lord Tywin should get some credit for my sword, because all that he had done was stuck his own blade into the man’s skull. He had not fought off the Baratheon soldier, he had not received disgusting threats. And yet somehow, when future generations told the story of the sword, they would have to recall that he had ‘saved my life’.

It was pathetic, and had reminded me of just how much I hated Tywin Lannister. What was even worse, I had let myself be swayed by his gifts and his charming words. How could I have let that happen? I was a Tyrell, after all, I shouldn’t have been so eager to thank him for a set of armor that my father easily could’ve bought. Not only that, but his words were all political, aiming to make me relax—to win me over to his side. And I’d let him get away with it. What a sad realization that had been.

But, on the bright side, I was continuing to heal rather quickly, and the maesters had allowed me to start practicing again, even if it was only for 30 minutes a day. They said it might actually help to do so, and I’d been more than happy to hear it.

My grandmother had found a man named Bronn, who was supposedly Tyrion Lannister’s sellsword, and I’d had quite a lot of fun practicing with him. He was a creative fighter, and also very instinctual. It wasn’t something I saw often, and I appreciated it. Plus, he was rather challenging since I couldn’t exert my full skill while I was healing. It was good for me.

“How long do the maesters think it’ll be before you’re back to normal?” Bronn questioned, grinning as I blocked his swings. We’d only just started meeting, and our current arrangement was 3 times a week. I expected that soon that would increase, at least until Ser Elias came to the capital.

“They said I should be completely healed in a month at the very latest, but expect it’ll be sooner. I’m personally quite excited. More than anything I’m just glad I can walk around again, and that there’s a sword in my hand instead of a cane,” I noted, spinning my blade backward and dodging Bronn before going on the offense.

“I’m lookin’ forward to it. You’re good now, can’t imagine what you’ll be like once you’re not in any pain,” he said, huffing out and moving rather quickly to block me. Gods, it felt good to be swinging a weapon again. I had been glad when Bronn suggested that we use real blades and not sparring swords.

“I suppose you’ll see then, won’t you?” I smiled, finally relenting in my attacks and catching my breath. Our 30 minutes were up, unfortunately. I tossed Bronn the small bag of gold that we were paying him, and he gave me a good nod as he shoved it in his pocket and wiped the sweat from his forehead.

“Suppose I will. I’ll see you in a couple of days, Lady Tyrell. Don’t bother making yourself look pretty next time,” he flirted, chuckling as he left the practice room. I laughed to myself once he’d gone, shaking my head and sitting down on a small bench. There was that, too. Bronn was quite the relentless flirt, and though I tried not to pay him any mind, I had to admit that he was rather charming. And, unlike most men, his flattery didn’t make a person uncomfortable.

I sighed out, reaching for my canteen and taking a sip of water. I was in good shape, of course, but I’d spent nearly three weeks bedridden, and so I had to rebuild a bit of my stamina again. There was a rather noticeable pain in my side, too, but it was far more bearable than it would’ve been even a week ago. Plus, it was worth it to be fighting again.

I pulled my sword onto my lap just as I always did after practice, pulling out a cloth and meticulously running it over the metal. I didn’t even know why I bothered keeping it so clean, in a week or two I’d be using an entirely different sword, but there was something rhythmic about doing it.

I found myself humming a tune, which for a moment I didn’t even realize was the Rains of Castamere. Bronn had been humming it during practice, and the bits that he had sung were quite nice. With impressive skills and a good voice, I found myself wondering how the freshly knighted man wasn’t married yet.

“And so he spoke… and so he spoke, that lord of castamere… but now the rains weep over his halls, and not a soul to hear…” I sang softly, additionally beginning to whistle afterward. The song did make me a bit bitter, but gods, the man who’d written it had made it undeniably good. I hoped that someday they’d write a similar tune for me.

“Lady (Y/N)?”

I looked up from my blade, finding the Lord Hand standing at the open entrance to the practice room. He looked somewhat surprised, and I watched him come down the steps into the room.

“Hello, Lord Tywin. Is there something I can do for you?” I questioned, rather annoyed that he was intruding. It was a public space, of course, but cleaning a sword was supposed to be soothing, not cumbersome. I was also annoyed because it reminded me that I’d been tasked with speaking to him about my sister's wedding. My grandmother wanted me to figure out who was paying for what, and how much we ought to spend. I knew that I was unfortunately going to have to try and convince him to spend more.

“No. I heard someone singing, I did not realize it was you. I wouldn’t have expected you to be singing that song in particular,” he replied, looking around before settling his gaze on me in a challenging manner. I only scoffed.

“Rest assured, Lord Tywin, I give more credit to the man who wrote the song than you,” I shot back, glaring at him in a similar manner. We both stared each other down for a moment, but I was distracted by even more footsteps in the hallway. His guard came into view in the doorway then, and I raised my eyes at the sight of a crossbow.

“Have you really tired of me this quickly, Lord Tywin?” I joked, deciding that I ought to lighten the tense mood as I put my cloth away and sheathed my sword. There was no point in continuing to clean it now. Lord Tywin looked back, seeing his guard and letting out a sigh.

“I’m going hunting, I need to distract myself,” he explained, blinking a few times as he shook his head with annoyance. I raised an eyebrow at him, wondering what beside me possibly could’ve gotten on his nerves so much that he needed to kill something.

“Well, at some point, my lord, I do need to discuss a few things with you.”

“About?”

“My sister’s wedding to your grandson. I’ve been charged with the topic of finances, unfortunately for both of us,” I answered, adjusting my sword belt with a sigh. Lord Tywin only scoffed, kicking at the stone floor subconsciously. He was even more tense than usual, I could tell.

“Well, I’m here now. Do you intend to make it quick?” he asked, folding his hands together behind his back. I laughed a little, looking at him as though he were a madman. Was he truly insinuating that I was going to be the one to make this difficult?

“That entirely depends on you. My grandmother did say to ask you about it as soon as I possibly could, though, so I’m afraid you’ll have to suffer through it either way,” I said, giving him a look of false sympathy. There was something amusing to me about knowing that he was already having a bad day. Why not make it worse?

Lord Tywin scowled, shaking his head and turning away from me entirely. I stood up as he started for the stairs, and I sighed out with frustration when he began to ascend up them. I quickly went after him, ignoring the slight pain in my side as I moved around his guard and reached out. I grabbed the Old Lion’s arm, forcing him to stop walking.

Feeling me do this, he turned around and raised an eyebrow. He was not in the mood for games, and presently neither was I. He attempted to break away from my grip, but I held on and instead reached for his bicep, walking with him like a proper lady now.

“I’m not joking, Lord Tywin, I do need to discuss the royal wedding with you. I understand that neither one of us wishes to have this conversation, so here is my proposal. Why don’t I join you on the hunt? After we’ve both killed something, perhaps we’ll feel a bit better and be able to talk about the subject rationally. Plus, I’ll even stand in front of whatever animal you decide to kill before you shoot it, that way you can pretend you’re hunting me instead,” I offered, smiling up at him and trying to hold back a laugh at how utterly angry he looked. He refused to even meet my eyes, and his eyebrows were furrowed so intensely that it was no wonder he had wrinkles.

“I do not appreciate your jokes, Lady (Y/N). Why would I invite you to join me for something that I intend to relax with?” he scowled, still not even sparing me a slight glance. I raised my eyebrows with false surprise. It was truly so fun to tease him.

“Are you insinuating that I’m disagreeable, Lord Tywin?”

“I’m not insinuating it, I’m stating it as a fact.”

I rolled my eyes, suddenly wondering if this was such a good idea after all. An entire afternoon with my worst enemy, how delightful. Though, perhaps I could ‘slip’ and let a boar take him the same way that one had taken King Robert. I wondered if that would make boars Cersei Lannister's favorite or least favorite animal.

“I promise to be agreeable, Lord Tywin. I could use a break too, in all honesty. I hardly doubt I’ll be allowed out of The Keep on my own, or without some great reason. It’s starting to drive me insane,” I said, sighing and continuing to hold his bicep. Lord Tywin relaxed a bit and positioned his arm to make it comfortable for me to hold, realizing that I wasn’t going to let go.

“Very well, have it your way then.”

“It’ll be rather fun, Lord Tywin. Let’s stop by my room quickly so I can get my bow,” I said with a pleasant smile, pressing my free hand to his arm in an encouraging manner. He finally looked over at me, and I saw in his eyes that it had been quite some time since he’d held a woman on his arm this way.

“Of course.”

We made a small detour, and I could tell that walking with me made the Old Lion nervous, for he was constantly looking over to make sure I was alright. His other hand was always ready to reach out and catch me should I fall, especially anytime we went down stairs. It was quite interesting.

I was perfectly fine though, and finally broke away from him so I could retrieve my bow from inside my room. Thankfully, that was all I needed to do, already dressed appropriately for a hunt in my light green shirt and brown leather doublet. It was almost as though I’d stolen Loras’ wardrobe.

“Are you as good with that thing as you are with a sword?” Lord Tywin questioned, watching me come out from my chambers with a bow wrapped around my torso and a quiver in my belt instead of a sword.

“I’m good with it, but I’m afraid I’ll never be as good at anything as I am with a sword. Well, daggers too, but that’s all,” I said, making sure everything was in place and then continuing to walk with him. I did not bother grabbing his arm this time, for it would’ve been rather awkward. Though, I supposed nothing was worse than the continual clanking of his guard behind us.

From my room, it was to the stables, and it was at the stables that Lord Tywin finally took the crossbow in his own hands and dismissed his guard. It surprised me, and I was honestly somewhat hesitant.

“Lord Tywin, surely it would seem improper for us to go hunting alone,” I said, pausing before I mounted my horse to make sure that we were on the same page. I was gripping the horn of the saddle and had one foot in a stirrup as I waited for his reply. I watched him carelessly mount his horse and then look down at me.

“I don’t concern myself with it. We can offer whatever we hunt as proof. Besides, people will sooner think you’re attempting to kill me than anything else,” he reasoned. I couldn’t help but laugh, finally mounting up and then adjusting all of my equipment.

“That would be rather relaxing, wouldn’t it? A dead man needn’t concern himself with the planning and finances of a royal wedding,” I joked, to which he let out a hardy laugh and nodded in agreement.

The two of us spurred our horses then, emerging from the Red Keep all by ourselves. Flea Bottom wasn’t necessary to pass through in order to reach the countryside, which made me grateful not because I minded the poor, but because I knew that today King Joffrey was there with Margaery. Lord Tywin seemed to know of it too.

“I hear my grandson is out with your sister today,” he mentioned as we rode.

“Yes. She is exploring the city and making herself beloved to everyone, just as us Tyrells have a habit of doing. You’ve experienced it first hand, Lord Tywin.”

“Ahum, I certainly have.”

I couldn’t resist a smile, though I tried not to think much about it. It was odd, because I detested Lord Tywin for nearly everything he did, and yet when I actually spoke to him it was rather enjoyable. I reassured myself by considering the fact that I usually carried our conversations, and that the only reason I was even laughing or smiling to begin with was because I was teasing him. I didn’t know whether or not I was glad that he’d warmed up to my occasional insults, because while it made things easier, I wanted to hate him. I didn’t like the idea of not being 100% faithful to the vow I’d made as a girl. Perhaps that was why I’d been so uncomfortable with myself lately.

These thoughts plagued my mind as we rode through the city, but thankfully vanished when we finally emerged from King’s Landing and made our way to the Kingswood. It was nice to take a deep breath that didn’t stink of shit, and the woods were extremely peaceful, which instantly made me relax. I suspected that was why Lord Tywin desired so deeply to be in them.

“Do you ever miss the Rock, Lord Tywin?” I asked casually, the thought coming to mind as I admired the landscape. I wondered if it felt like King’s Landing at all with the way it was positioned along the coast.

“Sometimes. I've become just as familiar with the capital as I have with Casterly Rock, but it will never compare to home. The sun rises over the sea here, but at the Rock it sets. It’s quite beautiful,” he said, speaking freely. It surprised me to hear him be so open and honest. I couldn’t help but wonder if the woods alone was enough to make him feel so at ease.

“I remember it. Despite being quite angry with you, Lord Tywin, I can recall being consoled by the pink and orange among the clouds and the water that night. As a young girl from Highgarden, I’d never seen such a beautiful sunset,” I told him, searching the trees for whatever bird was singing such a pretty tune. I noticed that Lord Tywin was subconsciously doing the same. He did not have full control over everything he did, it seemed. It was rather fascinating.

“Do you plan to visit the Rock again, Lady (Y/N)?” He asked, looking over at me as we slowed our horses a bit. I smiled and raised my eyebrow, wondering if it’d just heard the man correctly.

“Was that an invitation, Lord Tywin?”

“If you’d like.”

I couldn’t help but smile as I watched him get down from his horse. I did the same, tying my horse to a tree and fixing my clothes.

“What do you plan to catch, Lord Tywin?” I asked, adjusting my equipment now too. Lord Tywin looked rather intimidating with the crossbow in his hands, and it was surprising to see him hunt. I’d never envisioned him as a particularly outdoorsy man, I supposed.

“A boar or a stag would be nice,” he answered, rolling his shoulders back to stretch out. I tried to reflect on the last time that I had been hunting—for anything besides a man, at least—and realized that it had certainly been quite awhile.

“I imagine the fresh venison would be quite delicious.”

He nodded his head in agreement, and he motioned for me to follow as we started to get deeper in the woods. The twigs and leaves crunched under our feet, but not so loudly as to be disruptive to any animals.

There was a comfortable silence as we examined our surroundings, checking the ground for any sign of recent wildlife. After about half an hour, we observed just what we were looking for: stag tracks. At least, that was what we had originally thought.

“Lord Tywin,” I whispered, to which he turned back and looked over. I pointed down at the ground, and he carefully walked over to see them. His gaze was thoughtful as he observed the ground which I had gestured to.

“These look fresh,” he mumbled, and I made a noise of agreement. Slowly, we began to follow these tracks, and as we did I considered that we must’ve been tracking quite the deer, for the tracks were very large.

My questions were answered when, after a few minutes of walking, the man beside me put his hand up to stop me. I instantly froze, and when I looked up from the tracks on the ground, I couldn’t hold back a gasp.

Staring directly at us was a white hart, and a rather large one too. My gasp had caused it to look over, and it seemed to be staring at us just as much as we were staring at it. It was an absolutely gorgeous animal, with white fur that was practically glowing and a giant set of antlers. I wondered if this was the most majestic thing I’d ever seen.

It was odd, because I reached out to Lord Tywin to prevent him from raising his crossbow, but when I felt his hands I realized that he hadn’t had any intention to do that at all. All that either of us wanted to do was stare, for how could we kill such an animal?

A loud noise in a bush somewhere nearby frightened the thing, and it promptly ran off, but both Lord Tywin and I were too shocked to move for a moment. I only did when I realized that my hand was still on his, and when I looked down and saw it, I quickly pulled away.

“I’ve never seen a white hart before,” I said softly, swallowing nervously and hoping that he wouldn’t make a comment about me grabbing his hand. He’d looked down and seen it, and I found myself anxious because of it for some reason. After all, I had grabbed his arm without a problem just an hour ago.

“I don’t believe that I have either. Maybe once as a young man, but I can’t recall it if I did,” he said, contemplating it for a moment and then shaking his head.

“Well, if it looked anything like that, then I’m certain you would’ve remembered.”

“Yes, I suppose I would have.”

We looked at each other for a moment, and then back at the ground. So much for the ‘stag’ we’d been tracking. We’d have to find entirely new tracks.

“We ought to go back the other way, I don’t want to go too far from the horses,” I suggested, to which Lord Tywin nodded and began walking. I followed behind, and I could not get the image of the white hart out of my head. They were commonly associated with royalty, and I found myself wondering if perhaps Margaery’s marriage to Joffrey wouldn’t be so horrible after all. Though, that was a large assumption to place on the sighting of an animal. I would sooner trust my grandmother's opinion.

“Lady (Y/N), look,” Lord Tywin whispered, suddenly getting my attention. When I lifted my eyes from the branch covered ground, I noticed not just one, but two stags grazing directly in front of us. Was this hunt the gods’ apology for the wound up my side?

I smiled at the Hand of the King, and he couldn’t resist a subtle one either as he carefully crouched by a log. I slowly made my way over and joined him, quietly drawing an arrow from my quiver and readying to draw. Lord Tywin did the same, loading his crossbow as gently as he could.

Once he’d done that, I leaned toward him, motioning that I desired to whisper. He moved in, and my mouth came just before his ear. We were so close that I felt his hot breath on my neck.

“I’ll shoot first, it’s quieter. Once I release, you shoot the second one. The second one being the one closest to you, naturally,” I planned out quietly, making him nod in agreement. I wondered if this was the first thing he hadn’t fought me on at all.

I leaned away and carefully drew back my bow, aiming with relative ease. The only sound made was the small ‘plunk’ of the string releasing, and within seconds the deer I’d aimed at was dead, shot directly through its eyes. As we’d discussed, Lord Tywin pulled the trigger just after I’d released my arrow, giving us two dead stags and quite a victorious hunt.

Standing, Lord Tywin offered his hand to help me up. I accepted willingly, feeling rather satisfied as we went to examine our kills. They were decent sized stags, and for a moment I almost felt bad. They had been so beautiful, and we’d taken it upon ourselves to kill them anyway. Well, we would at least make good use of them, and there was reassurance in that.

“Both clean kills. I’ll go get the horses, it’s too far for me to carry both of them,” he noted, making me scoff out in disbelief.

“I’m perfectly capable of carrying my kill, Lord Tywin. I’m not nearly as weak as you’d like to believe I am,” I informed him, somewhat offended by his insinuations. I stepped toward the deer I’d shot in an attempt to pick it up, but he gripped my arm and kept me from doing it. I was more than just a bit annoyed now.

“No, I’m not going to have you try and lift that thing. I’ll go and get the horses,” he countered, making me full on scowl now. Why was he being so stubborn?

“Don’t be ridiculous, Lord Tywin. I’m just going to pick it up, it’ll be fine,” I said, breaking free of his grasp and lowering myself so I could get a good grip on the stag.

“Lady (Y/N), I'm serious, do not try to lift up that animal!”

I entirely ignored his command, doing precisely what he hadn’t wanted and raising my eyebrows at him once I’d managed to stand up without a problem. The deer was slung about my shoulders, and he looked utterly annoyed.

“Would you look at that, Lord Tywin, my limbs didn’t fall from my body!” I exclaimed, feigning shock and then rolling my eyes at him. His sentiment had been entirely pathetic, and I hadn’t a clue why he was being so adamant about it.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” he said after a moment, glaring at me and then lifting his own kill from the ground. I scoffed at him, my anger over the subject only increasing.

“I wonder if it’s possible that you’ll ever stop treating me like I’m still a child. I’m more than capable, my lord, I promise you that. And yet for some reason, you are always doubting me, always giving me far less credit than I deserve. Well, quite frankly, I’m sick of it. I’ve worked hard my entire life, and it wasn’t just so that you could constantly treat me like a little girl,” I ranted, frustrated that he wouldn’t even look me in the eyes as I said it. He looked entirely disinterested, nodding at what I had to say as he looked around. I was close to just snapping altogether.

Lord Tywin looked around for a few seconds more, finally making eye contact with me when he was certain I was finished. “I will stop treating you like a little girl, Lady (Y/N), the day that you stop acting like one.”

He moved past me before I could reply, beginning to walk toward the horses. For a moment, all I could do was stand there. I don’t know what I’d expected, but it hadn’t been that. Because it had made me even angrier, yes, but it had also hurt. Tywin Lannister was the one person on earth that I could not bear to be seen as a child by.

As this hurt and anger built up inside me, I did not waste time following after him. I began to huff out, not with exertion, but with absolute fury. How dare he? After all that I had done to help House Lannister, he still refused to treat me with decency.

“I do not act like a child, Lord Tywin! I have tried my very hardest to get along better with you, for the sake of our families if not for anything else. Out of courtesy, I have held back nearly everything that I wish to say to you, but you… you are merely insistent upon being an insufferable cunt!” I yelled at him, watching him stop in his tracks. His back was to me, and I stopped walking too as I watched him process what I’d said. I had used his full ‘title’ again, though it was more out of hurt than anything. I did not feel like crying, but my lip trembled all the same. “Why… why do you have to be such an insufferable cunt?”

Lord Tywin finally turned to face me, and I prepared myself for whatever insult might come when I saw his signature furrowed brows. I expected something along the lines of ‘you’re a spoiled child’, or ‘because you deserve it’—that or some other horrible insult. But, as the Old Lion looked at me, something in him shifted. His brows relented, and he sighed out with a sort of defeat.

“I didn’t want you to do it because I was worried that you would hurt yourself,” he said, blinking several times as his eyes narrowed. It looked like it had caused him pain to say it, although I was rather confused. How was that relevant at all?

“What?”

“I did not want you to pick up that deer, Lady (Y/N), not because I see you as a child, or because I see you as incompetent, but because I was worried that you might end up hurt,” he admitted, and for some reason it made him vulnerable. Why did he have such a hard time saying such a thing? It made sense, I supposed.

“And how was I to know that? I may be a woman of many talents but I cannot read minds. Why didn’t you just… I don’t know, explain that? Instead you decided that it would be easier to make me upset.” I adjusted the deer on my shoulder, starting to feel its weight quite prominently. Gods, I could not wait to be back to normal in a month.

“Sometimes it is easier to let people believe what they’d like to,” he noted, eyes still focused on mine. It was a change, for usually he did not bother to make eye contact when we spoke. I swallowed, staring at him for another moment and then shaking my head.

“Well I don’t want to believe that, Lord Tywin… I don’t- don’t wish for you to truly see me as childish or immature.”

“Then I suppose it’s a good thing that I don’t. Not most of the time, anyway.”

