#that you are supposed to give me what we bargained for but every fucking time I get screwed

[long-live-astronerd-ghost-king]

DPXDC prompt: Dead on main. No trick only treat.

~~Сhildhood friends and deals~~

The Justice League has to summon a ghost from another dimension to address the threat. They don’t know what price the Ghost King will take but there’s little time to bargain. Another spirit threatening them has already seized all the computers on their base. John doesn’t know what else to offer. A summoned ghost starts to look bored. Gold, jewelry? A favor from a member of the League? Like the Ruler of All Dead needs it. No one dares to make another offer, and the King is in no hurry to set out his demands. Maybe try to pull off a soul sale scam?

Suddenly, Red Hood breaks into the hall, walks up to Phantom and shakes his shoulder vigorously. Red Hood: You, get Technus out of here right now. I need access to the files and fast. Phantom: That’s rude, dude. Where did you grow up? in the cave? No "hello, no how are you, Danny", really? Red Hood: I’ll pay the usual price. Phantom: Deal.

What is the price? John sees Batman and gets in his way. The usual price, his guy said. Means Jay was already out of the deal alive and well. This hyperprotective bat would only piss off the ruler if he interfered.

The King quickly deals with his subordinate using a thermos and remains to watch working Hood. Red Hood: What do you want? I’m busy. Danny: You and I have a contract~ Red Hood: All right, all right. Jay throws M&Ms right in the face of the ghost. But king doesn’t look angry. He opens the package and starts sorting the candies by color. Phantom quickly eats up all the green ones and passes the red ones to Hood. Jason takes them without any questions.

Strange. John has never seen a summoned creature share its reward with a human. And the son of a bat looks too comfortable with it. Wait, since when do super-powered beings think that candy is a decent wage?John makes one of the most likely deductions using his experience. Constantine: Batsy, how long has your son been sleeping with the King of Ghosts? Batman: He…what?!

~~~~~~~

Dick *knocking at the door*: Little Wing, you hate ectoplasm and everything what is neon green, so why? He’s dangerous! Jason who turned on the music to not listen to his crazy family: ~He’s poison but tasty~

Dick: NoOOoo

~~~~~~

Jason: And now everyone thinks that I sold my virginity to you for a bargain or something, because interdimensional creatures like you aren’t supposed to help for nothing. Like you’re playing favorites. I’m gonna fucking kill John. Danny: Well, I wouldn’t say no to that. Jason: What? Danny: I mean, to k-kill John, yeah. How dare he.. Jason: Omg, you’re still so terrible liar, Fenton.

Danny: Sorry :(

Jason: No. Say it again.

~~~~Twelve years ago~~~~ Maddie wasn’t thrilled to learn that Danny was trying to make friends with Todd’s son. Their neighbor was terrible. And his son was definitely a street rat and probably a juvenile delinquent. Maddie: Danny, honey, there’s got to be a reason this boy is talking to you. Even kids from the crime alley are always looking for a bargain they can make or a fool they can fool. Danny: But Jason is so cool! He knows so much about books and alleys and.. Maddie: But you don’t want to be a fool, do you? Danny: Okay, Mom, I get it.

So, if Danny wants a cool friend, he’s got to offer a bargain.

He didn’t have a lot of pocket money for every month but Jason needed it more anyway. And his lunch that Jack was picking for him was big enough for two and only bitten on Tuesdays. Nice. Jason: Do I understand correctly? You will pay me and give me food, and I, what? Protect you from bullies? Danny: No! I’m not weak, I don’t need to be protected. Just..maybe we could sit together at lunch and walk each other home sometimes? Jason: Nay Danny: But why? You want something else? Jason: Money’s fine but your homemade food is…strange. Danny: I can bring sweets if you want. Jason: Deal. 3 pop tarts for a joint lunch, a party size bag of M&Ms if you waste my time out of school.