We said nothing else, only staring for a few moments before continuing to walk back to the horses. If there was one thing that I could say about Tywin Lannister that was true 100% of the time, it was that he never failed to surprise me. In both good and bad ways, I supposed.

After a few minutes we found the horses again, and I was grateful to be free of the ache on my shoulder as I tossed the stag onto the back of the animal. It was also fairly easy to secure, and it did not move an inch when I mounted my horse.

“We can discuss the wedding now, if you’d like,” Lord Tywin offered, getting onto his horse as well and shifting in the saddle. I immediately shook my head.

“No, I don’t want to talk about the wedding.”

“Why not? It was the reason you came with me.”

“Because I’m having too good of a time now to want to think about costs. I’ll just tell my grandmother that you agreed to pay for half of it and that’ll be that.” I shrugged, spurring my horse and starting off through the woods at a walk. Lord Tywin followed behind.

“Your grandmother won’t be satisfied with that. You’d be paying for half and supplying the food,” he pointed out, coming up beside me now so we could face each other as we spoke. I looked over at him with quite a bit of surprise.

“You’re the first man in history who’s ever wanted to pay more for something, I hope you realize that.”

“If House Tyrell is also providing food for the wedding, then it is only fair that I pay more. I hope that you will trust me on the subject of economics.” Lord Tywin raised both eyebrows at me, and I couldn’t resist a small smile. Who else but the richest man in all seven kingdoms would I listen to on the subject of money?

“Very well, Lord Tywin, you will cover a bit more than half. Satisfied?”

He gave me a courteous nod and I laughed, shaking my head at how specific he was on the subject. Although, I suppose one only remains rich with smart financial habits, and being specific about costs certainly is one.

We finally emerged from the woods, and I inhaled sharply at the sight of the sunset. Although the sun was behind us, it was absolutely gorgeous, and the clouds painted all hues of orange and pink across the sky. Kings Landing, as hideous and horrible as it was, looked magnificent. It nearly seemed to glow.

“It’s beautiful,” I muttered, trying to recall the last time I’d seen the sky look this way. It had perhaps been years since I’d observed such a breathtaking view.

“Yes… beautiful.”

Lord Tywin’s inflection made me curious, and when I turned to look over at him, I found his eyes fixed on me. He inhaled and looked back at the Red Keep, and I assumed that he’d nearly zoned out while looking at me.

“It’s getting late, Lady (Y/N). That took much longer than I’d anticipated, and King’s Landing is too dangerous after dark. For us, anyway,” he said, making me laugh in disbelief. Too dangerous after dark? If anybody even attempted to lay hands on us it would be the last time they had hands. Although, I suppose I hadn’t brought my sword with me, and I was no expert with a bow.

“And what do you propose we do? One way or another, we need to get back to the Red Keep. Plus, I’m expected at a dinner with your daughter and the king. Both of my siblings will be there, and if I don’t go, it will look bad,” I explained to him, not sure what exactly he had in mind but knowing that one way or another we would have to get back.

“No, we don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Need to get back to the Red Keep. You have blankets in your saddle bags and so do I. Surely a woman who murders and hunts in her free time isn’t so refined as to refuse sleeping under the stars,” he teased, subtly grinning at the look of shock on my face. Was he utterly insane?

“I’ve never slept outside, Lord Tywin. Not genuinely, anyways,” I sputtered, knowing that the closest I’d ever gotten to doing so was laying out blankets in the middle of the hedge maze with Loras when I was a girl.

“Perhaps you’ll like it,” he said, looking around for—or rather scouting for—a place to camp. I licked my lips anxiously, trying to find a way to convince him that we shouldn’t do this. To go hunting with him was one thing, but to spend the entire night with him? That was nearly as bad as saying that he was my friend, and if people found out the rumors would be ten times as bad.

“But the dinner-“

“You don’t want to attend that dinner, Lady (Y/N). And even if you did, we’ve got a better dinner right here than they do.” He motioned his head to the deer on the back of his horse, giving me a somewhat annoyed look. I glanced at the Red Keep, and then back at him.

“People will talk.”

“Let them. The last time I checked, your hatred for me was still very real and genuine. I feel quite confident that any rumors people might spread will quickly vanish the next time you happen to call me an insufferable cunt. Unless you disagree with my first statement, that is.”

I huffed out, shaking my head and looking away. Yes, he must’ve gone mad, because there was no other logical explanation for him not wanting to return to the Red Keep.

“Trust me, Lord Tywin, when I say that I completely agree with your assessment of my feelings toward you. It’s why I’m so vehemently against your current proposition. I’ve only been able to tolerate this time with you because I killed something. I would rather spend tonight with your daughter and grandson, rest assured,” I said, continuing to shake my head over the idea. The Hand of the King gripped his reins, turning his horse to face me and then settling. He had a very testing look on his face, and I only grew more frustrated as I realized that this was all somewhat amusing to him.

“You’re more than welcome to return on your own, I certainly won’t stop you. I promise you, however, that you will not find any more joy with the king or his mother.” He began to ride away from me now, and I sighed out as I followed behind him. He had laid his eyes on a particularly lucious field, and seemingly had every intention to stay there for the night.

“There’s an inn nearby, Lord Tywin, why not stay there if you’re insistent upon not returning to the Red Keep?” I questioned, suddenly remembering that if we rode north for about 10 minutes we would stumble upon one.

“Every inn within at least 20 miles of King’s Landing is full, Lady (Y/N). They’re accommodating the new mass of Lannister and Tyrell soldiers,” he reminded me, to which I groaned. He was right, of course, and I’d already known that, but it was a desperate grasp at something. “I don’t believe you’ll find sleeping outside to be as horrible as you are imagining it to be, and even if it is, it’s only a single night.”

I sighed, realizing I’d exhausted my arguments. I also had no desire to go through King’s Landing on my own, and I knew that Lord Tywin had won for the first time. I prayed he was right about it not being so bad.

“Fine, Lord Tywin, I’ll join you. Though I am curious, when have you ever slept outside before?” I questioned, suddenly wondering how he even had such experience. How was it possible that the richest and most stuck up man in all of Westeros had done such a thing? Had he secretly taken the black? I laughed to myself at that thought, for it certainly would explain his wardrobe.

“The late King Aerys and I were rather fond of sneaking away from his Kingsguard as boys, and we could not go to inns without being recognized,” he revealed, which somewhat surprised me. It was easy to forget that at one point in time he and Aerys had actually been the best of friends, and it made me feel odd to learn such a fact about the two of them. It was strange to picture a young Tywin Lannister—with a head full of blonde hair—sneaking about with his silver haired companion. It was strange to picture Lord Tywin doing anything remotely fun or mischievous at all. Though, I supposed that sometimes certain people brought out certain sides of you.

“We can stay here for tonight.”

I was broken from my thoughts, and I watched the Old Lion dismount and lead his horse to a tree nearby. Just as I had suspected, he had wanted to stay in the grassy field. I followed him and dismounted too, of course, tying my own horse to ensure he wouldn’t run off or hurt himself. As I examined the stag tied behind the saddle, another thought came to mind.

“How do we plan to eat these deer without knowing how to skin them?” I asked, slowly realizing I had no clue how to skin an animal. I had turned to Lord Tywin, suddenly feeling utterly clueless. The fresh meat certainly would be good, but how on earth were we to prepare it? I certainly had no clue how to gut or cook an animal. I’d have much better luck seasoning one.

“Bold of you, Lady (Y/N), to presume that I don’t know how to skin an animal,” Lord Tywin replied with a hint of amusement, clearly enjoying the anxious look on my face. It only transitioned into surprise as I took in this new information about the man in front of me.

“You do?”

“Of course I do. I’ll find a good log and we can put them on that. Do you know how to build a fire?”

“No, but I can set up our ‘camp’ and perhaps locate some berries to accompany the venison. Maybe herbs, too,” I suggested, though I still found it somewhat ridiculous that I’d agreed to do this. I also felt rather embarrassed by the fact that I genuinely possessed no survival skills. It was something I’d never even needed to think of before.

“Very well.”

I watched Lord Tywin wander into the woods, and I sighed as I located the blankets and such in my saddle bag. It didn’t take very long to lay everything out, so I ventured into the woods myself now too, carrying an empty saddlebag and a cloth to wrap the fruit in.

Much to my relief, I found plenty of berries and herbs, and I was quite excited to bring them back to Lord Tywin. If nothing else, I could at least boast that we wouldn’t be eating any poisonous substances tonight.

However, when I was on my way back to our campsite I became a bit sidetracked. I suddenly noticed an unusually large tree, and it reminded me of one that provided shade for nearly an entire courtyard in Highgarden. I could recall climbing that tree as a child, and for some strange reason I’d felt compelled to do the same with this one.

I placed my bag down, digging my boots into the base of the tree and gripping at ridges in the wood. I had prepared to start climbing, but was unfortunately interrupted by my least favorite sound: Tywin Lannister’s voice.

“You shouldn’t do that. You’ve already been walking quite a lot today, among various other physical activities. You’re going to set back your progress.”

I turned and faced the Old Lion, sighing out with a bit of frustration before realizing he was right and relenting. I supposed that it had been rather stupid, in all honesty. I wasn’t even sure why I’d wanted to do it to begin with. I supposed I just missed home.

I placed both feet back on the ground again, bending over to grab the saddlebag and then beginning to walk back with him. We were both silent for a few minutes, but the question on the tip of my tongue did not wish to remain unheard.

“Were you looking for me?”

“Yes. It had been more than half an hour and you still hadn’t returned. I thought perhaps a boar had gotten you,” he answered sarcastically, making me involuntarily smile. Humor was not something that most people would associate with Tywin Lannister, but if you caught him at the right moment you would certainly find it. I supposed even if you didn’t catch him at the right moment he was still rather snarky, which frequently annoyed me. But, in this setting, it was rather nice.

“Why were you attempting to climb a tree? I was rather surprised to find you that way,” he questioned after a moment, looking over at me curiously. I couldn’t blame him, it was somewhat random. I wasn’t entirely sure what had gripped me either.

“There’s one just like it in Highgarden; I used to climb it all the time as a girl. I can still remember poking my head above the leaves and seeing out for miles… I suppose it was one of my favorite places. The other nice thing was that none of my guards could climb up it in their armor, so they’d be forced to let me stay up there,” I told him, laughing to myself at the memories of Ser Elias frantically trying to get me down. Eventually he’d given up, especially once he’d realized that I was surefooted.

“I see. I take it your findings were successful?” Having noticed the weight at the bottom of my bag, Lord Tywin moved on from the subject. I looked down at it as well, satisfied with my collection.

“Of course they were. I never let you down, Lord Tywin.”

“Ahuh, never.”

We arrived at the campsite then, and I was pleasantly surprised to see a fire already going and a log already laid out in preparation. The Hand of the King certainly knew how to work rather quickly.

As we approached the fire, I noticed that he’d laid out the two deer nearby, though not close enough that they might attract anything to us. As I placed down the saddlebag he went over to them, picking one up and bringing it over.

“Come here, I’ll teach you how to skin it,” he offered—well, more like demanded—as he placed it down on the decent sized log he’d acquired. I finally permitted myself to say the thought that I’d been pondering all day.

“You have considerable strength for your age.”

Lord Tywin suddenly stood straight and looked over at me with utter surprise. Both of his eyebrows raised at me, and for a moment my cheeks went hot with embarrassment. I supposed the sentiment had sounded better in my head.

“For my age?”

I stared at him for a moment, and for some reason his offense—as it was not truly that genuine—became amusing to me. I couldn’t stop myself from laughing, waving my hand as I giggled to insinuate that I didn’t want to talk about it. Lord Tywin simply scoffed, shaking his head and kneeling down in front of the stag.

“I did not mean it like that. It was supposed to be a compliment.”

“Are you entirely certain that none of the berries you picked are poisonous, Lady (Y/N)?” he questioned, gazing at me with false concern. I continued to laugh, joining him in front of the log and nodding my head. Yes, he was in quite a good mood—we both were.

“Yes, I’m quite certain, my lord.”

He gave me the subtlest of smiles and then turned his attention back toward the stag. He looked at it for a moment and then nodded, reaching for the knife. When he held it out to me, however, I merely gaped at him. I didn’t have a single clue how to skin an animal, and I didn’t want to risk ruining our hunt.

“Lord Tywin, I-“

“Don’t get all whiny, I’ll help you. I wasn’t going to have you do it all on your own, that would be foolish,” he grumbled, grabbing my wrist and placing the knife into my palm. I sighed out with relief, swallowing as I glanced down at the carcass. For a moment there, I thought he’d expected me to just intuitively gut the damned thing.

“How- How do I start?” I asked, completely unsure of how to even begin. After all, before today, I’d never even imagined I’d skin an animal. But Lord Tywin knew that too, and with an understanding patience he moved closer to me. He wrapped his right hand around mine, gripping it so that he’d also be able to control the knife. His palms were warm, and for once so were his eyes.

“Let me guide, hm?”

I nodded, swallowing nervously as he brought my hand up to the stag's underside and pushed the knife inside. It was an odd feeling, though I was more preoccupied by the feeling of his hand squeezing around mine as he did it. That, and the fact that he was so close to me I could faintly feel his breath at the top of my neck.

I couldn’t focus on it, however, because he masterfully brought both of our hands down in clean cuts. We had opened up the animal, and I could see the pink of its raw flesh peaking through from under the fur. I began to wonder why the Boltons did not just do this instead.

“I won’t make you handle the intestines and such, but watch carefully so you at least know how,” he explained, suddenly letting go of my hand. I gave the knife back to him and watched with the intent to learn as he cleaned out all the organs, throwing them off to the side. I’d seen enough of mens internal organs in my life to not feel particularly disgusted by these.

“Shouldn’t you bury those to avoid attracting anything?” I asked with a raised eyebrow. He made a small noise of affirmation, moving closer to me—and handing me the knife—once more.

“Yes, I’ll do so while the meat cooks. Now, let’s finish skinning it. You’re going to dig under the fur, and hold it up with your other hand to get a cleaner cut,” he instructed, hand again coming to mine. The feeling gave me goosebumps, the hairs on my arm rising in response to his gentle palms.

But, either way, I did as I was told and reached to lift the animal’s coat with my free hand. The feeling was somewhat uncomfortable, but I did it nonetheless. When I looked over, Lord Tywin nodded to let me know I was doing it correctly. He then guided my hand again, cutting firmly underneath to remove the skin from the carcass.

“I’d like to try on my own, if you’re alright with it,” I said genuinely, beginning to feel a bit more confident now that he’d shown me the general gist of it. He said nothing, but moved his hand away from mine and looked at me in expectation. I swallowed, reaching forward again and continuing to cut back the fur. His silence seemed like good enough of a sign to me, and eventually the majority of the deer was stripped bare.

“Well done, Lady (Y/N). A woman of many talents,” he remarked, though it seemed half genuine and half sarcastic, as if it was in his nature to be rude but he was trying not to be. I held my tongue, instead letting him carve a reasonable amount of meat and push it onto a stick. I proceeded to season it, of course. I would not have my hard work from earlier go to waste.

I sat by the fire as it cooked, and meanwhile Lord Tywin went off a considerable distance to bury the guts. He also took the remains of the carcass with him, though I was not entirely sure where he planned to put it. I found it unnecessary to ask, for strangely I trusted him with it. Though, I could never admit it out loud.

After a while, Lord Tywin joined me in front of the fire again, and having already cleaned my hands I gave him the cloth. Once he’d wiped his own hands clean I offered him some of the berries I’d picked, and suddenly I was glad that I’d decided to stay with him out here, even if it was somewhat odd. I was glad that I’d convinced him to take me hunting to begin with.

“Aren’t you grateful that you brought me with you now, Lord Tywin?”

“How do you mean?”

“You didn’t want me to join you this morning. You were in quite the mood, and yet even despite that we’ve had a lovely day. In my opinion, at least,” I said, smiling at him as I took another berry between my fingers. Lord Tywin scoffed.

“You’re hardly ideal company.”

“Neither are you when you decide to be like this,” I complained, scowling and wondering why he was so quick to put his walls back up every time I began to tolerate him. I supposed it was a good reminder of why I hated him to begin with.

“I apologize for being rude,” he said after a moment, looking over at me. I could tell it was genuine, but I was still somewhat bitter. Why did he feel the need to be rude in the first place? It was so frustrating.

“You ought to.”

Lord Tywin looked as if he was about to get snarky again, but he contained himself. What a miracle, it must’ve been the first time in his life.

“You’re right, Lady (Y/N), it has been a nice afternoon. It’s been far too long since I’ve spent a decent amount of time free from the Red Keep,” he admitted, which I could relate wholeheartedly to. “And I suppose it’s better that it was you rather than any of those other fools, snakes, spiders and mockingbirds.”

I couldn’t resist a smile at the reference to some of the Keep’s more infamous members. It really was quite the compliment, because even if I did hate him, he could at least trust the fact that I was genuine. False kindness was much worse than honest hatred, my sister had made plenty of people aware of that fact. However, this was too good of an opportunity to pass up.

“Are you suggesting I’m not capable of being a snake?” I questioned, wanting to get in his head. Such animals were often found underneath flowers, after all.

“You are most certainly capable of being one, but you aren’t. You have no political motivations, unlike your sister. You’ve admitted that all you want is for your father to give you complete command over the Tyrell army,” he answered, pointing out several true facts but ultimately missing an important detail.

“And you believe that prevents me from wanting to advance my siblings? Be careful, Lord Tywin, nightshade is often mistaken as a harmless berry. People only realize their mistake after digesting it,” I cautioned, using my own alias to make him rethink the statement. He pondered for a moment, staring straight at me.

“Have I made a mistake, Lady (Y/N)?”

I gave him a soft smile.

“No, Lord Tywin. Not you.”

He gave a surprised raise of the eyebrows, though he was teasing more than anything, and I felt oddly at peace for the first time in what must’ve been weeks. Yes, I was certainly enjoying today. Though, that thought led me back to something I’d wanted to inquire about earlier.

“I’ve been meaning to ask, Lord Tywin, what happened? This morning, I mean. What made your day so awful?” I questioned, for he hadn’t been in nearly such a good mood when I’d first approached him this morning. He was even more bitter than he usually was, and that was saying something.

Lord Tywin blinked a few times, staring into the fire and probably contemplating whether or not he ought to tell me. He decided in the affirmative as he turned his head to look at me, opening his mouth to speak. “Tyrion wishes for me to give him Casterly Rock. He came to me this morning to request it.”

“Will you?” I inquired, staring at the Old Lion. Even just mentioning it had seemingly made him upset, and so I naturally knew that the answer would be no, but I desired to dig deeper into the issue.

“I’d rather be consumed by maggots.” Lord Tywin only glared into the distance as he spoke; there was venom in his voice as he did. I sighed, trying to figure out where I ought to go from here.

“May I ask why that is?”

“It would be rather rude.”

“I called you an insufferable cunt a few hours ago, I can’t believe this to be so much worse,” I reasoned, huffing out with subtle annoyance. Lord Tywin similarly looked upset, but after a moment he confessed.

“I don’t believe that he’s well suited for it. Constantly drinking, constantly whoring. He would bring down the family legacy that I worked so hard to restore if I let him. Which is precisely why I don’t plan to do so.”

“Lord Tywin, why do you have such grievances against your child, who has never done a thing against you but exist?” I asked, feeling sympathy deep in my heart for Tyrion. As far as I was concerned, he was extremely capable. He’d done well as Hand of the King in his father’s stead, and he’d been responsible for the wildfire at the Battle of Blackwater. To any reasonable man, these were clear signs of competency. To Lord Tywin, however, nothing would ever be enough to override his contempt.

“Never done a thing against me? That boy killed his mother to come into this world. Don’t be foolish, Lady (Y/N),” he replied sharply, practically turning his head completely away from me. And so there it was, not only was Tyrion’s drinking and whoring embarrassing, but he had also been ‘responsible’ for the death of Lady Joanna. I merely shook my head at Lord Tywin.

“Me, foolish? Says the man who truly believes that Tyrion wanted to cause the death of your wife. I know you still feel her loss, and I know that you simply want someone or something to blame for it. Tyrion seemed to be the best culprit, didn’t he? Well, allow me to inform you that he most certainly is not,” I lectured, watching Lord Tywin move forward to take the meat off the fire now that it was ready. He glared at me once he’d done that, and it only prompted me to continue. “And, perhaps if you’d shown Tyrion an ounce of fatherly affection or kindness, he wouldn’t resort to whoring and drinking to fill whatever emptiness you’ve instilled in him from such a young age. You have outcasted him, of course he’s miserable.”

I watched his face rather carefully, gauging his reaction to hearing such a thing. I was correct, and he could not deny that with any real logic, but I wouldn’t have been surprised if he did anyways.

“You make excuses for a man you don’t even know,” Lord Tywin pointed out, placing the meat onto a fresh cloth. It was so tender that we were able to take pieces off with our hands.

“I defend a man that wouldn’t need defending had he not been a dwarf. Plus, I have been in his position, fighting for my fathers approval so that I might obtain what I deserve. Tyrion is the most like you, Lord Tywin. He is most qualified to take over as the Lord of Casterly Rock, and you hate to admit it because of your personal grievances,” I replied, reaching for some of the meat once I was finished. It practically melted in my mouth, and I knew then that at least Lord Tywin had been honest about us having a better dinner here than we would in the Red Keep. It was sort of ironic that a better meal could be found in the Kingswood than at the finest tables in all seven kingdoms.

“My personal grievances…” Lord Tywin huffed, shaking his head before continuing, “my father, Lady (Y/N), made House Lannister the weakest of all the great houses. Our gold mines were just as abundant then as they are now, and for some reason, he believed that meant that anybody should be allowed to take from them. He loaned to nearly every single lord in the kingdoms, and gods forbid that he ever asked for that gold back. We were picked on relentlessly, all because my father didn’t have enough of a spine to realize that he was being used and laughed at. I grew tired of hearing that sound rather quickly, as you can imagine. I’ve fixed the ruination that my father brought upon House Lannister, and dealt with the personal embarrassments. He gave my mothers jewelry to a whore… so perhaps- perhaps now you can understand why I have very little interest in giving Tyrion the rock,” he said, staring into the fire for most of his rant.

It was odd to consider, for I’d never really spent any time thinking about Lord Tywin’s childhood. I had known that people called Lord Tytos ‘the Laughing Lion’, but that was about as far as my knowledge on the subject went. After all, why should I take any interest in the man responsible for putting Tywin Lannister on the earth?

“But it’s more than just that, and I can’t expect you to understand what it’s like to lose a person that you love. I can’t expect anybody to understand what it was like to lose Joanna… I- I loved that woman more than anything. I loved her more than any man or god. And the day that I lost her, well…” he trailed off, and even despite the fact that he would not look at me, I could see the pain and sadness in his eyes. By some miracle, I found sympathy in my heart for this man. I supposed I didn’t have a clue what it was like to lose someone that way—not even an inkling.

“Tell me about her. What did you love most about her?” I turned to face the Old Lion more completely now, leaning on my hand as I sat. Lord Tywin looked at me then, and for a moment I thought that he was going to stay silent. But no, he decided to surprise me.

“That’s an impossible question to answer. I loved everything about her, from her smile to the way that she would attempt to break my composure at court. I sought her advice more than anyone else's, even Kevan’s. She was an advisor and a friend, and more than that she was one of the only people who could ever make me smile or laugh. And gods, she was so beautiful… there was something in her eyes…”

I watched Lord Tywin go off to an entirely different world. He did not even seem like himself as he spoke about her, and it made me soften. I had never met a man who loved a woman so much, which was surprising given the fact that Tywin Lannister was frequently regarded as utterly ruthless. And yet here he was, with all the love in the world in his eyes as he spoke about his late wife.

It was no excuse for how he treated Tyrion, of course, but I supposed it made more sense now. To care for a person that much and lose them… well, it would take a toll on anyone. It was also interesting to consider that many people had said the best part of Tywin Lannister died with Lady Joanna, because I found myself in disagreement with that statement.

The best part of this man had not died, for the way he was sitting here talking about her was so genuine, so pure. If this was not Tywin Lannister at his best, then we weren’t sitting here eating venison and berries. I suspected that the best part of him simply just hadn’t had anyone to show itself to since then.

“If it is any reassurance, Lord Tywin, at least you got to experience such love to begin with, as did she. Most women can only dream of marrying a man who loves them that much, and you gave her that. At least, I know that I certainly won’t receive such affection from whoever I’ll end up marrying,” I told him, reaching out and placing my hand on his shoulder as a reassurance. He looked over at me, thinking for a moment.

“Perhaps you will, Lady (Y/N). Do not give up hope just yet, you probably haven’t even met the man you’ll marry,” he pointed out, being surprisingly optimistic for once. I shrugged, and now it was my turn to gaze into the fire.

“Yes, perhaps I will…” I trailed off, beginning to really consider the fact that I most definitely would not end up marrying a man that I loved. I would end up with some first born son or other, and the second that the ceremony was over my father would take the opportunity to pass on the title of commander to Loras. After all, what husband would want his wife leading an army? That would make them far too self conscious.

I sighed, reaching for the strings at the back of my doublet and loosening them as well as I could. Unfortunately, I’d gotten rather used to having Cerella there to help me, and now I had no chambermaid. I was going to have to do something unimaginable.

“Lord Tywin… could you…?” I motioned to the strings on my doublet, and he instantly nodded. For all of his faults, he was at least not so cruel that he would not help a person even if it had no effect on his life.

He moved over to me, and I adjusted all my hair to make sure that he could reach the strings with easy access. For the second time that night, his breath was on my neck, and I could feel his hands working at the back of my garment. It was oddly intimate, and all I could do was look down while he helped me.

“There you are, all the strings are undone,” he said after a few minutes, moving away from me and sitting down on the grass once more. I nodded, letting my hair go back as I removed the doublet and was left in my shirt, pants, and boots. I folded it neatly and placed it down beside me, laying down on the ground and turning my head toward the fire. I would have felt rather uncomfortable being so casually dressed in front of any other man, but somehow it was not like that with Lord Tywin.

I suspected that it was reassuring to know that he took no interest in me, for why would he? Not only could he purchase any whore he wanted, but I was also an absolute nightmare for him. There’s nothing particularly attractive about knowing someone detests you more than anyone else.

And even more reassuring to know was that even if Lord Tywin—by some utterly insane means—had been attracted to me, he was not the kind of man who had no self control. Which is not to say that he did not have desires, because just like any other human I was quite certain that he did, but he was not a desperate man. Unlike most, his head did not turn to utter mush at the sight of a woman’s skin.

It was this reassurance that allowed me to slowly drift off, even if I wasn’t on my bedrolls and had no intention of sleeping yet. It had been a long day, and I had certainly exerted myself much more than any maester would’ve recommended. That, combined with the sound of the fire and the darkness of night coaxed me into sleep. And I wouldn’t realize it until later, but the next morning I would wake up among my bedrolls and blankets, perfectly sound. Not only that, but I would also have an extra blanket: a blanket that Lord Tywin was lacking.

—————

Lord Tywin had been contemplating when he realized you’d fallen asleep. He was removing his own coat when he looked over and noticed your closed eyes. For a moment, he thought that perhaps you were just resting, but the slow pattern of your breathing was unmistakable. Yes, you were asleep. So what was he to do?

Should he wake you? Let you sleep in the grass? Well, he knew he ought to move you onto your bedrolls, but he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to do so without waking you, and that was the dilemma. Plus, what if you woke up while he was attempting to move you? The last thing he wanted to do was freak you out or make you uncomfortable, especially after what you had revealed to him several weeks ago.

While contemplating what to do, however, he couldn’t resist the urge to admire you. Lord Tywin had met plenty of women in his life, and yet you were certainly quite unique to him. All the Tyrell women seemed to have a certain wit to them that was impossible not to admire, or at the very least respect.

He certainly knew you better than he knew any of your family, and he distrusted you significantly less than them. Well, maybe he distrusted you more than your father and brother, but who could blame him? The men of Highgarden certainly paled in comparison to its women. And his opinion on your brother was something else entirely, something you’d lecture him about eventually. It seemed you enjoyed doing that with quite a lot of subjects.

But right now, all he could do was admire your sleeping form. If he was honest, Lord Tywin was rather confused as to how you were not yet married. Because even if he did not want to admit it, he knew that you were, in fact, beautiful, incredibly intelligent, and well mannered. At least, you were with anybody besides him.

Any lord should certainly want such a woman at his side, though perhaps other men were not so confident and felt insecure next to you. It was also entirely possible that you’d given your father such a hard time with the subject that he’d simply not cared to do anything about it. Not yet, anyways. It seemed that you already suspected your days without a husband were numbered.

But that was neither here nor there, the only thing that mattered right now was that you were asleep. You looked so peaceful when you slept—to Lord Tywin at least. It was strange to see you this way, especially in sharp contrast to your usually bright and energetic person. It was also very different from the woman who told him off at every opportunity she got. You were a rather angry person, and Lord Tywin was not sure whether that was merely a reaction to him or a characteristic of yours, though he wished to know.

But at least for now, here in this moment, you were at peace. He was determined to keep it that way, bringing him back to his dilemma once again. What to do? He did not wish to leave you in the grass, he had at least decided on that. That narrowed it down to two options for him: wake you, or pray you did not wake up as he carried you to your bedrolls.

Lord Tywin’s mind felt cloudy as he debated it, but after pondering for a few moments more, he felt his nervous figure involuntarily moving closer to your sleeping one. Before he had time to rethink what he was doing, he gently slid one hand under your back. When you remained asleep, he exhaled with relief and carefully continued. His other hand came under your knees, and slowly but surely, he lifted you from the ground. It was only a few steps to your bedrolls, and his muscled arms did perfectly fine with your weight, even despite having carried around deer carcasses all day. Plus, he much rather preferred this to some dead animal, for you did not stink that way. You actually smelled quite nice, with a somewhat floral scent as befitted a Tyrell.

Lord Tywin was careful as he set you down, placing your legs first. He kept his hand under your head, preventing it from hitting the ground with any real force as he lowered the rest of your body. He slowly removed his hands, sighing out when he observed that you were still soundly asleep. He’d moved you successfully, thank the gods.

Lord Tywin reached down and covered you in your blanket, which based on the material probably only provided modest protection from the cold at best. Well, you were from Highgarden, why would you need heavy blankets in your saddlebag? That was what he reasoned, at least.

Not wanting you to be cold, Lord Tywin got up and grabbed one of his own blankets. One would be enough for him, for he could always put his coat back on if he needed to. He came back to your bedrolls again, kneeling down before you.

Gently, and what another person might describe as rather sweetly, he brought the blanket over you, making sure that it trapped in as much heat as possible. His eyes scanned over your sleeping form once more to check that everything was alright. When he decided it was, a sudden urge gripped him.

Lord Tywin could not explain what in the seven hells possessed him, but he found himself reaching toward your head, softly running a hand over your hair. The feeling made his stomach tighten, and that alone made him vastly uncomfortable. What was he doing?

He exhaled as his jaw flexed forward, his eyebrows already furrowed together just as they commonly were. Lord Tywin moved from your side and resigned to his own bedrolls, hoping to let the odd feeling pass in his sleep. When he woke in the morning and set his eyes upon you, however, that feeling would only take a few moments to return. And gods, as hard as he would try, it would not go away.

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#tywin lannister x reader #tywin lannister #charles dance #house lannister #game of thrones x reader #game of thrones #asoiaf #a lion in the garden

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anti-katsuki-lounge · 2 years

Note

While technically we can't compare abuse with bullying because they are two different things. At the end of the day, both Bakugo and Endeavor hurt their victims and it doesn't matter whether one person was hurt more than the other because it's not a competition. Their victims all have trauma and that's all that matters.

But between Endeavor and Bakugo's redemption arc, Endeavor is miles ahead. And it's not because Endeavor actually faced more consequences. No it's something way more important.

What I care about is how the victim is treated in their abuser's redemption arc.

I'm not going to say Shoto's been treated all well by Horikoshi since there have been instances where Endeavor's efforts outshines Shoto's. But at least Shoto has agency. Shoto is allowed to have the choice to either forgive his father or not. He can choose to be the kind of person he wants to be. He can choose who he wants to be as a hero. All in all, Shoto is allowed to be who he wants. So I count this as positive development of Shoto's character. This is why I'm not all that bothered by Endeavor's redemption arc since Shoto is treated well and his abuse is not sidelined for the abuser's advantage.

Then we have Bakugo's redemption arc. I have so many complaints.

First of all, regardless of whether Bakugo's redemption came out of the blue or he didn't have enough consequences, he is the only one benefitting in this arc. He gives a apology. But, it sucks since it's done when Izuku's not in his best mental state. I don't know who would think that it's a good idea to apologize to someone who relying on their last drops of stamina to try and run away. I think Horikoshi did this, to dramatize his apology, but it left a sour taste in my mouth. And guess what there are people out there who started referring to Bakugou as his friend. No, he's not his friend. Stop. He hasn't fully redeemed himself. For that to happen he still needs to do more than just apologize in front of everyone. I'm just so frustrated with people pretending that Bakugou had redeemed himself when he's not. The manga itself portrays Bakugou as being on the journey to redemption!

What's more frustrating, Izuku has no say in this redemption arc. From the start of their year at U.A. to now, Izuku's trauma from being bullied for ten years has never been fully explored. The closest we get is the fact that he's self sacrificial because of his low self esteem. But it's never explicitly connected back to Bakugo. He's never openly mentioned to have contributed to this. Even when he states that he knows Izuku best, (he means that he knows Izuku from his own warped perspective), Bakugou never states he had contributed to this. Instead he blames All Might. Seriously. While, All Might's hero style encourages people to do their best to save as many people as possible, he was not the one who caused Izuku's self-esteem to be on the floor. It was Bakugou and everyone else who decided to support him. But hey let's not blame our golden child shall we.

Adding onto that, Bakugo realizes that Izuku's low self-esteem is the reason why Izuku doesn't care about himself. Wow he figured it out. Let's give him an award. But seriously, what has this done. Sure, Bakugo knows how Izuku ticks, but Izuku is still out there breaking his body over and over again to save people. He still devalues himself. So basically at this point Bakugou figuring out that Izuku is self sacrificial is pointless. He has not helped Izuku to realize his own worth as he keeps this to himself. He could have told the rest of the class about this, then maybe they would be able to work together to show just how valuable Izuku is to their lives. He could have told anyone, but no. I know I'm asking for a lot from Bakugo as I understand that he only recently had this revelation, but why was it so late. The manga's probably going to end after the war and there's really no time for Horikoshi to do anything else. If only he had made Bakugo's redemption arc start why sooner than now, it could have actually been something decent. Moreover, the audience still don't know about Izuku's feelings on this matter. There are places where he could totally talk about his feelings, but Horikoshi never addresses it. It's like he doesn't want his main character to get a closure. He just wants Izuku to be there to prove that Bakugo's redeemed. I just don't the point of this redemption because Izuku is never allowed to have agency. Why is the given the same choice of being to forgive or forgive his bully like Shoto did?

I just have so many complaints about the way Horikoshi handles Izuku's character. At this point Izuku's just fan service. He's there to be cool, but there's more to him. But Horikoshi just won't explore it.

While bullying is abuse, I do understand what you mean. The abuse one faces from their peers over their parent are two fundamentally different things, even if both take on a similar form. Just wanted to address that before I continued.

I 100% agree with you on everything. With Shoto, it feels that he does have agency. He��s allowed to contemplate on Endeavor’s abuse, he’s allowed to vocalize his doubts, and at no point does the narrative say that he’s obligated to forgive Endeavor. Endeavor even admits that he doesn’t deserve to be forgiven and is even willing to accept that his family is better off without him. Meanwhile Katsuki’s bullying is hardly ever referenced. He’s not allowed to feel anything about Katsuki in particular besides blind admiration. Izuku even says that he admires Katsuki besides his “bad traits” and said traits are never acknowledged. Other than the beginning, that one convo with All Might which came out of nowhere and was BS (if that’s Katsuki’s way of trying to make things better, then he’s doing a pathetic job at doing so), and his “apology” we never see either boy acknowledging it. Izuku does show issues with his self confidence, but again, it’s treated as a general thing rather than something Katsuki directly caused. Izuku’s unfortunately stuck in a state of limbo cause Hori refuses to expand on the bullying and his feelings.

#anti katsuki bakugou #anti bakugo katsuki #anti bakugo #anti bakugou #mha critical

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charliedawn · 2 years

Text

Peter Hannibal's story :

(It's out ! It's finally out ! Yes ! It was hella long to write, but it was definitely worth it. Hope you'll enjoy.)

The very thing that Peter hated more than anything was false sympathy. He could deal with anything, every reaction known to human kind, as long as it didn't involve pity. Unfortunately, it was the very sentiment he seemed to get from everyone around him. It was usually because of his absent father, but sometimes it was about his constantly sick mother and the fact she mostly stayed in bed, or simply because he had never had a lot of ambition in life..

He hated it. All this pity..It unnerved him. But, he had kept his smile through and through.

He always had this innate talent to perceive the very nature of the human beings surrounding him, which could have been considered an advantage if Peter's instinct wasn't to love the very people who could hurt him. He was pulled in by danger, and even though he was perfectly aware of it, he couldn't help it.

"You know...I didn't want to be here.", he started. "I don't understand why the school thought it would be a good idea for me to consult. I'm fine. Really.", Peter tried to convince Hannibal for the third time that week and the other man—being used to it—only nodded once before glancing up knowingly at Peter.

So, when he first met Hannibal Sr., all of his senses screamed at him to stay away—but he didn't. It forced him to get up early in the morning to go to his sessions. They didn't help him with his problems, but it allowed him to spend time with the only being in his life he ever felt could understand..

"The school payed for our sessions. There must be a reason behind it ? I am here to help you, Peter. Not judge you.", Hannibal Sr. reminded the young man and Peter started fidgeting nervously—trying his best to remain as composed as possible in front of him. He had no intention to let him know about his feelings. He wouldn't understand them anyway..Who ever could ? He didn't understand them himself. However, it was true he wanted to open up to someone—anyone..So, he decided to let a tiny crack spread in his defenses. Just a tiny one. He had already talked to many shrinks before, some had even refused to meet him again after the second session.

Peter looked like your typical average teenager from a distance, but it was only when people started digging too closely into his mind that they started realizing that something was wrong with him..His shrinks were no different. If anything, they all realized sooner than most because of it.

But, they couldn't do anything about it.

He wasn't sick. Not in the medical sense of the term anyhow..The true genius behind Peter was he had the gift to look normal and the most inconspicuous person in the room to others. But, inside ? He was a terrible mess.

Hannibal Sr. was the first to last more than a year as his psy..And he had stopped counting his predecessors.

"My mom...She's sick. And she says that my girlfriend is a bad influence on me. Ava knows, and she thinks I'm avoiding her because of that. But, I'm not. I just..I want them both to be happy.", he begrudgingly admitted and Hannibal Sr. held back a smile at his small victory.

Peter was one of his only teenage patients, and even though they had been meeting for quite a while now, he hadn't really been exactly the most talkative. So far, Hannibal Sr. had gathered that he was a rather lonely boy with no real attachment—unless you would count his mother and that mysterious girlfriend of his. He had tried to make him open up and trust him, but Peter was a rather suspicious and fleeting boy who also happened to be keen on approval and—let that be acknowledged—right down a people pleaser. But, there was something about the boy that made Hannibal Sr. consider that his inner character may not be in complete accord with the image he portrayed on the outside.

He decided to indulge in his personal curiosity and dig deeper—as to discover exactly what the boy was hiding exactly.

"Tell me more about her then. Who is...Ava ?", he inquired with a slight tilt of his head, scrutinizing Peter with those very keen observing eyes of his that made Peter squirm in his seat.

Peter had asked Hannibal multiple times not to discuss on the subject or he would end their sessions, but his warning had fallen into deaf ears it seemed. Anyway, not like his threat would have been very efficient. Hannibal Sr. was a dear friend of his school's headmaster and for some reason, he always seemed to hold all the right cards in hand at the right moment..He was only 16 when the sessions had started, but he could already tell that something wasn't right about that doctor. He was fundamentally unsettling and Peter couldn't help but feel extremely nervous under his perceptive gaze—as if he could read into him as in an open book. He knew he shouldn't give in and talk. But—as always when it came to Ava—Peter couldn't stay quiet. He was so infatuated with her, he could find all the reasons and use all the words in the world to describe her that he still would feel that they wouldn't give her justice. He had to tell the world just how much he loved her.

"Ava is the love of my life. We met at some party two years back. We made eye contact and in a matter of seconds, she stole my heart. She's sweet, and even though we've had a few complicated issues, she's the reason I wake up every morning..", he stared up at the ceiling with a dreamy smile—forgetting as to the doctor's very presence..His thoughts focusing on Ava's smile and twinkling eyes. He almost didn't hear Hannibal Sr.'s next question.

"And...why does your mother not approve of your relationship ?"

Peter's smile faltered and he sighed. He then groaned before covering his face with his hands. He didn't want to share his feelings, or open up more than he should..But, he still had to go through the sessions and as he had nobody else to talk to, he secretly found in Hannibal Sr. a valuable confident. He finally confessed half-heartedly.

"Because since summer break ended, Alice's personality kinda changed."

He stayed vague and his eyes seemed to avoid Hannibal Sr' as he raised a quizzical eyebrow at him.

"..Changed ?", he engaged.

Peter closed his eyes and sighed. He could still see sweet Ava smiling at him and feel his heart racing at the way her bright eyes lit up the room as she noticed his presence. They had agreed upon staying together until the end of time. He lived for that smile. He would die for those eyes..

However, his dream was shattered by a dark scowl and cold indifferent eyes.

Beginning of flashback :

He had texted her multiple times during the summer —but she had suddenly decided to ignore him. He didn't know why and had fought the urge to go see her himself, but had decided to wait instead.

When they had returned to school—things had changed. His sweet Ava had turned into this dark creature with soulless eyes and all traces of a smile had vanished into nothingness. She did not even greet him.

She seemed to be a complete different person, and it didn't take long for Peter to realize why..

It was at that moment he first met Steve—the very reason for the sudden change in his sweet Ava..A boy. A boy with dark hair and who he knew to be a couple years older than the both of them. Peter immediately grew an intense dislike for him. He stared at his hand on Alice's shoulder and his whole body lit with a fire he didn't know was possible..To everyone else, Peter looked perfect—hence his popular nickname "the angel of McKinnon High." But, if people could see how he was holding back and the dark thoughts plaguing his mind, they wouldn't move out of his way out of respect or admiration..but, fear.

And, even though he was smiling, there was no warmth behind it. Peter stood before Ava whose smile suddenly fell upon his arrival and she casted her eyes downwards—as if ashamed.

"Hey Ava..Who's your new friend ?", he asked—pretending not to recognize the very boy who some had claimed being the very talented new basketball player..He certainly had the muscles for it. Was it the reason Ava was now standing next to this guy instead of him ?

"Oh. Peter. Hey. Sorry. Here. This is Steve. Steve Moclay.", Ava still didn't meet his gaze, she flee his accusative stare. She knew Peter would be angry. They weren't exactly official, but Peter had always held power over her. He had claimed they were meant to be, and she had been too young to differentiate love from sympathy..But now, she was starting to understand things—things she had failed to notice before. For example, how she had made her whole life revolve around Peter.