~~~~

Sometimes they share sweets when they hang out but more often Jayson takes them home to save in case his parents have money problems. Sweets have a long shelf life stored and he may not be afraid to poison himself. Over time, candy becomes their currency and a secret language for all occasions. Need help without unnecessary questions? M&Ms. Problems with learning? Skittles. The question is about family? Snickers. There will be a serious conversation? Pop Tarts.

Jason: One snickers and a pack of gum. Danny: Yeah, Jason? What do you want? Jason: My mom wants to meet my friend. Come to lunch on Sunday. Danny: Okay, you managed to pay for my expensive services. Jason:…and you just lost the gum from the deal.

~~~~~~

Jason threw a package at Danny: Three pop tarts. We need to talk. Danny: All right? Jason: Why are you avoiding me all week?! Danny: Well, it’s just..you’re Wayne now. Jason. Still Todd. And what about that? Danny: You can hang out with the cooler guys now, I didn’t want to embarrass you. Jason: Bullshit! I’m still the street rat, and you’re trying to avoid our contract. me. And I don’t even need money from you anymore. What the hell? I thought you are my friend. Danny: And I am!

~~~~~~

Robin: What’s a schoolboy doing in an alley at night? Danny: Um, I…nothing? Don’t tell my parents, Mr. Robin sir. Robin: It will cost you so many Chunky Bars, you have no idea. Danny:...Jason? Jason: N-no. Danny: Damn yes. What are you doing in green shorts on the street at night?! Jason: Cosplay. Danny: Oh yeah? Then I’m just your hallucination. Don’t hesitate to ghost me. I’m going home, Disgrace In Pixie Boots, bye. Jason: fu%&c$#u

[steddieasitgoes]

he can't sit with us (or maybe he can?)

written for @steddie-week Day 4 prompt: Trade Rating: T | wc: 2651 | no cw thank you to @stevethehairington and @thefreakandthehair for beta-ing this one for me!! Read on ao3

Eddie is amped up. 

Lunch has always been his favorite part of the school day, but today is going to be an especially good one. Not because of his lunch — he forgot to grab the sandwich he made last night so he wouldn’t forget, and he’s been out of lunch credit for weeks now, so he’s shit out of luck on that front — but because today’s the day he unleashes his latest rant on the hivemind that is the Hawkins High student body. 

It’s taken him weeks to work out everything he wants to say about the giant mall they’re building a few blocks from Main Street that everyone and their workaholic fathers are excited about. The one that led to the demolishment of Hawkins' second-best trailer park — Forest Hills being the best, obviously. He even asked Wayne’s advice on what he should say since his uncle has way more experience going against The Man™ and The Man’s™ People. 

He’s pretty proud of what he’s come up with. Sure, it’s a typical Munson rant that goes on a personal tangent in the middle about how Sam Goody and Tape World are probably going to put Jet’s Jams out of music. And okay, yeah, Jet’s Jams is the fucking worst most of the time and only ever has the top 40s bullshit in stock, but at least Eddie has some pull with good ole’ Jet and can bargain with the dude to order a metal record or two every once in a while. You think Sam Goody is going to take his advice? Not a chance in hell!

But then he’ll get back on track and get into the educational stuff that Wayne talked to him about. At least, that’s the plan; all he has to do is stick to the bullet point list he scribbled out in Ms. O’Donnell’s class thirty minutes ago, ignoring whatever the fuck she was going on about at the front of the room. 

It’s going to be great. Definitely one of his best lunchtime soapbox speeches. Hell, maybe this will be the one to actually wake some of his peers up. Capitalism is the real devil here. Not him. 

He’s bouncing with adrenaline and nerves as he saunters into the crowded cafeteria, ready for his moment, ready for—

What the hell? 

Eddie stops midstride when he spots Gareth and Jeff waving at him from a table in the middle of the room. Again, what the hell? That’s not their table. Not even fucking close. 