But, no more.

She had had no choice but to find a way to keep him away by using Steve. Steve was the only one who seemed unaffected by Peter's natural charm and she hoped it would be enough. Said Steve was at least a head taller than Peter and there was something about his smile that made Peter shiver in disgust. Who was this guy ?

"Hey, dude. Nice to meet you.", Steve took a step forward to shake Peter's hand and the only thing Peter could think about afterwards was how to get the dirt out of his hand..

End of flashback :

He finally confessed.

"Alice used to be sweet. Kind. Beautiful. The one who returned on the other hand...She's difficult. I don't understand her. She isn't a bad person but, she's just different. She changed her look, her friends, even her personality..I don't know how to talk to her. And I don't want to lose her. I don't know what to do..", he uttered that last part with such exasperation and Hannibal Sr. could see the young man was on the verge of tears..He sighed before setting his notes aside to lean forward to pat his shoulder sympathetically.

"Courage, my boy. Try to talk to the young lady. Maybe, does she feel the same way about you ?", he hypothesized and Peter seemed uncertain, but nodded nonetheless.

"I'll...try.", he finally muttered in faint agreement—lost in thought—and Hannibal Sr. smiled satisfactorily at the young boy's agreement.

"Good. Now, I'm afraid I have another appointment. We'll see each other next week." Peter stood up to leave, unaware of the trap he had just fallen into. The moment he was gone, Hannibal Sr. wordlessly took off his watch and put it aside. He had no more use for it now..He only had one patient scheduled today.

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

As soon as Peter stood out of the office, he noticed his mother standing next to the door, leaning against the wall and waiting for him. She took a puff of her cigarette and tilted her head back slightly before blowing the smoke out. She didn't say anything. Neither did he.

Kathleen Michaels wasn't one to ask questions, but she did make the effort for him.

"Is he any good ?", she finally asked, eyeing him briefly before staring back at the opposite wall. It wasn't a genuine question. She knew that if he didn't enjoy it, she wouldn't have to drive him almost every morning to his office. But, Peter still answered.

"Yeah..He is."

He saw a flicker of doubt in his mother's eyes, but it quickly vanished and she sighed before putting out her cigarette in a nearby house plant. She never liked shrinks..

"Come on. Let's go."

He didn't need to be told twice. He followed Kathleen outside and as his gaze wandered to a nearby swing, he smiled at the memories of when he was a child and his mother would bring him here. Inseparable..Or, so they used to be. But, things had deteriorated between them since his father's death. His father was a good man. No doubt about it. But, he left too soon and as he looked a lot like him, his mother saw Peter as a reincarnation of him and had fought hard for Peter to follow in his footsteps.

He was top of his class.

He had been elected "most eligible prom king of the year".

He had applied to Yale and Harvard.

He was most likely going to be accepted.

He had done everything to make her proud.

But...

"I saw Ava today. She really changed..I wonder how her parents must feel ?"

Peter remained silent. He knew where the conversation was going..Ava was the only choice he ever made. He chose her because she was kind, kinder than most. And she never seemed to judge. She was perfect.

And he knew his mother would approve.

However, now..Ava was different, and his mother was trying to convince him to stop seeing her..But, he wouldn't.

He refused to.

Kathleen's expression finally softened as she pulled front of the school and she sighed before turning towards Peter. She squeezed his leg and smiled.

"Hey..You know I love you, right ?"

Peter stared at his feet for a moment before nodding.

"Yeah..I love you too, mom."

He then opened the door and got out.

In school :

Peter had P.E with Ava and sought to talk to her then, but when he tried to approach her—he noticed the same boy from before. He was training with Ava and Peter felt his jealousy flare.

He then looked back at Ava who seemed oblivious to the amount of discomfort Peter was in.

He wanted to talk to her alone, but when he tried to reach for her—Steve stepped in. He stood in front of him and addressed him another one of his fake smiles.

"Sorry. Ava promised to train with me today. Hope you don't mind ?"

There was a silent warning to his words. Peter looked at Ava who addressed him an apologetic smile.

"See you at lunch ?"

Peter didn't answer. He only frowned a little before walking away. He didn't know what had happened during the summer, but one thing was for sure..

That Steve guy had to step out of their life.

At lunch break :

Peter finally got the chance to speak to Alice, but it didn't go the way he thought it would..

"I'm breaking up with you."

It was so sudden, it took him a minute to process.

"W..What ?"

Ava didn't dare meet his gaze, she knew what we would find in there. She knew Peter to be sensible to betrayal and that he would see it as one, but she just couldn't keep it in any longer..She couldn't lie to him.

She loved Peter. But, she also knew that something wasn't right about him. She had always felt uneasy around him, as if she was trapped and needed to be let out..

He would choose her make-up.

He would pick her outfit for the day.

He would even choose her food for her.

He talked of marriage and children when they weren't even out of high school yet.

It felt wrong..And she was tired of pretending it wasn't.

"I'm...breaking up with you, Peter. I'm sorry."

She then left before he could even think of a reply, try to convince her not to do this. He wanted to grab her arm, make her stay, crumble at her feet and beg her to stay..but, he was frozen in place. He felt tears in his eyes and his heart drop to his feet. He couldn't believe it..

Steve must have brainwashed her or something..

It couldn't be happening. Not to him..

He started walking aimlessly from class to class—his head empty and body numb. He couldn't concentrate on anything. Finally, the bell rang for the end of his last class of the day and Peter started gathering his things—even though his eyes were staring at Alice at the front row. She could feel his staring of course, but decided to ignore it.

Then, someone opened the door and Peter was surprised to see Steve enter with a wide grin and flyers in his hands.

"Yo, people ! Party at my house this weekend ! Don't be late !"

He started distributing the flyers and Peter was surprised to even receive one.

However, he then looked up to find that Ava was already excitingly and actively discussing the outfit she would wear for the party with her friends.

His dark thoughts returned to him and he crumbled the flyer in his hand because of the jealousy he felt weaving itself into his heart.

There was a party organized—one where he knew he would find Ava. And he would convince her. He would convince her that he was the best.

He gathered the last of his things and scurried out the room—failing to notice how Steve had not only given flyers to the students, but had also placated it everywhere for anyone to see.

Hannibal Sr. smiled when he took one of the flyers.

It promised to be interesting..

At the party :

Peter had chosen his best suit to wear for the party. He wanted to impress Ava, he had even practiced dance moves in case he would get the chance to invite her for a dance. He slicked his hair back with some gel and when he got out of the bathroom, his mother was waiting for him with a proud smile on her face and tears in her eyes.

"My goodness Pete..You look so handsome."

She then cupped his cheeks and kissed his forehead lovingly.

"My perfect little boy. You are the most amazing thing that could have ever happened to me.."

There was such tenderness in his mother's eyes and Peter's heart squeezed a little at the word..Perfect..If she only knew how his whole life was falling apart, she would be so disappointed..

He kissed her cheek and mumbled a goodnight before walking out. He didn't want her to see his tears..

He was going to get Ava back. He was going to be perfect again. He just needed her. And he would have her. He just needed the gun he had hid in his coat to stay hidden a little longer..Just a little longer..

At Steve's party :

Peter gulped at the impressive size of the Moclay's estate and it took a while for him to even find the place. But once he found it, he let the bright red balloons and the music lead him to the ball room. It was lit and people were already dancing when he entered.

He sought Ava with his eyes among the crowd and finally spotted her next to the bowl of punch.

However, Peter felt like he had swallowed a whole lump of butter when he saw that Ava wasn't alone. Steve was standing right beside her, and she was smiling. There was something different about that smile..It wasn't a fake or one designed to make him miserable, it was far worse. It was one of truthful enjoyment. She was enjoying Steve's company, and it made Peter's heart squeeze.

He didn't like that smile.

He marched towards the two of them and Alice's eyes widened as she noticed him.

"Peter..What are you..?"

"Please.", he interrupted her and held out his hand to her, "Could you please give me this dance ?"

Steve scoffed mockingly, as if he was already certain of her answer. But, she surprised them both when she slid her hand in his.

"Sure. One dance."

She still felt attached to Peter and even though she had made it clear it was over between them, she didn't see the harm in them remaining good friends. They started waltzing around and Peter could feel they were being stared at and lowered his head slightly in embarrassment. It made Ava chuckle a little.

"That look..You had the exact same when we first met. You seemed so lost. I smiled at you and I saw you smile back..My heart literally skipped a beat.", she admitted and Peter's eyes widened a little. He had always thought she had chosen him because of his popularity and good looks, he had tried to hide his struggles from her and every time he wanted to break down and cry..He had kept a smile on his face, because he thought she would love him better this way. But, he now understood his mistake. He should have been truthful with her.

He smiled back and at the end of the song, he kissed her hand like a gentleman. Ava smiled sadly at him before hugging him. She still held some affection for him and Peter was happy...until he saw Steve at the corner of his eye. He was flirting with some girl and showing his abs, like the first-class moron that he was. He accepted that Ava didn't want him now, but he wouldn't let the jerk hurt her. He then heard Steve sat he was going to the toilet and walk out of the ballroom.

It was his time to strike.

He bowed slightly in front of Alice before taking his leave, unaware that she would follow him a few minutes later..

In the toilet :

Steve was washing his hands when he heard the door open. He didn't take notice of the blond boy until he was right behind him. He looked up and sneered when he recognized him.

"Hey there, Pete. Enjoying the party ?"

Peter didn't answer, he only asked with his voice shaking.

"Say..Do you even like her ?" Steve stopped dead in his tracks—the sound of running water the only thing that could be heard as silence settled between them.

"Like who ?", he finally asked with a slight frown and a chill ran down Peter's spine at Steve's emotionless tone as he uttered in a helpless whimper.

"Ava..Do you even like her ?"

Steve let out a small huff—as if the answer was self-evident.

"No. But, you do." He turned around and Peter could have sworn to see a small victorious smirk on his face.

"You got everything, Peter. Good grades. Hot chick. Hell, hot mom even..It was time I got something too, don't you think ?"

He then left the bathroom and Peter's eyes widened significantly at the realization..Steve did not even care about Ava—it had all only ever been a game to him. He then clutched the fabric over his chest tightly and realized he had trouble breathing. He didn't understand..What had he done wrong for Ava to choose this guy over him ?..Peter had always been perfect.

So perfect.

And just like that, that asshole had made everything crash down for his own sadistic pleasure.

Suddenly, all of Peter's sanity broke and he let out a terrible scream of frustration. Why didn't they like him ? What had he ever done to deserve this ? He pulled out his gun and in a moment of pure unrestrained insanity, he ran after Steve.

Hadn't he followed the rules ? Hadn't he always been there for her ?

Once he was at aim's reach, he shot the guy's legs. The sound of gun fire was covered by the music and even though Steve was writhing in pain on the floor and screaming his lungs out—the others were too far to hear him.

He couldn't breathe. He couldn't hear.

"WHY DO THIS TO ME, HUH ?! WHAT DID I EVER DO TO YOU ?! WHY TAKE HER ?! WHY NOT EVERYTHING ELSE ?! COME ON, YOU COWARD ! WHY STOP THERE, HUH ?! WHY NOT TAKE EVERYTHING ELSE, NOW THAT YOU TOOK THE MOST ESSENTIAL !", Peter was in such a state, he almost didn't hear Steve when he answered.

"Because she wanted it too ! She was fucking tired of you and your good boy act ! She's the one who asked me out, you idiot !", Steve screamed with tears flowing down his face as Peter sat on him and prevented him from crawling forward.

"YOU ARE LYING ! AVA WOULD NEVER DO THAT TO ME !", he cried out in desperation—but was interrupted by a loud gasp. He turned around and found her standing there.

Ava looked shocked and he quickly pulled away from Steve. But, it was too late.

Ava looked at him with pure unadulterated fear in her eyes, but she didn't plan on Peter to be armed..He had already shot Steve and instinctively pointed his gun at Ava. But, immediately changed the aim to his own temple.

"Ava..He doesn't deserve you. Please. Tell me not to do this."

He just wanted a no. Anything that would show she cared for him.

He would find out where her loyalty truly lied.

Ava's eyes widened as she looked between Peter and Steve successively. She tried not to make any sudden movement, in case Peter would take it the wrong way. He thought about the years shared with her, the years he had spent trying to make her happy—all shattered in an instant as he saw the horror in her eyes.

"Pete..What are you doing ?", she finally asked with tears in her eyes and Peter trembled as he pondered on her question. What was he doing ? He was trying to get the love of his life back..What was so wrong with that ?

"Ava ! Get out of here ! He's a fucking psycho !", Steve yelled—breaking Peter out of his thoughts. He turned towards Steve with a mean scowl and spat out.

"Shut up !"

Peter then turned back towards Ava with tearful eyes, "I tried...so hard. I love you. I wanted you to choose me. And yet, it wasn't enough, was it ? Tell me...What is so exceptional about him, huh ?"

Ava bit her lower lip hesitantly before finally confessing.

"It is is not about what he has, Pete. It is about who I am. When I am with Steve, I can be myself around him. I can be genuine. He sees me. Whereas you ? You don't see me. You see someone else. I don't even know you, Pete. And after what you did, I don't think I even want to."

Peter gritted his teeth and his hands shook as he gripped the fabric of his suit over his heart—tight enough to tear the fabric. He failed to notice how Ava had seemed to get closer and closer, until it was too late. She lunged forward to reach for the gun. They fought for it and Peter didn't want to hurt her, he really didn't mean to...but, he pulled the trigger nonetheless.

When he realized what he had done, his eyes widened in shock.

Ava's knees buckled and he quickly held her before her head could hit the floor. He cupped her cheeks and wiped the tears there—muttering a series of unintelligible apologies as he kissed her forehead.

"All I ever wanted..it was to make you smile.", he told her and Ava blinked a few of her tears away as she felt blood fill her mouth.

"I'm sorry...I couldn't be as perfect as you wanted me to be.", she uttered and fell limp into his arms. He blinked several times and couldn't believe that she was gone. He threw the gun away. People would come running he guessed..The second gun shot couldn't have been missed.

Steve stayed stunned beside him, his eyes brimmed with tears as he kept staring at Ava's body—as if waiting for her to stand back up. When he realized it was real and she wouldn't wake up, Steve gritted his teeth and yelled.

"MURDERER !"

Peter looked at him with glassy eyes and shook his head, opening his mouth to deny. He wasn't a murderer. It was an accident. He lifted his blood-covered hands and blinked twice before opening his mouth to scream—but no sound left his mouth. His hands were soiled with Ava's blood and the pain he felt was excruciating. He finally stepped up and felt as if his whole body was numb and acting on its own as it stepped forward. He picked up the gun and pointed it at himself.

He had killed Ava. It was only normal he would join her..However, before he could, he heard a noise behind him. He turned around to see Hannibal Sr. standing there, his eyes staring at him with a small smile.

"Hello, Peter."

Peter suddenly remembered the reason for his current situation—the fact that Hannibal Sr. had told him to talk to her—and stood up on wobbly legs before pointing his gun at Hannibal Sr.

"You...IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT ! YOU TRICKED ME !", he cried out and Hannibal Sr. tilted his head to the side. Peter's vision became blurry because of the tears gathering in his eyes, but even then, he didn't fail to notice the knowing smirk the old man addressed him next.

"My poor boy. I did no such thing..I just opened your eyes." Peter clenched his teeth, but before he could reply—Steve shouted.

"Thank god ! Call the police ! He just fucking killed my girlfriend !"

Hannibal Sr. looked down at Steve and frowned a little. This was bad. Too much attention. And the boy was loud.

Hannibal Sr.' eyes then landed on the mess on the floor and he tsskd. Really..What a waste of good meat..Peter wondered if he should shoot him, but Hannibal Sr. took the gun from his hands before he could. He was about to protest, but words stayed stuck in his throat when he saw the old man shoot Steve in the head mercilessly instead. He then made sure to leave his fingertips on the gun and Peter asked confused.

"W..What are you..?"

Hannibal Sr. offered him a small comforting smiled before giving him a piece of paper.

"When I am arrested, give this to my oldest son. He'll know what to do with you.."

Peter's eyes widened in shock and he shook his head.

"What do you mean when you get arrested ? I don't understand.."

Hannibal Sr. opened his mouth to reply, but the sounds of voices and numerous footsteps grew louder and louder. They didn't have the time.

"Go. Go, my boy..", Hannibal Sr. whispered urgently and eyes the exit to the woods significantly. There wasn't any time to waste. They would soon find them and Hannibal Sr. knew that they needn't find Peter in his company for his plan to work.

Peter hesitated.

He wanted to know why he was doing this, but Hannibal Sr. raised his index to his lips and smeared blood on his lips, his eyes still staring at Peter. He was going to take the fall, but it would be to build a legacy far greater than himself.

"You are...a brilliant young man, Peter.", was the last thing Hannibal Sr. said to him—the corners of his lips spreading into a bloody grin. He then cupped Peter's cheeks and held him there for a moment, observing him—as if making a mental map of his face in his brain. He didn't want to forget..

This moment would haunt Peter for months to come, as it was the only time he felt such pride in a compliment.

People had called him brilliant before, but never like Hannibal Sr. There was something different about being called that from a man who would spend years—most likely decades—in prison for him. He was offering Peter a second chance and even though Peter's face was now covered with blood—his own lips parted into a large grin.

"Thank you..", he murmured before running away. Hannibal Sr. followed him with his eyes until he was completely out of sight and sighed before closing his eyes—the sound of police sirens could be heard in the distance.

"...Curse my weakness for broken puppies."

At Peter's house :

Kathleen could tell something wrong had happened the moment Peter entered the house. He had his eyes empty of all light and she immediately reached for him—as he seemed on the verge of collapsing.

"Pete. My goodness..You're so cold. What happened ?"

She waited for an answer, but the young boy remained silent and when he eyes finally settled on her, his smile seemed as empty as his eyes.

"Nothing, mom..I'm fine."

Suddenly, Kathleen felt this odd sense of dread wash over her as her son's whole demeanor seemed so distant from the one she was used to.

"What did you do, Peter ?", she asked tearfully, frightened as she saw the blood on his shirt and Peter let out a dark chuckle.

"...She said I wasn't good enough. But, I am good enough for you, right mom ?"

Kathleen had never been afraid of Peter before, she always saw him as a sweet boy who would never end up like her good-for-nothing husband. She had spared his feelings by telling him he was a good man, but the reality was far different. She thought they could escape. Peter would be raised to be everything his father had failed to be...But, the man standing before her wasn't her son. She didn't recognize him when her eyes were staring deep into those two holes shrewd in darkness..All she saw there was the very thing she had sought to escape.

"I..I don't understand..", she mumbled with tears falling down her cheeks. She didn't understand..How could it be ? How had she failed to notice ?

She took a step back from Peter whose expression hardened at the action. He then let his bag slide down his shoulder and fall to the floor. He almost seemed dead.

"First in my class. School king. Good kid. Always the good kid..", he took a step forward, "I aced my final terms and everything was going smoothly..I would go to a good college. Marry her. Have children..Everything was going to be perfect mom. Perfect..But, she..she messed it all up."

Kathleen's eyes widened as Peter went on about the plans she had hoped his future would hold. She had ever only wanted his happiness, but she now could see her mistake. She had created a monster.

"What did you do, Peter ?", she asked again, but more firmly this time.

Peter cocked his head to the side and smiled at the blood on his shirt. Her eyes followed his and she gasped, her hand flying to her mouth in horror.

"No..Peter..", she muttered—horrified by her son's action—and slowly stepped back from him. "She was just a child.."

"SO AM I !", he shouted back—his eyes glaring daggers at her—and his mother closed her eyes, unable to look at him anymore.

Peter's features softened and he opened his mouth to apologize, he even took a step forward to embrace her. But, Kathleen wouldn't let him. She felt sick and the smell of blood didn't help.

"Don't. Don't come near me..Just, get out.", she commanded and Peter stopped dead in his tracks.

"W..What ?"

He couldn't believe she would ask that..Where was he supposed to go ?

"I SAID GET OUT, YOU MONSTER !", she finally yelled and shoved him away. Peter was shocked at first, but it quickly turned into anger. Peter gritted his teeth and in a moment of terrible rage—pushed his mother down the stairs. He still remembered the discussion she had had with the postman about the busted stair—but it only dawned on him when his mother let out a terrible scream of pain. She had landed on the damaged one and had probably twisted her ankle.

He ran his fingers through his golden locks and felt trapped. He was about to dial the emergencies when he stopped. He looked down at her and knew if he was to call anyone, she would surely give him up. He hesitated before finally pick up his bag and shoving random things he found important to keep before throwing a phone at his mother.

"I love you, mom..and I'm sorry. For every thing.", he said with a small apologetic smile—but didn't wait for her answer before running out of the house.

Kathleen gave him five minutes before shakingly dialing 911 and she waited. When they finally picked up, she felt her throat dry..

"Police ? I..I'm calling about my.." Her words stayed struck in her throat and she immediately hung up. No matter how much of a monster he was, she couldn't hand him over. She raised her eyes to the ceiling and whispered apologetically.

"God..Forgive me."

She then dialed the emergencies instead.

At the Hannibal mansion :

Peter still had Hannibal Sr' note clutched tightly in his hand and in a panic—he knocked at the door.

"PLEASE ! LET ME IN !"

Hannibal Jr. opened the door and was surprised to find Peter standing there. He was about to ask what was going on when Peter handed him the note Hannibal Sr. had given him before his arrest.

Hannibal Jr. closed his mouth and took the piece of paper. He then read it and frowned a little. But, it was enough for him to let Peter in as he opened the door wordlessly.

Peter scrurried inside and he glanced around nervously—his bag clutched tightly against his chest. Hannibal Jr. followed him with his eyes and noticed Morgan—observing from the shadows. Morgan knew how to welcome unexpected visitors and hid a syringe behind his back with enough sleeping juice to knock out a bull. Before Peter could as much as say a word, Morgan stepped behind him and injected him with the strange concoction.

In a matter of seconds, he collapsed.

Hannibal Jr. let the note fall to the floor and sighed before picking up the boy in his arms and carrying him to his bedroom.

Take care of that one for me. See you soon, son.

A few hours later :

Peter woke up on a bed and was momentarily dazed by the blinding light and the strange drug that was surely still circulating in his veins..

He blinked several times before his vision became less blurry and he could finally see clearly the face of an older boy—staring at him right above his head.

"Good morning, sleeping beauty. How was the nap ?", Kevin asked with a large grin and a playful wink. He had waited all night for the newbie to wake up before his curiosity had gotten the best of him and he had decided to wake him up himself.

He had been so excited to meet him and see his reaction upon awakening.

He wasn't disappointed.

Peter screamed and in his rush to sit up, bumped their foreheads together. Peter whined in pain and held his forehead with both hands before leaning back down—the world swirling abnormally around him—but Kevin only smiled wider.

A feisty one ! Good.

He was afraid he might end up with another Morgan..As if summoned by the thought alone, Morgan appeared at the door and addressed Kevin a disapproving glare.

"Kevin. I told you he needed rest.", he admonished the younger man who only stuck out his tongue at him. "Whatever, kill joy ! I just wanted to take a peek ! I had no idea he was gonna wake up !"

However, Peter only froze at the other unfamiliar face and suddenly, memories of last night seemed to hit him and his eyes widened before he started crying.

Kevin's smile faltered slightly upon the sight and he looked up at the other young man who had his brow furrowed slightly at the odd overemotional display..

"Hey, Morgan ! We got a cry baby emergency over here.", he called out to the other stranger who sighed loudly in annoyance before standing right next to Peter. He then leaned forward and started examining him. Peter tried to speak, but couldn't—an invisible force forbidding his lips from parting and words to fall down..He was utterly lost and confused.

"Relax. Your lips should start functioning again in a few minutes.", the older one instructed him in a low and ushered voice. He then took his hand and placed it just above his own chest, breathing deeply so Peter may follow his breathing pattern.

Peter understood the boy was trying to soothe him as he started taking big breaths and beckoned Peter to follow the rhythm of his own breathing. Peter indulged and followed the movement of his chest, finding comfort in the rather cool and collected man.

"Unfortunately, our uncle couldn't stay and asked me to look out for you while he is away. But, rest assured that you are now safe and we will be looking out for each other from now on."

He then gently traced the side of Peter's face with a tenderness he wasn't accustomed to and that clashed with the coldness in his eyes. It was like his touch was made of ice.

"Sorry for earlier, junior. Didn't mean to scare you or anything..I'm Kevin and this is Morgan ! Your awesome new brothers !", Kevin introduced them and gave the young man a broad smile. Peter froze on the spot...Brothers ? Morgan seemed to understand his confusion as he took a short step forward and extended his hand towards him in a gesture he hoped appeared amical.

"Morgan. Morgan Hannibal. But, you can call me big brother if you wish."

Peter stared at the outstretched hand for a couple of seconds, pondering on his options and what being an Hannibal would entail.

He would have to leave everything behind..He would have to say goodbye to his mother and forget about his life to devote himself to a family he didn't even know anything about..Finally, he tentatively reached out and shook Morgan's hand.

"I'm..Thank you."

Morgan smiled and shortly.

"Welcome to the family, Peter Hannibal !", Kevin greeted excitedly—grinning widely and restraining himself from taking his new little brother into his arms.

Peter...Hannibal ? Peter pondered on that name and finally, he smiled. It felt right. But, the true meaning behind those words only truly settled in when Morgan added.

"No attachment. No history. I have the feeling that you will be a great fit, Peter Hannibal."

Peter gulped and even though he was still terrified, he nodded in agreement. He had to admit he didn't have much choice in the matter. He was now a Hannibal. Besides, Morgan was right. Peter had nowhere else to go, no one to turn to..

"I'm a vegetarian.", he felt was necessary to inform the man whose smile didn't leave his face as he walked past him and didn't seem even surprised by the news.

"I know..", he enigmatically replied and Peter wondered if they had actually been waiting for him. Did they already know he would accept ?

Both older boys smiled, as if they knew something he didn't..And for some reason, Peter was fine with it.

A few weeks later :

The absence of both Hannibal elders was beginning to gain on the three boys. Tension finally broke loose when Morgan received a letter from Hannibal Jr. explaining how Hannibal Sr. had decided to forbid them to witness his trial in person.

Truth be told, the two oldest sons hadn't really asked Peter anything about his past and he doubted they even knew he was the reason behind Hannibal Sr.' imprisonment. They all thought Hannibal Sr. would have some kind of plan to get out of there—as he always seemed to have. But, they weren't aware of the extent to which Hannibal Sr. was willing to go to protect his family—nor did they expect what happened during the trial until it was broadcast on news TV.

"How do you plead, Hannibal Sr. Lecter..?"

The three boys held their breath, waiting as Hannibal Sr. was about to speak up. He finally stood up and didn't hesitate before declaring.

"Guilty to a fault, your honor.."

All Hell broke loose in the Courtroom as Hannibal Sr. turned towards the crowd and offered them his best smile.

"Cry and hurl all you want, dear members of the jury. You sheep will always bellow, but wolves will always exist. So, you would better get used to looking at one."

He then mockingly bowed before being dragged away under a shower of curses and boos..But, Hannibal Sr. didn't care. He was a proud wolf and had lived a long and fruitful life..Peter was but a young wolfling—and Hannibal Sr. couldn't wait to see who he would turn out to be..

Back in the Hannibal household :

At the moment of the verdict, a tension was created between the brothers that left Peter guilty for having caused so much trouble. He still thought he could get away with the blame though, since they didn't know Hannibal Sr. would be serving time because of him. But then, Morgan had a phone call.

And that phone call was the beginning of trouble for Peter.

Because that phone call came from Hannibal Jr. and it involved keeping a close eye on Peter, because Hannibal Jr. suspected the sudden add not to only be coincidental with Hannibal Sr. arrest.

It made their relationship all the more difficult after that—especially between Peter and the eldest Hannibal son. He had tried his best to regain his approval afterwards, but to no avail.

Peter waited until the end of dinner one night and it was time to clean the dishes to go see Morgan. He pretended not to see Peter at first, his eyes and hands fully focused of the dirty dishes in the sink..

"Morgan..I'm sorry. It's my fault. I..I should have been the one to end up in prison. I'm the one who killed Ava. I also shot Steve. I'm sorry..", he finally confessed and Morgan didn't even flinch or spare him a glance at the news.

"Do you think me stupid ?"

The question took Peter aback as he tried to find an answer to give the other boy.

"I..No. I don't think..", he stammered and Morgan finally told him—still not willing to look at him.

"I knew. We both did. Hannibal Sr. disappears and you show up ? It didn't take a genius to put one and one together. I'm just disappointed you didn't come clean earlier.."

Peter felt a knot in his throat and tears in his eyes. He sounded worse than just disappointed, he sounded hurt..

"Brother..Please..", Peter tried to touch him, but didn't expect it when Morgan suddenly turned around with fire in his eyes.

"Do. Not. Call me that."

Peter felt tears in his eyes..He had already been rejected twice, he couldn't handle a third time. When Morgan tried to walk past him, Peter grabbed his arm and forced him to stay put. Morgan seemed surprised at first, but it quickly turned into anger when Peter mumbled pathetically.

"Please, Morgan..Don't hate me.."

It seemed to snap the last thread of patience Morgan had for him.

"WHAT DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND ?!", Morgan suddenly burst. "WE WILL NEVER BE BROTHERS ! OUR FATHER ! THE MAN WHO GAVE US A HOME ! HE IS IN PRISON BECAUSE OF YOU ! YOU ARE A PLAGUE ! A PARASITE !"

Morgan pulled away from his grip and Peter raised his arms to cover his face instinctively. He waited for Morgan to hit him—he deserved it. But, when no blow came, he tentatively opened his eyes and found Morgan looking at him with an unreadable expression..

Kevin—shocked at his brother's loss of countenance himself—hadn't tried to intervene. He had never seen Morgan so angry. He was usually the most composed one, the one you turned to when things went wrong..But, the rage on his face was enough to make Kevin understand Peter was in deep trouble and he was most likely to get killed if he didn't step up for the brat...if he cared enough to act that is.

But, he only watched as Morgan's hands closed into fists and his eyes ran wild as he tried not to punch Peter's face until nothing remained but red..Morgan was holding onto his last thread of patience and even though Kevin didn't necessarily want to step in, he had to do something before Hannibal Jr. came back to a bloodbath.

He sighed loudly and stepped between the both of them.

"That's enough. We both know Peter has nothing to do with it. Dad decided to plead guilty. It's his own fault he is in this mess.."

Morgan stayed still for a while before he huffed and turned away—leaving Kevin and Peter alone. Peter didn't dare make eye contact. He knew what the young man thought of him. But, he was surprised when Kevin finally sighed and squeezed his shoulder.

"Don't worry. It'll pass. He just needs...time."

He seemed hesitant, but Peter was more surprised by the fact that Kevin wasn't angry at him than worried.

"Aren't you...angry at me ?", he asked hesitatingly and Kevin huffed a laugh.

"Me ? Nah. I know the only reason Hannibal Sr. got caught was because he wanted to..Besides, he really wanted you. I may not see why yet, but I'm sure I will eventually.."

Peter finally smiled, a little hope lifting his spirits at Kevin's words. At least, he didn't hate him. That was already good. He didn't think the one to comfort him would be Kevin—but then—his grip on him tightened perceptibly and his smile became a little too fake as he leaned forward so Peter may hear him very carefully.

"But, try to hurt me, or anyone else in this family ? And you're dead, got it newbie ?", he whispered threateningly in his ear and Peter knew better than to disagree. Hs smile dropped instantly and he nodded. Kevin's smile returned to his face and he loosened his grip on him.

"Good. Glad we could clear that out. Goodnight, newbie."

Peter returned to his bedroom and balled himself into a fœtus position on his bed. He then started sobbing uncontrollably and numbed himself into into an uneasy sleep.

A few minutes later :

When Morgan entered Peter's room with a knife in hand, he had every intention to get rid of Peter..He didn't care about what Hannibal Sr.' wished. He was convinced the boy was going to be the downfall of the Hannibals and he would be caught dead before letting that happen.

He approached the bed and let the bladed dance lazily on the bedsheets before reaching Peter's face. He let the sharp edge dig into his skin without breaking skin.

One movement.

One slash.

One tinny accident, and he would be gone.

But then, Peter stirred in his sleep and suddenly grabbed Morgan's hand. Morgan looked down as the fingers clutching desperately around his..He retrieved his knife.

He hated Peter, he was the reason behind Hannibal Sr.' imprisonment and he would never be a Hannibal in his eyes, but Morgan still hesitated. Peter held his hand tightly and Morgan took the new proximity to observe his sleeping form more closely.

"NO ! PLEASE ! MOM ! COME BACK ! I'M SORRY !"

He cried for his mom, a mother Morgan hadn't been so lucky to be given at birth. Peter had killed someone, and it had suddenly been decided that he would join the family just like that. It irked Morgan who fought every day to be worthy of the name.

He appeared so soft. He looked like an angel.

He didn't act, look, or even sound like a Hannibal.

And maybe was it the reason Morgan was so set on refusing him ? Kevin and himself held no more innocence in them, they had given it all to be spared the pain. But, this one. This one was not born out of deceit and cruelty. He had left a loving mother and a good life behind to join them..The thought alone made him a fool in Morgan's eyes—him who had only ever wanted a life such as his.

He couldn't restrain himself as he bent over to seethe lowly in Peter's ear.

"...I hope you die."

It made him want to consume him and take that small part of happiness. He leaned forward and wondered for a moment if he should start with his cheeks or nose ? He traced the side of his face with the back of his index finger and imagined all of the incisions it would take for the angelic face to be replaced by a faceless and nameless red mess..Yes. He hated him. He loathed him even.

The whole house could have fallen to his charms, but he wouldn't. He could see who he truly was and even though, when Peter clutched to him even tighter—he didn't pull away.

How dared he abandon everything Morgan had ever wished for, and pretend to be one of them ?

But, when Peter unconsciously reached for him in his sleep, he let his knife clatter to the floor to hold him.

Peter's POV :

Peter's saliva felt like burning hot lava in his mouth and even though the urge to scream came again—it died in his throat because of the constant tears. He wished he could be like Kevin and feel nothing. Absolutely nothing. But, he did. He heard Ava calling him—blaming him for everything and it hurt.

He knew he wouldn't find any comfort from anyone. He had sent Hannibal Sr. to prison and his own mother hated him..He was a monster. However, he did feel arms wrap around him from behind and a soft voice shush soothingly in his ear.

"Ssh..You are alright. Everything will be alright..Just breathe."

He didn't recognize the voice at first, he just instinctively followed its directive and started taking deep breathes. His eyelids fluttered open and he blinked several times before recognizing Morgan's face. He knew he should be worried and move away from him, but he couldn't help reeling in the comfort he was getting. He hid his own in the soft fabric of Morgan's coat and cried. He knew he shouldn't—he didn't deserve such kindness from the oldest Hannibal son..But, it didn't stop him from taking every ounce of compassion thrown his way. He was just so very tired..

"Don't..leave me.", Peter whimpered pathetically with his eyes closed and Morgan's jaw twitched. He hesitated before resting his arm on his shivering form. No matter how much he loathed him, he had to admit the parasite was convincing.

"I won't. Now, go back to sleep, parasite."

Peter smiled at the nickname. He didn't pity him. He was glad. He didn't want pity. Morgan saw more than just a boy, and Peter thrived under this unwholesome attention. Some would call him insane, but he found comfort in this lack of pretense. He was free. Free to be whoever he wanted. Free from Perfect Peter.

He was Peter Hannibal now..

And he would prove them. He would prove them all. He was going to best them all.

A few minutes later :

Kevin was surprised when he walked past Peter's bedroom to find the door wide open. He peaked inside and smiled when he saw Morgan holding the young boy's sleeping form.

"Soooo...You and Princess finally getting along, huh ?"

Morgan sent him such a dark glare, Kevin knew better than to insist and let out a small chuckle before waving them goodnight.

"Fine. See ya in the morning, grumpy pants."

#fandoms #imagine #fanfic #hannibal family #peter hannibal #hannibal sr.#hannibal jr #morgan hannibal #kevin hannibal

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silver-blooded-synthetics · 10 months

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@curseofmoons asked:

Negative character traits? Mental illnesses? Regrets? Something they’re in denial about? Someone or something they’ve had to leave behind or give up. Worst thing they’ve had to do to survive? Harshest thing anyone has ever said to them? How often do they swear? Have ever killed someone? If so, would they kill again? (For Alma and Errol)

Negative character traits?

Alma: He's naive and socially challenged

Errol: He's manipulative and could even be considered sadistic to a degree.

Mental illnesses?

Alma: Alma has autism in his human verse(s), which is less of an illness and more of a difference in experiencing the world that makes life difficult for him sometimes because others don't understand, but still worth noting.

Errol: Errol is clinically a low empathy psychopath.

Regrets?

Alma: Depending on verse, but since you and I usually do human verse for him, he regrets not fighting back or running before his father abducted him. By the time he realized something was wrong it was too late, and he wishes he would have seen the warning signs sooner.

Errol: Again, dependent on verse, but I'll do human verse here. He rarely has remorse for anything, but his regrets are usually small and selfish things. Like not using the right method to woo someone because he miscalculated when reading their responses and personality. He doesn't regret the big things, like burning his parents house to the ground. He feels absolutely no remorse for things like that.

Something they're in denial about?

Alma: He's in denial that his little sister is growing up and is capable of making her own choices and living her life the way she wants to. He still sees Arda as an innocent little girl because he's so overprotective of her. He needs to accept that she isn't a child anymore and can take care of herself. She doesn't need to be sheltered by him.

Errol: Oh, he's in denial about a lot of things. It's his coping mechanism to just pretend the things he doesn't like don't exist. The big one is his psychopathy though. He despises admitting that he has the diagnosis (in human au) and pretends like he's just like everyone else because deep down he's terrified of what he could be capable of with it. He doesn't want anyone to know he's a psychopath, so he has pretended so well not to be that sometimes even he forgets.

Someone or something they've had to leave behind or give up?

Alma: Alma had to give up on having a family that loved him and was stable. He always wanted one growing up, but in the end, Arda was the only one he could rely on. His brother was always distant and didn't care, his mother was equally distant and struggled to express any sort of love or affection, and his father was just chucked full of problems. In the end he gave up on ever having a functional family.

Errol: Errol has left behind a life of stability and luxuries such as a permanent home and many belongings in favor of being a bit of a nomad. His 'work' is dangerous and requires him to move around a lot, so he's learned to travel light with only a few personal items that he keeps. Everything else is left behind with each time he moves, which is every few months usually.

Worst thing they've had to do to survive?

Alma: Although he had to enure a lot to survive, he never had to do anything specifically bad to survive. Nothing that would compromise his morals anyways. (At least not yet.)

Errol: After burning his adoptive family's home to the ground (in human au), Errol stole all their money and ran. He's since become a hacker and a sex worker to earn money. He doesn't have any qualms about stealing electronically from people, especially the rich, and some would find his sex work to be morally wrong. He doesn't see anything wrong with it personally, but some would say it's bad. Errol would do anything to survive, even if it meant doing horrible things, and he wouldn't regret it or apologize for it.

Harshest thing anyone has ever said to them?

Alma: In his main verse, Alma has been told by his creators, both of them, that he is not a person. That he's less than human. But in his human verse, his father also told him that he doesn't matter, that his only worth is in what he can do for him, and if he won't obey, then he's useless and better off dead.

Errol: His sister has called him a monster countless times, telling him that he is crazy and deranged and fucked up in the head and a menace to society and a horrible person in general. She's said a lot of foul things to him and about him. That he can never care about anyone and is incapable of love, so how could anyone ever truly love him?

How often do they swear?

Alma: He very rarely swears, if at all. The only time he does is if there is something truly wrong and he's extremely upset, or if he's drunk, which is also extremely rare.

Errol: Oh, he'll swear left and right, no problem. He has no qualms about profanity and certainly wouldn't clutch his pearls at it like Alma does.

Have they ever killed someone? If so, would they kill again?

Alma: No, he's never killed anyone. I do think that he is capable of killing though, if he thought it was necessary to protect someone. Though, it would devastate him to do so. However, there's also the possibility that if he's corrupted enough he would be swayed to kill someone out of anger, but it would take a lot of time to get him to that point. It's not in his nature, he would have to be corrupted.

Errol: Yes, he's killed and he would do it again in a heartbeat if it benefited him in any way. He knows how to cover his tracks as well. He's not stupid. He doesn't kill needlessly, only if he feels he can get away with it and it's someone that deserves it. However, his definition of someone that deserves it may be different than some other's.

#answered ask #oc alma #oc errol #human au #long post tw

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blood-bound · 1 year

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8, 10, 11 and 15 for Mark? 🥲

YAYY TY this is fun sorry if written badly i am Tired.

What is the closest your OC has come to death?

Well other than the obligatory “he was literally murdered and is dead since he is a vampire” this is actually more of a silly story - soooo… brief context: The Tremere chantry in Detroit has gargoyles and Mark has befriended one. This particular gargoyle is really good at flying! But is very young and childish and doesn’t understand that other people without stone skin can’t survive intense g forces and other things. So once Mark asked for a ride. And during the flight, started taking damage from the G forces, and also… when they arrived… he was just… flung into the ground at high speed… lost a LOT of skin… some organs… would have been dead if not a kindred. Like Mark’s BONES were exposed. It was tough. But yea that's the closest Mark in particular came to final death! Lol.

What is the worst loss your OC has suffered?

Where to start… Mark lost his chance at a normal life… he lost his relationship (and found out he lost it a lot sooner than he knew)... oh I’ll just talk about a very very large loss because it is hard to pinpoint the ‘worst’...

Mark lost his privacy. It used to be very important to him - he was a very private person. He had a strong work persona, a strong professor persona, a strong persona for his coworker friends, a different one for friends… his students… and really, even one for his boyfriend and himself. He kept everything internalized and people who he had known for awhile really knew very little of him. It made him feel safe and it was so engrained he hardly realized he was doing it.

But turns out - he was being spied on for a long time. Julius learned a lot about him. And now, he has to send him weekly reports on what he is doing. Now, Julius can see through his eyes whenever he wants. Lots of other kindred try to find info on him - he feels eyes on him so often. Gaius invaded his memories and saw everything he knew. A changeling haunts his night visions and sees those too. And perhaps most invasive at all, Julius manipulates the blood bond he has to Mark to make Mark care *less* about his privacy than he used to - so it doesn’t even bother him as much as it should. So. He lost his privacy and his sense of privacy.

Your OC is forced to kill a member of their family or a friend. Who do they choose, and why?

Uhm let me see. Let’s consider this the pool of people: -Parents -Sampson -Kenny -Dr. Armatto -Rose

Oh my god wtf this is an awful pool of people to pick from. Uhm. Uh. Well it definitely will not be Sampson. I think he would narrow it down to be Dr. Armatto because he is old… Rose because he’s known her for the least amount of time… and his parents because he isn’t close with them at all anymore. It’s fucked up, but in a situation like this I think he would also consider what Julius would want. And Julius would think Rose being given final death would put him in a worse position. I think he would kill his father. He is the most distant from him - least chance of reconnecting - and he would try to tell himself that he would have to die anyway - and in this situation, no matter who he kills, he is losing humanity… oof tough question. Also Mark get more friends jfc.

How far would you OC go to protect their loved ones?

Pretty damn far, depending on who. He’d kill kindred. He’d risk his life, for sure, for any of his touchstones or his parents. If people were attacking them, he’d fight to kill. And if it was Sampson, he might even kill humans not fighting - strangers to him - much to Sampson’s horror. Sampson in particular, as a ghoul, Mark figures could stay with him for a very long time - so he’s worth a lot to him. He’d even blood bind him again, temporarily, if it was between choosing that and Sampson’s death. He needs him.

#mark vtm oc

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renee-writer · 1 year

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Out of Time Chapter One Hundred and Thirty -six

AO3

The quiet told him that he was back where he started. Raising carefully, his legs unsteady under him, he looks around. No cars, except those turning to rust. Had he failed? No! He knew the bloke died. Oh, was his plan already started, someone else took over. He didn’t go back far enough!

He turns, hurrying back towards the stone, determined to fix it. The Stones are silent before him. Bloody hell! Now what?

All he can think to do is try to return to his people. Come what may, together they will face whatever the future brings. He doesn’t consider that the past might be altered by what he did.

Thanks be to God, the yacht is still where he left it. He breathes out a sigh of relief. Walking up to it, he is preparing a speech of apology. Who runs out to greet him, takes him by surprise.

“Daddy!” He stares, as though he is seeing a ghost. Alex! Alex on two legs! The child grabs his legs. “Daddy back!”

Laughing and crying, he lifts him up. “Aye son, I am.”

What other changes has his trip wrought?

“Murtagh!” His Godson stares at him before hurrying over to wrap him and Alex in a hug, “You survived it, how?”

“I can’t say Jamie as I don’t know.” He tells him all as they walk farther aboard. “Something obviously changed. My Alex has two legs.”

“Aye, there was no shooting that took his. Oh, and no Frank! Juliaellen is mine, fully!” Murtagh beams.

“How wonderful! Naomi?”

“Aye, you still have her, Danny and Jenny have Daniel. Claire still carries our second…” A little girl with dark hair runs up to them. She looks up at Murtagh, shyly.

“Who is this?”

“Faith! Without Frank, she never…”

It sends Murtagh over the edge. He bursts into tears, and loses strength in his legs. Providence provided a deck chair nearby that Jamie lowers him into. Alex heads over to Faith and takes her hand.

“No matter what else happens, it was worth it as she lived. Faith lives!”

They all gather around him and tell all they know.

“The mist still came. I wasn’t aware enough to stop it.” Danny explains. “It wasn’t until later, as before, that I knew.”

“But he died, that Bonnet bastard?”

“Oh yes. Your plan worked. We were all horrified at his murder, as I perceived it, at the time. Unfortunately, his second, took over his plans, doubling down on them.”

“Yes, he was determined to do it, in honor,” Asha pulls a face, “of his good friend, Steven. He does but, something changed, the horror reached us sooner.”

“Lionel Brown was his name.”

“Was?” Murtagh asks. He sits among them, cuddling his children. Mary sits beside him, marveling at his return.

“Yes, he was killed by his own people. Must came to realize the evil done. There are still a few holdouts, a few folks that still believe this was the right way but, we outnumber them.”

“You did it, Murtagh. This was to big to completely change but, a lot of the evil done, was undone.” Jenny declares.

“We are free.” Simon adds. “The bad guys are in hiding from us. The only reason we stayed on board is the hope that you may return.”

“We can go anywhere we want.” Mary places her hand on his arm, “Thank you.”

It is echoed by everyone on board. All accept two. Charlie and William, sit side by side, looking miserable. Murtagh notices.

“Nothing has changed with you, then?”

“No. I am still pregnant. William remains the father.”

He stands, handing Naomi to Mary. Alex toddles beside him as he walks over to them.

“The big thing I couldn’t change. I believe God gave us a second chance, allowed my actions to correct some things. What He still allows is what needs to continue happening.”

“I don’t believe in God.” She defiantly says.

He chuckles. “He still believes in you. Isn’t Faith being here, Alex regaining his leg, humanity regaining it’s sanity, enough to show you He exists? If that isn’t, His care of you, should be.”

“Care!” she shrieks and Alex covers his ears. “How is this, care?”

“Us. He gave you a family. A large group of people that care for you and your child. We can go anywhere now,” He addresses the others as well, “but may I suggest staying together. This is a family, after all. We need to continue supporting each other.”

“Aye, I agree. I even know where we can go, home to Lallybroch. The land is big enough to support everyone. We can rebuild.”

Jenny nods, agreeing with her brother. “It is perfect. Plenty of room for the children to run, to continue to expand.”

“Shall we take a vote?” Claire asks.

They unanimously agree. Lallybroch it is.

#my writing #outlander fanfic #out of time #chapter one hundred and thirty six #jamie and claire #cannon divergence #outlander fandom #modern au

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inun4ki · 8 months

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the horrifying realization that a lot of what motivates kaede is his need for his struggle to be worth facing.

he's so devoted to the safety of his family, that it destroys him when he finally sees that no, his struggle was ultimately worthless. it made no difference. everything he'd been fighting for - he fought for it in vain. he took on so much of taisho's blame and matured far sooner than he should've just so he could put the clan's mind at ease, tearing himself apart on the inside because he had to be strong for them. nobody else could be, and he couldn't blame them. to completely and utterly conform to the needs of his family, flushing his own down the toilet with prejudice, only for that sacrifice to ultimately mean nothing in the end? jesus christ.

i mean, obviously this isn't necessarily completely true. after all, for many years, the family had been peacefully rebuilding. babies had been born! they were comfortable again! the gardens were no longer full of painful reminders but hydrangeas and lilies and soft grass! they were healing. that is to say, his efforts weren't wasted by any means. everything he did to protect them, provide for them, give them comfort and peace - his family was doomed from the start. they were always going to self-destruct this way and get lost in the aftermath. centuries of general extreme instability and surviving in spite of that'll do it to ya. a very literal generational curse.

but i think it would really linger in his mind that he absolutely must assume the blame and responsibility, because that's what a leader does. in his mind, anyway. kurai was very...unkind to him, in this respect. the pressure of clan head, raising 7 orphans, discovering kaede had the ability to use hell prism, like everything coalesced for him so he took it out on kaede, setting impossible expectations and effectively grooming him for the explicit purpose of being clan head and a sorcerer. kaede's life path was chosen for him, and that lack of choice turned into an imposed duty he ultimately accepted. kurai's treatment of him was also extremely cold, just in general, despite being kaede's biological father. there was no affection there, because kurai is unreasonably private about his own feelings, which was then fostered in kaede. something something strength in restraint and stoicism something something. homie led by example and later got mad about it when kaede followed that example.

coupling that with the older brotherly responsibility he felt toward both terin and aoi - whom he felt were the only people in the world who could possibly understand him - kaede was under a lot of pressure just from his own family. a lot of it self-imposed, but... anyway, the loss of aoi and terin just completely shatter his resolve to continue his work. they were, effectively, his dearest friends, not just a cousin or a brother - try as he might to play things off as minimally as possible. out of everyone, he cared for them the most, so it's just so goddamn crushing and demoralizing when terin dies, and again when the rest of his family is slaughtered while he's away. his devotion to the cause led him away from them, so he couldn't have been there to protect them, and the guilt ate him alive. it's the same story, again and again, with no reprieve in sight.

his struggle is not worth facing. it's not worth the effort if everyone is going to die anyway. it's fault, he should've done something sooner, shouldn't have taken those missions, should've helped his family members grow stronger so none of this could've happened. a lot of irrational shoulda, coulda, woulda's. his motivation to keep moving forward is gone, and he blames himself almost completely for it. more arbitrary blame, and for what? how could he have predicted this? how could he have known? he's a fucking moron that's been forced into a box his whole life, made to believe a bunch of bullshit is his fault even though he was just a child - all predicated on the idea that it would've been better if he had died instead of everyone else, both internally and externally.

ahhhhhh.

don't like that.

#死/// Headcanon.#/ this is mostly just a rant #/ espresso depresso now #death /

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circlique · 2 years

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Session 14 from yesterday!

Summary: We learn a little more about Juno’s relationship with the Avatar, then do some more training at the training ground. Why does this place seem to attract shady benders? Also, Flamer, a true chaotic, is confident he can deal with Kayita, the undercover Dai Li agent, on his own.

Previous sessions

Last session ended on the beach after a long day of training. The party had been followed there by Ong, the airbending son of the masters Xin Li and Laminar.

Ong had been quiet up until now, but once he realizes Juno is there, he starts talking about her, saying he’s a big fan! Apparently Maika used to talk about her a lot and called her a “tough son of a bitch.” Ong continues to talk about Maika speaking highly of Juno, while Juno stands by, looking uncomfortable.

Finally, she has enough and cuts Ong off, saying it’s time for bed. In true fashion, Chai Li ignores her and starts trying to ask her questions about if she thinks it’s okay that the kid knows they’re here. She says she doesn’t care and repeats that it’s time for bed. Chai Li ignores her again and starts trying to ask something else.

“Guys…seriously, time for bed!”

Everyone has to roll a wisdom saving throw as she uses mindbending to induce fatigue on them. Only Flamer and Kelsang pass, everyone else starts to feel groggy and slinks off to wherever they’re sleeping. Ong goes home.

Flamer remarks that he guesses he and Kelsang will take first watch—sike, Kelsang has other plans and runs after Juno.

She is, if course, annoyed, and tells him to go the fuck to sleep. He says it’s important, and she lets out a big exaggerated sigh. “Go on…”

He tells her first that her comment from several sessions ago (about him “barely tolerating her”) bothered him. She seems amused by this and asks if she offended him. Kelsang says he’s not offended but does need to set the record straight with her—while it’s true he found her methods unsavory, he didn’t exactly disagree with what she was doing and was even glad at times that someone was doing it. She’s flattered and all, but tells him again to go to bed.

Kelsang’s got more to ask her though. He asks if she knows Ong, and she replies that she only saw him once or twice when Maika was training with his father. Kelsang asks how long ago that was, and Juno clarifies that that was about two years ago, and the incident where Juno tried to take Maika’s bending was about one year ago. Kelsang sighs, and says he’s sorry, it must be really hard to watch someone you care about descend into something totally unrecognizable. She nods, admitting that yeah, it’s been hard, and maybe she should have used mindbending on Maika to get her to see how bad these new teachers were, but she felt it was important that Maika’s decisions were her own. She looks like she’s itching to leave the conversation, but Kelsang has one last thing to drop on her.

“Do you still care about her? And if you could say anything to her, what would you say?”

She ponders it for a moment and says, even as toxic as their relationship has become, she can’t bring herself to stop caring entirely. If Juno could say anything to Maika, it would be, “You deserve to hate me, but look in the mirror and ask yourself if you wouldn’t have done the same. I don’t regret what I did, I only regret not talking to you sooner.”

On that note, Kelsang thanks her for her time and returns to Flamer, who promptly accuses him of gossiping with Juno about him. Kelsang rolls his eyes and quickly decides this conversation isn’t worth having.

The night passes uneventfully.

Juno catches Chai Li the next morning and says the two of them need to spar mindbender to mindbender to train him effectively. They spar while the rest of the party is doing morning chores like eating and Kelsang working on his glider. Juno goes first and begins by trying to induce fatigue in Chai Li. It is pretty early, so he starts to feel sleepy and sore, but not to the point of collapse. Chai Li tries to make her feel the fear of Maika attacking her but fails, because Juno has already accepted what happened and is resigned to it. Juno mindbends him to fixate on the fact that there is no one actually making the world a better place but the thought fails to distract him. Chai Li tries again to make Juno sad about losing a friend in Maika, and she falters a little, but she redirects his thoughts about lack of friends and Chai Li becomes distracted by the fact that HE doesn’t have any friends. Chai Li finally rolls high enough to resist her next attack and retaliates by trying to make her sad about her (lack of) relationship with her dad, which surprisingly seems to have an effect and makes her falter a little despite being a shot in the dark. Unfortunately, it also spurs some kind of resolve in her, because she rolls high and her next attack is very intense and causes Chai Li to pass out. When he wakes up, she compliments him on coming up with that line of thought, and says they have more work to do, so she’ll continue to train with him today.

As the rest of the party heads to the training ground for more sparring matches, Juno explains some more nuances of mindbending to Chai Li. She also mentions that the way she intends to train him is by having him secretly mindbend his own teammates while they’re sparring. Chai Li is opposed to this idea, stating he was specifically avoiding doing that because he didn’t want to cause distrust. Juno HAD wanted to troll the team, but admits this is a good point and says he can focus on enhancing them instead, feeding them positive thoughts or whatever motivations would give them a boost. Chai Li is more comfortable with this and agrees. They go to hide in the bushes while the rest of the team starts their matches.

Kelsang’s match is against the airbender with Justin Bieber’s personality (referred to here on out as Jeeber) who fought dirty against Syntagma the previous dayl. Jeeber starts out by asking Kelsang if he’s one of those monks who follows rules. Kelsang, as a member of the Order, thinks of himself as a bit of a rebel and says no. Jeeber says this will be fun then. Kelsang rolls a nat 20 and tries to blast him out of the ring, but evidently the DM wanted some more character stuff to happen here, so Jeeber floats back in to the ring without technically touching the ground outside it. Jeeber then does something that messes with Kelsang’s ears/balance. Kelsang has to roll with disadvantage and tries to bend dust in Jeeber’s face to give him a taste of his own medicine, but misses. Jeeber spins a tornado at Kelsang, but Kelsang is able to block it by spinning the air in the opposite direction. Kelsang then rolls a nat 1 on his next attack attempt, which is so bad that Jeeber redirects it back at him, but Kelsang passes the dexterity save and avoids falling out of the ring. Jeeber finally starts playing dirty and tries to suck some of the air out of Kelsang’s vicinity, but Kelsang has enough control of the air around him that he’s able to oppose it. Catching onto what he’s doing, Kelsang asks who taught Jeeber airbending, since he has such an “interesting style.” Jeeber replies “focus on the match old man.” This evidently pissed Kelsang off, because he rolls another nat 20 and is able to tornado Jeeber out of the ring. Kelsang wins and is now 3-0.

Now we have a very interesting matchup: Klo vs. Laminar: Before starting, Laminar whispers to Klo “house rule, bloodbending ONLY”. Klo tries to play dumb but Laminar has already seen her bloodbending, so she eventually agrees. Laminar goes first and tries to control one of Klo’s arms and make her punch herself, but Klo is able to resist by bloodbending herself and keeping the arm at bay. Klo retaliates by trying to make Laminar step out of the ring, but she’s able to resist. Laminar then tries to pull blood away from Klo’s legs to make them cramp, and though Klo tries to oppose the flow of blood out of her legs, she takes half damage. Klo then gets a bit dark and tries to bend the blood out of Laminar’s head to make her faint, Laminar reacts but still takes half damage and gets disadvantage on the next turn, feeling lightheaded. Laminar is upset about this and bloodbends a nearby pair of fighters, an airbender and an earthbender, to try and grab Klo. The two fighters are freaking out, unsure what is going on. Klo pushes ice blocks toward them to keep them away. Laminar comments that this non-bloodbending move violates their agreement, and Klo retorts that it wasn’t used on Laminar herself, so it’s allowed. Klo tries to bloodbend Laminar’s entire body out of the ring, but she resists. Klo finally relents and bloodbends the other fighters to push Laminar out of the ring. Klo wins and is now 3-0. Laminar is quite pissed, and suddenly Klo has a hard time breathing. Laminar whispers to her, “you are nothing, false leader of the water tribe. This is for Finley.”

Syntagma faces a random firebender. Syntagma starts by trying to bend a spike through his opponents foot but misses. His foe retaliates and he dodges the counterattack. Syntagma makes an earth wave—or tries to, but since he’s still new at the staff thing it knocks both of them back. Firebender throws a fireball at him but Syntagma dodges. Syntagma notices Zhongchung is doing very well in his own match against a waterbender and is somewhat proud but also sort of jealous that his son might be a better bender than him. Syntagma bends a pillar to throw his opponent out, which works. Syntagma wins and is now…1-1-1, very balanced. Zhongchung also wins his match.

Meanwhile, Chai Li and Juno are hiding in the bushes overlooking the training ground.!Juno explains you can distract with mindbending but also assist teammates. Chai chooses to try to assist Flamer by making him proud of his spirit world adventures and plants the idea of getting his fire bending back. In practice, this just lets Flamer roll with advantage every turn, which, with Flamer’s tendency to be chaotic, had some interesting results.

Flamer faces our mindbending friend Kayita, and this is where this session really started to go off the rails. Flamer knows the guy is Dai Li and picks something to focus on to try and resist mindbending. That thing is the gateway to the spirit world, so his plan is to use that as a grounding thought and think about it every time he suspects he is being mindbent. He also stands with his swords in a X hoping it can block the “gamma rays or whatever.” Goober. Kayita tries to induce fear in him, saying that since Flamer’s a nonbender he can surrender right now, but Flamer resists. Flamer comments on Kayita’s mindbending attempt and Kayita, a little surprised Flamer caught on so quickly, retorts that he saw Flamer hanging out with Chai Li, and asks if they’re close. Flamer says “for someone who’s so great at using his mind there’s so much you don’t know” and rushes him. He smacks him with the sword for some damage. Kayita stares at him and tries to induce fear and Flamer resists his mindbending attack by thinking about the spirit world. Flamer keeps up the tough guy act and says “how’s it feel that I’m in your head?” and then swings at him with both swords. Kayita is mostly just confused, but in his distraction, Flamer is able to sweep him. Kayita falls out of the ring. Flamer wins putting him at 1-2.

All the matches have now concluded, but Chai Li notices something going on with Klo and Laminar. He thinks he knows what Laminar is doing, and tries to distract Laminar with thoughts of where is her son? But it doesn’t really distract her, because she isn’t too concerned with Ong as long as Flamer isn’t near him. Klo tries to bloodbend back at Laminar back but is having a hard time. Klo starts to feel faint, and Laminar kicks her in the stomach. Chai Li tries to mindbend thoughts of fear about her husband taking her son into Laminar’s head, but again, she’s not concerned about her son and is focused on the task at hand. Chai Li finally switches strategies and tries instead to make her fear she’s exposing her bloodbending too much. This seems to work and she hesitates, but notices Chai Li, kicks Klo again, and walks away. The two fighters from before come over with Reiker, who asks what’s going on. Klo, unwilling to eat herself and Laminar out as bloodbenders, just says Laminar is a sore loser. Reiker says he’ll deal with her, and he two fighters apologize for almost punching Klo, saying they weren’t in control of their actions and have no idea what happened. Klo tries to reassure them and promises she harbors no ill feelings towards them.

Chai Li asks Juno if there’s a way to detect mindbending. She says not really, unless you’re a mindbender. Chai Li then confesses he mindbent Laminar, and that he thinks she noticed him doing it. Juno says that was a poor decision and now they have to be on guard since Laminar is already so sketchy. Chai Li mentions how he’s seen a lot of those forbidden techniques being used here and asks if maybe there’s another group here colluding and training that might have a plan for something. Juno says she doesn’t know who or what they’d be, but agrees it’s odd that they seem to congregate here. She tells him to keep an ear out in case there is some kind of group of exiled benders, and to see if he can figure out why they’re here.

Meanwhile, Kayita is a bit annoyed about losing, and starts to get up to walk away. Flamer wants to have his little power trip moment though, and places the tip of one of his swords under Kayita’s chin to tilt his head up. Flamer says the real match has just begun. Kayita is not intimidated and asks him what fight? Flamer says “against the new era of mindbenders” and Kayita goes white. Kayita asks again if Flamer knows Chai Li. Flamer says he does, but Chai Li doesn’t know who Flamer really is. Kayita rolls a nat 20 on the save and challenges Flamer to prove it, which…is impossible. Flamer makes up some BS about gaining “abilities” in the spirit world in another effort to intimidate Kayita. Kayita admits that “okay maybe Chai Li doesn’t really know who you are, but do you really know who he is?” Flamer spouts some more BS and Kayita just walks away, finally figuring out that he’s wasting his time.

After their match, Kelsang tries to talk to Jeeber, who refuses to tell him his master’s name unless Kelsang agrees to be trained by him. Apparently this 13 year old kid’s entire reason for being here is to recruit for Xin Li. Kelsang says no man is his master and asks if Jeeber knows Ong. Jeeber scoffs and says his master always played favorites with Ong, and comments that Ong is one of those “square” airbenders who follows rules. Hmm.

Meanwhile, Zhongchung runs over to Flamer and vents that he feels like he’s intruding on Syntagma’s adventure. Flamer reassures him that Syntagma likely doesn’t care is a single iota. Flamer then goes to talk to Chai Li, commenting on his poor hiding ability. He brags that Kayita won’t be an issue anymore, thinking he intimidated him. Chai Li asks what he means and Flamer says something about tricking him with spirit world abilities that he doesn’t have. Chai Li says he thinks Flamer is getting in over his head, but elects not to admit he mindbent him. Chai Li asks if Flamer mentioned his name to Kayita, and Flamer stumbles over an answer. Chai realizes Flamer probably went too far. Flamer continues to insist that Kayita thinks Flamer is using Chai Li, but Chai Li thinks that’s a dangerous game to play with the Dai Li. After all, any sense that Chai Li might be disloyal, and Dai Lee will have him eliminated. Flamer says don’t worry, he’ll just kidnap Kayita and runs off. Zhongchung goes with him. At the time, everyone thought Flamer was just talking out of his ass as usual and lets him go.

Klo tells Chai Li and Juno about Laminar bloodbending her, and asks if there’s a way they can make the two benders she bloodbent forget. Juno explains that would require a three day hypnosis session and someone might notice the two benders missing in that time. Chai suggests that they try to make the benders doubt what they saw and Juno agrees that is probably the best plan. They try it and..there’s really no way to tell it worked so they just assume it did?

Meanwhile, Flamer was actually serious and Zhongchung is too naive to realize Dlamer doesn’t have a plan. They follow Kayita. Flamer whispers to Zhongchung to pretend to be Dai Li agent that Kayita doesn’t know. Flamer says to tell Kayita that there’s an emergency at the meditation garden and tell him he’s a Dai Li spy who has top secret information to tell him about Chai Li Dong.

Zhongchung totally sells it and Kayita agrees to meet him in the meditation garden. Flamer hides in the trees nearby and takes off his shirt. Zhongchung tells Kayita that Chai Li is a secret agent for “you know…” Kayeeta is confused and says “…what? He’s supposed to be a spy for Dai Li. What did he tell you?” Zhongchung tells him Chai Li didn’t tell him anything, he just observed that he follows Juno around. Kayita isn’t even supposed to know about Juno so this is…turning bad pretty quickly.

Even Flamer know that wasn’t a great move and leaps out from the tree. He throws his shirt over Kayita’s head. Kayita mindbends Flamer to be annoyed that the shirt is inside out and compel him to fix it, and when Flamer takes it off, Kayita socks him in the face. Zhongchung tries to restrain him with earthbending but fails. Kayita mindbends Flamer to feel exhausted, but he’s able to resist. Flamer tells Zhongchung to cover Kayita’s eyes and ears, thinking that overwhelming his senses would make his mindbending ineffective. Flamer goes for a nutshot but Kayita blocks it. Zhongchung uses some pocket sand to blind Kayita, who tears himself away and runs. Flamer runs after him, telling Zhongchung to block the path. Kayita barrels past Flamer but trips over some rocks and Zhongchung bent up. Flamer and Zhongchung then…scream in his ears trying to overwhelm his senses. It actually works and Kayita is so bewildered that he skips his turn. Zhongchung bends up a BIG rock after Flamer tells him to knock him out (lightly!) and drops it on him. Poor dude Flamer says “I told you I was different. Bet you never heard of timebending.” ???????

Kayita is very confused by this and falls unconscious. Flamer then notices a lot of people running up the trail because they heard screaming. Flamer slices both himself and Zhongchung with his swords and puts the swords in Kayita’s hands and then tries to feign injury. Reiker walks up and Flamer tries to convince him that Kayita must be a mindbender because “he doesn’t know how he got there and how Kayita got his weapon somehow”. Reiker agrees to restrain him and question him.

Everyone is so confused and entertained right now. The DM said he’s gonna have to do some extra planning for next session because of this…lol.

#avatar #atla #avatar legends #avatar dnd #dnd

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nishibishi · 2 years

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PARK JIMIN'S FIC-RECS:- Series List (01)

Good gracious! Had this week been more hectic, I could see the signs of the curtains of my life closing upon me. I wish all of you are doing well and good. I'm pretty much aware of what all happened at the Grammy's, but seriously, I couldn't care less as we all know BTS doesn't need them, they need BTS and THAT'S A UNIVERSAL FACT.

Well, here I am with the fic-recs featuring no one other than my love, my life, my person, Park Jimin. None of these works are mine, their copyrights belong to their respective writers who've put their blood, sweat and LUST (as nearly all of them are smuts, blame it to my teenage hormones peeps!) into these wonderful creations. I would ask you all again to give their master-lists a shot as well. Happy reading!

WARNING:-

MOST OF THESE SERIES WILL BE 18+ (mentions of any mental unrest, mentions of any death, blasphemy, infidelity, mentions of blood, and explicit smut)- MINORS SHOULD STRICTLY NOT INTERACT.

LEGENDS:-

a - angst ; f - fluff ; m - mature ; s - supernatural ; d - drama ; h - humor

Would You?(m) by @jiminrings (a, f, d) [slice of life]

You, for most obvious reasons, have caught up feelings for your supermodel best friend, Jimin, who's sole aim is get his bed warm at night. Until one day, when he finds himself falling in love with your old friend, Ji-soo, and you finally realize that it's high time to move on. But the question of the hour is: would you?

The characterization of this series is its essence that drew me towards the end of this fic. I absolutely loved the portrayal of Jimin's character of someone who doesn't believe in the permanence of anything. Some of the parts hit harder than the most, as the memories of relationships uncover deepest feelings of the OC. A must read!

Heartburn by @jiminrings (a, d) [slice of life]

"My heart burns for your love." A beautiful metaphor, ain't it? But this metaphor turns into reality when you find out your boyfriend to be emotionally engaging with someone else and then you realize, that your heart, indeed, burns for his love.

This is one of the most tear-jerking fics I've read so far. The realism of this series is so heart-wrenching and true to the core, that we all must have faced at some or the other point in our lives. The best work of the writer so far. Absolutely loved it!

Dreaded Neighbors(m) by @99liners (a, f, d, h) [arrange marriage]

Your husband, Jimin and you barely know each other. And surprisingly, both are equally shy, not so ready to make a move. Thanks to your neighbors, whom you both equally try to avoid, and in that journey, you find something together: love.

This fic is fresh, quirky, modern and pretty sexy, in fact. It takes a new and a very, very relatable perspective on arrange marriages, love, age gap and the marital relationships. The awkwardness between the leads, the romance and the situations amongst their friends, colleagues, relatives etc. is absolutely delectable. Totally worth reading!

Lebensmüde(m) by @99liners (a, d) [mafia, crime world]

In the world of hate, violence and crime, you and your husband, Jimin, try to find an escape to a better place, unsure of what future beholds for you two.

Toxic, dark, frightening and sick. A rare delicacy for dark souls like me. A must read!

Induratize(m) by @hobiwonder (a, f, d) [royalty, forced marriage]

In order to save his kingdom, your father trades you to Prince Jimin as a peace treaty. And defeated, you accept your fate and sooner than later, find yourself needy for your husband's affection. However, his reluctance hide a lot more secrets than your mind can think of.

An emotional rollercoaster ride featuring thickest monarch vocabulary (and mind me, it's so sexy, oh lord), the overwhelming sexual tension between the leads and foremost, the best smut scenes I've come across so far.

I JUST WANT TO SAY:- HOBIWONDER PLEASE COME BACK AND COMPLETE THIS MASTERPIECE. I'M SO FUCKING TIRED TO WAKE UP EVERYDAY AND CHECK FOR ANY UPDATES REGARDING THIS FIC AND GETTING UPSET AFTER SEEING NONE. PLEASE, I BEG YOU.

Baby, Baby(m)(ft. Taehyung) by @hobiwonder (a. f, d, h) [surrogacy]

To pay your university fees, you get yourself recruited as a surrogate for a very attractive and elite gay couple. But soon, as your pregnancy sets in, they start taking TOO much care of you and the things, for sure, get complicated.

It is bold, sinful, highly explicit and morally wrong, yet I've got to admit it: this fic is indeed my biggest guilty pleasure till date. The character development, the problems faced by the queer people around the globe and the pregnancy issues women have to deal with are the highlights of this fic along with the steamy intimate scenes among the leads. Very vulgar, but yes, the best in its genre.

Oh, What A World(m) by @cutechim (a, f, d, h) [contract marriage, popstar]

After almost ruining his idol career, Jimin is determined to dedicate his everything to revive his nation's it-boy fame. But much to his dismay, his PR team puts up the idea of contract marriage, in order to whitewash his past misdeeds. Enters you, a heartbroken law prodigy, who catches his interest.

The cutest, the loveliest, the most adorable fic I've read so far. The best part is that the way Jimin's character has been written is so familiar to the original Jimin that we know: warm, affectionate, clumsy, cute, sexy, sensitive and everything! The chemistry between the leads as well as the other main characters is an absolute delight. A MUST READ FOR ALL JIMIN FANS!

A Remedy For Mondays(m) by @dovechim (a, f, h) [office, fake dating/pregnancy]

After bunking your miserable office life for a fan-meet, you end up faking a pregnancy naming your co-worker, Jimin as your partner-in-crime to cover up. But soon, everything comes crashing to you and you do realize, that indeed, you took the worst possible remedy for Mondays.

A Hilarious, Sexy and Quirky ride full of surprises and of course, a happy ending. The weird situations the leads find themselves stuck in between and oh, Jimin's Grandma. DEFINITELY A MUST READ.

Illegirl by @threeletterslife (f, h) [High School, Teacher-Student]

An A-grade student like you, ends up accidentally kissing your drunk mathematics teacher due to unexplainable circumstances. And that's how your shelved life takes an interesting turn towards love, friendship and life.

The best teacher-student relationship fic I've read. It buzzes with its lively, vibrant and relatable characters stuck in evermore relatable situations under different horizons and perspective. LOVED IT!!

Off-limits(m) by @kaddiiction (a, f) [Brother's Best friend]

You've always been in love with you brother's bff. But once you end up hooking up with him at their homecoming party, things get messed up for worse.

Heart wrenching at its most. Problematic, Relatable and Profound. A must read.

So that is it, guys. Stay healthy and hydrated! Happy Reading! You guys can reply me as well and suggest me some more. Good day to y'all!!

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miss-kittyy · 3 years

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Rewriting Briarlight and Longtail’s Deaths

So I am disabled, like very disabled, I am %50 of the teenagers ever diagnosed with my special combination of pain disorders, and I also unfortunately hyper fixated on warrior cats, which is bad news for me because warrior cats is super ableist, and to add insult to injury, the fandom can also be pretty ableist.

My biggest problem with the majority of “anti-ableist” AUs is that they “fix” the ableism stemming from the narrative and able bodied characters by making the disabled character less disabled, this so bad for many reasons. I’ve talked more about in other posts. The justification that real life disabled cats are less doesn’t make it not ableist, since when was warrior cats meant to be realistic? If you’re making an au where the disabled cats function like actual disabled cats you also have to make all the cats genetically accurate, and retcon Lionblaze lifting a tree.

My problem with warrior cats is not that the disabled characters cannot become full conventional warriors, I’d like it if they got to choose what duties the perform instead of being crammed into the medicine den, but I don’t care about Cinderpelt not being able to complete a marathon. Most of the fandom seems to think the issue is that the disabled character are not useful enough, instead of the way that able bodied characters deny of them agency and make remarks like “you wouldn’t want to return to a life like her’s would you?”. Disabled people do not need to be “useful” to be worthy and empowering.

It’s very obvious that most of the fandom just wants the disabled cats to be more palatable to abled bodied people, so I’ve decided to make my own rewrite instead to hopefully make myself feel better. A lot of these things are inspired by my own experiences and not every disabled person is looking for the same things in representation, this is totally self indulgent.

The goal of this AU is to highlight the many unique and valuable aspects disability and how being disabled does not infringe upon anyone’s worth, ever.

- Longtail doesn’t die in the storm, Briarpaw is still injured, but he’s found besides her, trying his best to help her cling to life.

- after Briarpaw begins to recover he stands up to Millie and other cats insulting her quality of life, he says her journey will be hard, but it is one worth taking.

- She asks him why he’s an elder, and he decides to request to have his warrior ship restored as Briarpaw is dreading the life of an elder.

- On his first patrol the cats accompanying him insist on speaking to him in an incredibly infantilism tone, and whispering amongst themselves over what he can or can’t do, without consulting him,

- He initially gives up on patrolling after that insufferable experience.

- Briarlight begins to create marks and blobs on the wall of the medicine den using crushed up dead herbs she asks him to retrieve some berries for her, and he complies.

- Jayfeather shows him how he navigates the territory with the help of some of the sighted cats, and Mousefur is quick to volunteer as his guide. He finds her company surprisingly empowering. He realizes that it was not his blindness which was limiting his abilities, but the other cats attitudes.

- Mousefur and Longtail return with mouthful of berries and herbs, Briarlight describes to him what she’s drawing on the side of the den and he helps he mound the materials into paint.

- The cats begin to pop into the medicine den to see Briarlights painting and soon Jayfeather has to kick her out occasionally so they’d stop crowding him, she’s given the walls of camp to decorate instead.

- She begins to illustrate Longtails stories of the old territory and Bloodclan, and this new form of storytelling becomes a tradition amongst Thunderclan.

- because more young cats are aware of the clans history it becomes harder for the dark forest to recruit them, unfortunately, Blossomfall’s resentment towards her sister means she never cared to listen.

- Ivypool is still recruited and trained like in canon, given her relationship with the dark forest was much more emotionally charged and manipulative than just plain lies.

- at a gathering Longtail meets Grasspelt who inquires about Briarlight, Longtail is surprised about how little he knows as the she-cat had mentioned how well they got along as apprentices. Despite Millie nagging him not to tell him the truth about her daughter he does anyways, but puts much more emphasis on how well she’s doing than Millie expected. Grasspelt thinks this sounds really cool and decides that he is going to see her and her paintings, and that nobody can stop him. Longtail makes sure to put any opposing cat in their place, but Briarlight is a very respected Clanmate, so most warriors don’t say anything.

- Briarlight is nervous and doesn’t want to come out of the medicine den at first, but when Grassheart darts into the den holding berries and flowers for her to paint with she quickly warms up to her visitor.

- Grassheart is happy to tell Briarlight that he’s never been able to be a “functioning” warrior, and that he has always imagined that his spirit is shaped different, the medicine cat says his body is normal, but he’s never been able to keep focus in a fight or react as quickly as he should be able to while hunting. (He’s autistic because I say so)

- As dusk nears he’s visually hesitant to return to Riverclan and when Longtail inquires on why he says that he hasn’t felt so “here” for a long time. On the way back he wanders off and comes back with a chipmunk, when returning to Riverclan territory his father, Mintfur, is shocked to see his catch. After talking with his family a bit he realizes that it was the noise from the river that was making him so tense and dissociated, Brackenfur, who was escorting him, notices that he keeps rubbing himself on the ground and wincing.

- For the next couple moons Grasspelt returned to Thunderclan to bring Briarlight plants that only grow in Riverclan territory, he begins trying to fish from the quite lazy stream in their territory and soon both him and Briarlight have got it down.

- Longtail notices the sadness present whenever Grasspelt left and exclaims that it’s rather stupid that he’s living somewhere so unsuited for him just because of words long repeated.

- Grasspelt confesses that he feels the same, but knew he wasn’t supposed to say anything. Briarlight tells Longtail that her and the Riverclan warrior had been thinking of each other as mates for moons.

- Longtail accompanies Jayfeather to the next half moon meeting where he proposes his addition to the warrior code, “no cat should be confined to laws which harm them due to an inherent physical or spiritual difference.” (Cats don’t really know how brains work, so they see mental disabilities as a difference within a cats spirit)

- A moon later the leaders meet to discuss this proposition, it is accepted and Grasspelt makes the journey to Thunderclan for the final time.

- Grasspelt is renamed Grassspirit when becoming a Thunderclan warrior, unlike prior renaming of disabled cats this is a celebration.

- Grassspirit spends most of his time taking care of the elders and kits, he’s incredibly compassionate especially with kits and is able to solve many problems within the nursery.

- When twigkit and Violetkit arrive in Thunderclan Briarlight and Grassspirit help raise them, after Violetkit is taken Briarlight and Twigkit paint her on the side of Thunderclan camp.

- Briarlight still gets sick and her illness progresses without any treatment, Grassspirit notices her trying to hide it and when Longtail finds out he’s very upset. Jayfeather frantically treats her, expressing his frustration that she didn’t tell them sooner, the second Millie steps out she breaks down and explains that she just wanted to deal with it herself, and perhaps if she were successful Millie would finally treat her like an adult.

- Longtail gives Millie a stern talking to, he tells her that Briarlight is a warrior of Thunderclan and as her clanmate she should show her some respect.

- Millie is inherently very reactionary, as she had not realized the full extent of her suffocation, but eventually after a couple moons her and Briarlight begin to rekindle their relationship, like adults.

- Blossomfall sees how Brairlight wasn’t basking in their mother’s attention like she imagined, and feels the urge to seek out an actual sisterhood after ignoring Briarlight for moons and moons.

- Briarlight isn’t really mad at her sister, and understands why she felt the way she did. Jayfeather suggests that Blossomfall help Briarlight with her painting, Blossomfall seems put off with the suggestion of being her sister’s assistant.

- The interactions that follow are less than ideal, Blossomfall commends Briarlight’s able friends (Thornclaw, Poppyfrost, Alderheart, etc) for being so nice to her, as if that’s not what friends do. She seems very sad the entire time, sighing when her sister dragged her legs around with her mouth to sit more comfortably, even though she was completely fine. When watching her paint she comments that it’s good she has “something to keep her busy”, and finally she expresses her view, of Briarlight’s injury and her (Blossomfall’s) suffering being all worth it because of her talents, as if her life was not worth living to begin with.

- Briarlight tells her that if that’s truly what she wants she’s going to have to put more effort into understanding and respecting her way of life, and that she won’t apologize for their mother’s actions.

- When Blossomfall has her kits they take a liking to Auntie Briarlight, and Blossomfall seems to have reflected on their past interactions, trusting her sister to watch her kits. Briarlight teases a bit, a subtle way of telling her not to rush things, but they do begin to feel like something close to sisters.

- Right before Briarlight’s Nieces and Nephews are made warriors Longtail dies of Greencough. Throughout the entirety of his sickness he kept his sense of humour, his mean streak, and his immense love for what he had made of his clan.

- At his vigil Grassspirit began whaling like a bird in new-leaf, he insists that the vigil is too sad, and that Longtail wouldn’t want everyone moping around, for Starclan’s sake, his life was good. Standing amongst them, Longtail’s spirit can feel every cat in Thunderclan standing around him, singing the song of a life well lived.

#I imagine grasspelt as a chill stoner dude #next I’m gonna revamp my Ivypool PTSD headcanons cause I also have that lmao #warrior cats #warrior cats ableism #ableism #disability #warriors #briarlight #Grasspelt #briargrass #was #Longtail #warriors au #autism #warrior cats au #wa riot cats rewrite

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bakugostiddies · 3 years

Note

Please god do a villain!au with Todoroki 🧎‍♂️ I usually don't like those but omfg with him it would totally work

Absolutely. This turned into a 4k word fic, but I am too attracted to this man to be ashamed.

Icarus | Todoroki Shouto x Reader

Warnings: eventual smut, temperature play, impact play, kind of dub-con but not really, degradation, praise, villain!au, corruption kink, no gendered terms but reader has a vagina and breasts.

NSFW | 18+

You had fucked up.

The room was dark and dank, eerily quiet save for the sound of your breathing. You looked around frantically, struggling to break loose from the bonds that held you. Shit. Shit. Shit.

As your eyes adjusted, you noted that there was a door ahead of you, a steel one with two deadbolt locks. You could feel a metal chair beneath you, rattling each time you moved even slightly. Your arms and legs were restrained by some sort of extremely strong fabric, but your mouth was unrestricted. Shit. Shit. What was Endeavor going to say? You were still just his sidekick, but this was your first big operation and you blew it completely. He would kill you when you got back, you just knew it. Endeavor took his temper out on you even when you did well, which meant you had no clue what he would do to you after a fuckup this bad. Shit.

Calm down, Y/N, you told yourself mentally. You were safe and unharmed, so maybe they just wanted information. You attempted to activate your teleportation quirk, but it didn’t work. What happened? You could feel yourself beginning to hyperventilate. You didn’t want to die here, after being kidnapped by some asshole who wouldn’t even fight you face to face.

“If you’re wondering why you can’t use your quirk, we just took it away for a while.”

A voice emerged from the shadows of the room, soft and almost velvety. You flinched. You hadn’t even realized someone was here. How could you have missed something so obvious? You felt like a shitty fucking hero.

“Who are you?” You said after a moment.

“Im surprised you didn’t recognize me. Well, I suppose it is a bit dark in here.”

And suddenly with the flick of a match, the voice became a man and the shadows around the room came to life. You swallowed harshly, all of the moisture in your mouth gone. The man stalked towards you with a sureness of a predator and stopped a few feet away from where you were sat in the metal chair. You looked up at his two toned hair, his strong, rugged figure in the flickering light. He wore a suit not too different from that of a hero’s, but he was tinged with scorch marks and small icy spikes. He looked like he was made of fire.

“Well?” He said it softly, but there was a hint of malice in his tone. “Who am I?”

You couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe, your body almost paralyzed with fear. You knew who he was, of course you did. He was the one who helped blew up that building on the case you were on a month ago. He was the one who ambushed those (kind of sleazy) businessmen on their way to a cartel. He was the one who’s name was whispered in fear and awe on the nations’ streets. He was standing right in front of you, looking… bored?

The man sighed and fiddled with his match. “Hurry it up, hero, I don’t have all day.”

You spoke almost inaudibly. “You’re Icarus.”

He smiled slightly and a chill ran down your spine.

“See? That wasn’t too hard.”

He moved a bit closer to you and leaned down, his heterochromatic eyes almost level with your own. A single gloved hand moved to touch your chin with his thumb and index finger, moving your head from side to side with a feather-light touch. You hoped he couldn’t feel how scared you were, how your body seethed and rejected his very presence.

He finally released your face and you let out a sigh of relief. Icarus removed a single glove and touched his fingers gently to the match. It went out without smoke or a flicker, just a gentle hiss of frozen silence. The room was dark again, and he was moving, knocking on one of the walls.

“Turn on the lights, Red Riot.”

Your eyes widened. Red Riot? Wasn’t he the pro-hero who became a villain after Dynamight? Holy shit, was Dynamight here? Icarus interrupted your train of thought as the lights flickered on almost menacingly. You noted your surroundings carefully, seeing a bed in the corner, a small table, and another chair. The room looked less like a prison and more like a shitty motel suite.

“Do you know why you’re here?” He sat down in a chair across from you, leaning forward with his arms on his thighs and his legs spread slightly.

“I don’t know, Icarus.”

“Heres a hint; it has something to do with your boss.”

“Endeavor?”

You could feel bile rushing up your throat but you swallowed it down. The man before you clenched his jaw rigidly, as if it pained him to hear the name, but returned to normal so quickly you might have imagined it.

“You’re a bright one. Yes, hero, the very same. And do you have any idea on what he’s planning to do, say, sometime in the next six months?”

“I’m not telling you.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

His tone was harsher now and he got out of his chair, moving closer to you again. You felt so small under his scrutiny, yet drawn to him like a moth to a flame, like Icarus himself to the sun.

“You see, I’m the only reason you’re alive. And if you want to keep your pretty little head-“ he circled around behind you- “you will listen to what I say.” His voice was barely a whisper in your ear, and your voice hitched in your throat.

“Do you understand?” He asked, straightening up.

“Yes.”

“Yes, sir.”

This was so goddamn humiliating, like your first day working with Endeavor all over again. With him, it was always a yes, sir, no, sir, please don’t make me work weekends, sir. But you swallowed your pride again and spat it out.

“Yes… sir.”

“A hero that obeys commands, what a find,” he said tauntingly. “But you could stand to lose that attitude.”

You wanted to slap him, to beat him up to the point of him being bruised and bloody and broken and then have him call you sir instead. God, if only you could teleport out of these fucking restraints-

“You’re thinking about using your quirk, correct?” It was like the asshole could read your mind.

“You can’t. Aizawa Sensei took yours away. You know him as Eraser-head.”

Fuck, Eraser-head was here too? All of the biggest villains were gathered here together and you- you could do nothing.

“So I’ll ask you again. What are Endeavor’s plans?”

At that moment, you made yourself a promise; that you would not let Icarus win. Little did you know that you would break that promise a thousand times over.

———-

Two days later:

———-

“Did Endeavor tell you about the attacks?”

“No, sir.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Come on now, you can tell me. I won’t hurt you.”

“...”

“Still no response? No matter, I have time to get it out of you.”

———-

Seven days later:

———-

“Still not talking, hero?

Look at that, the silent treatment.

I never thought an adult could be so petty. Just tell me where I can get more information.

Nothing?

Okay. Eat your soup, I can’t have you dying on me before you start talking.

And hero? You will have to open your mouth sooner or later.”

————

16 days later:

————

“Cut the bullshit, hero. We know he has plans for a big attack sometime during the next six months, so either Deku is wrong, or you are lying to my face. And Deku’s never wrong.”

“Well, I guess he’s wrong this time.”

“Then I guess we’ll return you since this has all just been one big mishap.”

“Really?”

“No. You aren’t the smartest, are you?”

“Maybe my brain will somehow recall something about this totally real attack you think is happening if you give me better food?”

“Don't be a brat, hero. I wouldn’t have gone through all this trouble if I had known you would be so inconvenient.”

“Whatever you say, sir.”

————

20 days later:

————

“Thanks for the bread, sir. It's quite an upgrade for a kidnapped person’s shitty meal.”

“You have low standards, hero.”

“Hey, why do you call me that?”

“What, hero?”

“Yeah. I have a name, you know. It's-“

“I know what your name is.”

“Okay, Jeez. If you knew it, then why not use it? Plus, I’m not even a hero yet. I’m still technically just a shitty sidekick who’s totally blown it on my first solo mission. I’m never going to be a pro at this rate, I might as well just give up.”

“I think you’re good.”

“What?”

“I said, you’re powerful and good at using your quirk. You have a lot of assets and it’s a shame your talent is wasted on Endeavor and the fools at the pro-hero agencies. It was difficult to actually catch you off guard, to get past your guards, to make sure your quirk was out of commission. And we are very strong.”

“Oh. Um, thanks, I guess?”

“Don’t thank me, hero. I’m just stating the obvious.”

————

25 days later:

————

“Why is your name Icarus?”

“It's not my real name.”

“Well no shit, dude. I'm asking why you chose it.”

“Icarus was a boy who followed his father’s instructions perfectly, but the moment he strayed from the path set out for him, he was punished, scalded by the flames of the sun, and cast away. But I think it was worth it for him in the end.”

“Why?”

“Because he was free. Because Icarus flew, and he was able to be his own person, even if it was just for a moment.”

“Do you feel like Icarus?”

“Most of the time I do, yes.”

“Sir?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you think that right now, you’re flying or cast away?”

“At this very moment, I think I am flying.”

“You know what? I think so too.”

————

29 days later:

————

“So what’s your real name, sir?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

“Why?”

“Classified. Also, I don’t need you to know my name.”

“But you know mine!”

“That's because you’re a prisoner, in case you’ve forgotten. You are almost unnervingly at ease here.”

“I’ve met three people so far and you have all given me no reason to fear.”

“Really? Not even Dynamight?”

“His hair makes me laugh. Plus, I can’t take airheads with overinflated egos seriously.”

“I agree with that assessment wholeheartedly.”

“You agree with my assessment- Sir, you sound like an old man.”

“I’m only three years older than you, you know.”

“Really? But you have all of these wrinkles?”

“I do not have wrinkles.”

“Fine, frown lines then.”

“That makes it sound like I don’t smile.”

“Well, you don’t!”

“It’s hard to find things to smile about.”

“God, you’re such an Edgelord.”

“What do you mean by that? hero, stop laughing.”

“You are definitely an old man.”

————

30 days later:

————

There had been a new development a couple of days ago in the kidnapping situation. You could feel your quirk again, which meant a lot of things. It meant you weren’t here against your will anymore, that you were free to go. Yet you remained. You still stayed in the same room with Icarus checking in on you in the afternoons. However, it had been given furniture- a desk and more comfortable chairs, a small rug on the floor, and thicker blankets. It was almost like you weren’t even a prisoner anymore. You could always leave, you reasoned. You could teleport out of here. Your quirk was back, and yet you stayed.

The other villains had taken a liking to you for reasons beyond your comprehension, but all it meant was that you were never short on company. Dynamight would burst in to complain about how Deku always got the best missions, Red Riot would bring in a deck of cards and the two of you would play go fish or bluff, even Deku would occasionally check up on you and make sure you were comfortable. But your afternoons? They were always set aside for your favorite visitor- Icarus.

...

“You haven’t answered my question about your name yet.”

You were sitting on the cot in your almost room, feet dangling off the edge and swinging back and forth. Icarus was sitting on his chair again, but lazily, with his arms locked behind his head and his legs precariously balanced against the edge of the bed.

“You haven’t answered any of my questions since you got here, so I don’t believe you have a right to complain.”

He was right, of course. He always was. But technically, he was equally at fault in this case. He was the one who sucked at interrogation, so much so that you took pity on his colleagues. They would have to deal with his lack of results.

You weren’t complaining, however. You enjoyed talking to him, looking at him, being in his presence. It was a stupid crush to have, but you didn’t care. He was beautiful to look at, the way his biceps curled behind his head, the lean toughness of his body, the sheer strength he possessed. Your eyes trailed down his sprawling figure, tracing each indent and dip and curve of his skin in your mind.

“Are you finished staring at me?” His words jerked you out of your stupor and you felt heat rushing to your cheeks.

“I-I wasn’t- I didn’t-“ you babbled until he stopped you.

“Don’t worry, it’s only natural to find me… appealing. You haven’t spent time with anyone else for a very long time.”

You almost screamed on the spot, burying your face in your hands. You peeked out between your splayed fingers to look at him, seemingly unbothered save for the slight pink tinge hidden beneath his bangs.

“How can you say things like that, sir?”

“Like what?”

“Uhm, never mind.”

You wanted the ground to swallow you up whole. He was so, so dense, it was a wonder he even noticed you basically eye-fucking him. You felt the cot creak beside you and a slight dip in the weight. Icarus had seated himself beside you on the small bed and was looking at you with eyes full of concern.

“I did not mean to shame you for your gaze, hero.”

He said it gently and kindly. It would be almost romantic if not for the situation you were in. You remained silent, so he continued.

“I believe it is normal for you to feel this way towards someone who has been in such close quarters with you for so long a time. You should be glad that you still have these urges.”

You suppressed a groan. This felt like having the sex talk with your parents all over again. “Sir-“

“-in fact, everyone feels them!”

He was rambling, oh god you needed him to shut up-

“I feel them for you all the time, and I’m completely normal.”

And suddenly, the air changed between you into something charged and heated.

“You… have urges around me?” You wanted to hear him say it again, just once, but he turned away from you, tensing up and rising from his seat awkwardly. His face was stony and his hair covered his eyes like bicolored curtains. There suddenly was space between the two of you, some insurmountable gap that could not be bridged.

“I apologize deeply. I have misspoken.”

“Sir, wait, you don’t have to leave!” You cried out as he made his way to the door.

“But I do. You don’t deserve this treatment, and it is cruel of me to hurt you in this manner.”

And that was when something broke within you, something that had been holding you together this whole time.

“No.”

He turned around, almost scared by the anger in your voice.

“This is when you decide to stop? You have literally kidnapped me, interrogated me, left me in all but isolation, for a fucking month. You took me from everything that I wanted and everyone that I love and yet, and YET, I wanted you. Goddamn it, I still want you. I don’t understand why. So don’t apologize to me for misleading me or whatever bullshit excuse you’ve decided to use as a sheild. Apologize for everything you have done to me, you fucking cunt.”

And then your voice broke and you could feel the tears rushing to your eyes, your vision turning glassy as your chest heaved with sobs. You could feel yourself slipping away, your breaths growing shallow and your body shaking. Why did you stay here? Why didn’t you leave when you could? What was the point, if Icarus didn’t even want you?

And then, suddenly, you felt warm.

Icarus, sir, whoever the fuck he was, was holding you tightly in his arms, head dipped down into the crook of your neck, his arms enveloping you in his warmth. He was your sun. And he could scorch you again and again but you would still be drawn to him.

Your panic died down and you wept for the first time since you arrived. The two of you sank down to the floor, his apologies muttered swiftly and quietly against your skin. You were in his lap now, your body curled up into a ball in his embrace, one of his palms cupping your face. He turned you slightly towards him.

His eyes were wet too, but only slightly, and his fingers were thumbing at the tears on your cheeks. One of them got close to the corner of your mouth and slowly but surely, with almost childlike fascination, he pushed the tip of it in. Your tongue ran along the edges of it, the salty taste leaving you wanting more.

And slowly, Icarus leaned forward, his lovely face the closest you had ever been to him. He removed his finger from your mouth and kissed you instead, gently, and then all at once.

It was a furious kiss, on that burned and heated a cold room. You could feel teeth and tongue and hot tears, a clashing finale of a kiss. It was against your lips that he murmured his name.

“My name is Todoroki Shouto.”

He said it softly, leaving your lips to place open-mouthed kisses on your neck that left you moaning and had wetness pooling between your legs. But suddenly, your eyes snapped open.

“Todoroki? As in-“

He kissed you again to silence as you felt the questions racing through your head. Endeavor was Todoroki Enji, right? But he had never mentioned having kids to you? Was Shouto lying to you? Why did he want to destroy his father? And how were you-

“Shh.” Shouto tapped his forehead to yours. “Let me take care of you.”

Fuck it. The questions could wait.

Shouto reached down to pull off your shirt and groaned at the sight of you. He looked at you in wonder.

“You- hero, you make me feel like I’m on fire.” He said it with such sincerity that you nearly cried again were it not for his palming of your breasts, his burning fingertips tweaking your nipples and making you whimper slightly.

“I am so sorry. I’m sorry for everything I put you through-“ you were placed on the bed- “I’m sorry for taking you away-“ He was kneeling, fucking kneeling, between your legs- “but most of all-“ fuck, he placed hot kisses on your stomach as he pulled your pants down-

“I’m sorry I didn’t have the courage to do this sooner.”

And with that, his tongue was lapping at you through your panties, new ones that the villains had provided for you, with reckless abandon. Your hands tugged at his hair and you heard his hum of a chuckle as a vibration on your pussy. There was pressure, so much pressure from him against you, like nothing you had felt before, and when he finally pushed your panties aside, they were soaking wet.

Shouto looked up at you for a moment, meeting your gaze with his own, eyes sparkling with desire. And then, without a word, He pressed a small kiss to your clit that had you jolt slightly before he dove in. He had you moaning within seconds, his tongue lapping at your folds before swirling around your clit. You felt yourself reaching a climax- it was too good and too fast and too much and- Shouto pushed a finger inside you and crooked it slightly and you began humping your hips upwards as he nursed at your clit. Your climax was swift and powerful, but he didn’t move throughout it. Even as you came down from your high, his mouth planted on you and his finger gently pumped in and out. Shouto added one more easily, and you swore you saw stars when he began thrusting. He fucked you with his fingers, marveling at your reactions, the sounds you made, your pussy pulling him in.

“Fuck, hero, you’re so wet. Is this all for me? Have you gotten off to me fucking you like this in this bed?”

You moaned loudly and Shouto removed his fingers, leaving you feeling empty. There was a dark look in his eyes that you remembered from the first day you arrived.

“Answer me, hero.”

You nodded your head slightly, but that wasn’t enough for him. He rose to his feet and without warning, he smacked your clit. You squealed loudly from the stimulation, the pain turning into pleasure quickly. His palm was cold as ice, and you squirmed dumbly against his touch.

“Answer the question.”

“Yes, yes, sir, I’ve thought about you fucking me everywhere in this room-“

Shouto’s palm reverted back to his normal temperature and you sighed with relief as he cupped your pussy and rubbed it gently.

“What a good, slutty, hero. Have you touched yourself when you think about me?”

You blushed slightly and hid your face behind your hands. God, this was embarrassing. Of course you had gotten off to the thought of him, but to say it out loud was a different feeling altogether.

You took too long and Shouto spanked your clit again. You let out a shriek and tried to wriggle away from him, but he just pulled you closer.

“I want to see your face, doll.” You whimpered at the new pet name. “Now, have you touched yourself when you think about me?”

“Y-yes sir-”

“Y-yes s-sir-‘ so shy for someone who wants a villain to fuck your hero pussy into behaving.” he palmed himself over his trousers, letting out a little huff of pleasure. “I want to, shit, want to fucking ruin you.”

Shouto pulled you to him as your hips thrust desperately against the air.

“Yes sir! Want you to fuck me, want you inside me-“

He groaned and humped into you, the metal of his belt buckle catching against your clit and making you flinch with overstimulation. Shouto noticed and pulled you closer as he stood at the side of the bed, your back flat against the mattress and your hips arched upwards to meet his bulge. He rutted into you again, forcing your pussy to kiss the metal of the buckle once more. You felt your body seizing up, your orgasm building inside you, and Shouto, with a sadistic gleam in his eyes, pressed his buckle harder against you.

The longer it stayed there, the more it heated up, almost more pain than pleasure, until Shouto wrapped your legs around his waist and thrust against you. There was a wet patch on his pants and you kept shrinking away from the burning hot metal that teased at your clit.

“You have no idea what you do to me, fucking hell-” He managed to spit out, “I’m not even inside you and you’re dripping all over me like a bitch in heat-”

He continued to hump you roughly, each time more forceful than the last until you came loudly as Shouto pushed your body into the belt buckle. “No more, Shouto, please, no more- its too much-”

“Too much for you already, hero? I haven’t even come yet. And you- how many times have you reached your climax today?”

You almost screamed with frustration- how were you supposed to know, you didn't fucking keep track-

“I can tell you, brat.” He grabbed your waist and flipped you easily onto your stomach. You were completely exposed to him now, unable to see his face, out of control entirely.

“You have come three fucking times. That doesn’t feel very fair to me, does it? Do you want my cum inside you?”

You buried your face into your pillow, and he pushed down slightly on your lower back, creating an arch. You startled when he teased his cockhead against the surface of your pussy, wetness coating his dick.

“Shouto, I want your cum-”

His palm came down hard on your asscheek, forcing a gasp out of you as he rubbed it softly with his palms. He leaned closer towards you, his voice whispering in your ear.

“Then beg.”

And, with your voice muffled by the pillow, you followed his orders.

“Sir, fuck me, please, please- I need you inside me, I need you to cum for me, please- Shouto, Daddy-“

Your begging got cut off by him thrusting into you. You screamed and he shushed you gently, holding your hand with his own. “Do you think you can take the rest of it?”

The rest of it? There was more? You looked over your shoulder and nearly passed out. You had barely taken half of his length and you were already completely filled up. But… you wanted to feel him, all of him, so you muttered a soft “yes.”

“Okay, baby, take it easy…” he eased a couple more inches into you before you tightened up, your pussy clenching and back arching as he slid in. “Oh fuck,” Shouto groaned. “Do that one more time and I won’t be able to hold back.”

And of course, you grinned. And proceeded to clench yourself around his length again.

Shouto nearly growled. “I warned you, hero.”

And then, he thrust into you. Hard. And he kept going, pumping in and out of your body like a machine, his thumb rubbing against your clit and his other hand on your leg. You are screaming and crying and babbling on about how good his cock is, how good you felt, how this is what you wanted. And Shouto? The cocky bastard was gloating.

“Look at you, such a good slut on my cock. Are you crying? God, thats so fucking hot. I’ve got a cute little hero crying on my dick. I know you can use your quirk now, Hero, I know Aizawa sensei returned it to you. Did you stay because you wanted me to fuck you like this? Did you want to be corrupted?”

“Yes,” you’re almost incoherent, “yes, ruin me, make me a villain, I wanna be a villain!”

Shouto slows his pace for a moment. “You would leave Endeavor? Leave the agency?”

“Yes, I would, Shouto, fuck, anything for you-”

He slapped the inside of your thigh before resuming his pace again. You had never felt so full before, his dick reaching places within you that you didn’t even know existed. His palms gripped the sides of your hips so tightly you thought you might bruise, tiny burn marks already forming in the place of his fingertips. You were close, so close, your tears and drool spilling over your pillow and your body limp and helpless before him. Shouto felt you clenching around him, completely spent.

“Do you want to cum again? What a greedy pussy you have, hero, a needy little cumdump.”

You couldnt get words out, croaking out your mumbled yeses and nodding your head vigorously. He pounded even harder into you and reached around your thighs to your clit, rubbing it in tiny circles as he fucked you. You could feel your climax building for the fourth time and you twitched pathetically beneath him. Finally, Shouto pinched your clit slightly and you came with a wail of his name.

He fucked you through your orgasm, but he was slower now, his strokes hitting you deeper than before.

“Do, fuck- do you want me to cum in your pretty pussy?”

Shouto was hunched over you, his head resting on your back and his arms caging you in so that he was all that surrounded you. His breath came out in cold pants and his thrusts got more and more erratic as he neared his own climax.

“Please, I need you to want this, I need you- shit, I...” You could hear the desperation in his voice, how he yearned for you, and you the words fell out of your mouth before you could stop them.

“Yes, Daddy! Want you to come inside, fucking breed me-”

“Oh fuck, Y/n-”

And then Shouto came with a groan, his cum splattering your insides with warmth. He pressed kisses to your spine, trailing his fingers down your arms as he turned you to the side. He didn’t pull out of you as he did so, causing you to groan slightly. Finally, he released you and gently removed his dick from where you were connected. Some of his cum oozed out and he pushed it back in with his fingers, trapping his seed within you forever.

The pair of you laid together side by side for a moment, Shouto’s fingers tracing your body with slow, lingering touches as if he was afraid you would shatter the moment he pressed too hard.

You were the one who broke the silence. “ You said my real name.”

“I did. I love your name, Y/n. It just felt... wrong to say it when you were my prisoner. It was easier to distance myself from you if I just thought of you as a random hero. But you’re more than that now.”

You stared straight into his eyes, your hands reaching up to run gently through his silky hair. “I’m not leaving, Shouto. I’m never leaving this place. And I’m not just staying for you- I like it here. The villains like me, and they respect me. You aren’t bad people- if anything, the rest of the world has been far worse than anything or anyone I’ve faced here. It feels like I’m finally home.”

Shouto gathered you into his arms and pressed you tightly to his side. “You will be mine now,” he said almost matter-of-factly.

“And you will be mine as well.” You planted a small kiss to his nose that made his eyelids flutter and a slight blush crawl onto his cheeks.

“You deserve the world, Y/n,” he said hesitantly. “And I am not even close to being good enough for you.”

Shouto’s eyes were downcast and you could see the doubt creeping in. You gently pressed your fingers to his furrowed brows and soothed the wrinkles away. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” He asked.

“Put yourself down. You are more than enough for me. And Shouto? I don’t need the world. I already reached my sun.”

He smiled at you then, with no underlying malice, no undertone of darkness. It was blinding. Goddamn it, you would do anything to see that smile for the rest of your life.

“That was terribly cheesy, Y/n.”

“Shut up, Shouto.”

He kissed you, and you could feel the butterflies in your stomach fluttering up a storm. Todoroki Shouto was your sun, and you were his. And even if you both melted away under your flames, it would have been worth the loss.

-Bonus-

2 weeks later:

“So, uhm, Y/n, Todoroki, we were reviewing the footage from Y/n’s old room the other day. While we’re all happy you two are *ahem* together now, maybe you can display your... appreciation for one another in a more private place?” Kirishima was blushing profusely and refused to meet your eyes. Suddenly, it clicked for you.

“WE WERE BEING RECORDED?”

“And?”

“SHOUTO!”

“Ah yes, how horrible and violating, I feel as though I have been exposed indecently without my permission for the perverted public to see. They will be unable to contain themselves when faced with my immeasurably sexy figure.”

“You are NOT being helpful.”

“I beg to differ, Y/n. Kirishima, is there any way you can send me a copy of the tape-”

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A/N: I hope you like this and please let me know if I should do a villain!UA series because I only write under the influence of peer pressure.

#todoroki x you #shouto smut #mha smut #shouto x y/n #shouto x reader #villain!shouto #todoroki shouto #shouto todoroki #bnha smut #bnha fluff #mha imagines #bnha imagines #shouto fluff #shouto angst #nee talks

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