Eddie doesn’t believe in the social hierarchy of high school cliques, but he does respect the lunch table distribution system Hawkins’ operates under. And he knows, without a shadow of a doubt, that tables in the middle are destined for the so-called elite. Not his Dungeons & Dragons club and the other lost sheep stragglers he’s accumulated over his extended high school career.  

They’re supposed to be sitting at a table on the outskirts of the room. The one by the windows, with the art kids to his right and the drama kids to his left. The weirdo, outcast corner. 

And yet, there they are in the middle of the room at a table usually occupied by the so-called elites and anyone else they’ve deemed worthy of their company. 

“This isn’t our table,” Eddie says, slamming his hands down with enough force to knock Gareth’s brown paper bag over, taking his unopened Dr. Pepper can with it. 

Gareth scowls, righting the can. “Now I see why you’re a super senior. Of course, it’s not our fucking table!” 

Eddie intertwines his fingers before pillowing his chin against them. “Okay then, Gareth the Great, tell me why we are sitting here.” 

“Our table is occupied,” Jeff supplies. 

“Occupied? Everyone knows that’s our table! Is this person new? Have they recently had a lobotomy?” 

This time, it’s Freak who speaks up. “No. He knows. He probably just doesn’t give a shit. A table’s a table or whatever.” 

Or whatever? Fat chance. A table hasn’t ever been just a table in the hellscape that is Hawkins High. Still, Eddie can’t help but be curious. There aren’t many people who would willingly sit at a new table this late into the school year. It’s a ballsy move.

He figures it’s a scorned drama kid or drumline member — there’s always drama in those groups; someone is always fucking someone they shouldn’t be, horny assholes. But when he turns to get a glance at this intruder, it’s not a butthurt outcast taking up court at the table, but rather Hawkins' very own Fallen King, Steve Harrington. 

For the third time, what the hell? 

“Did you tell him it’s our table?” 

“No! He’s Steve Harrington! I don’t think he’ll appreciate a couple of nerds telling him to move.” 

“And we value our lives too much to mess with upperclassmen,” Gareth says, mumbling something about learning his lesson the last time he tried something stupid like that. 

Eddie rolls his eyes before scoffing loud enough to startle the nearby table of cheerleaders. He wiggles his fingers in an innocent wave before focusing his attention back on his friends. 

“Please, Steve is all bark and no bite. And he hasn’t been Steve Harrington in a while.” Eddie raises his voice several octaves, batting his eyelashes as he says Steve’s name. “Now he’s just Steve Harrington,” he says, shrugging his shoulders with a nonchalance he never would have expected to use for someone of Steve’s former status. “He’s just some guy whose girlfriend dumped him for an artsy loner.” 

“It doesn’t matter, man! You don’t mess with people like Harrington,” Jeff says, shaking his head. “I’m sure it’s just like a one-time thing or something. It’s not like any of his friends are sitting with him. Maybe he’s just fighting with them.” 

Jeff has a point. Steve is alone. Sitting at the table all be himself, poking disinterestedly at an apple sauce cup. He’s not cowering or trying to make himself smaller like most people would do if they were stuck eating lunch alone, but he’s not making a show of it either. He’s just there. Minding his own business, staring out the windows Eddie has spent all five years of his high school career looking out off. 

“Those sounds like quitting words, Jefferson,” Eddie taunts, turning his attention back to the group. He makes a show of looking each and every Hellfire member in the eyes when he speaks again. “Are we quitters?” 

The entire table groans, a few shake their heads. Gareth, always the brave one, throws a chip at Eddie’s head that he manages to catch in his mouth. And people say he’s not athletic! 

“Since we’re not quitters, what should we do about this unlawful infiltration?” 

“I don’t know if it's an infiltration,” Freak says. “We just like traded tables without a verbal agreement.” 

“That’s worse than a seize!” 

“I don’t know, man. You’re the one that’s all fired up about it. Why don’t you go over there and ask Harrington to give it back to us.” 

“You know what,” Eddie says, pushing off the table until he’s standing. “I will.” 

With the same gravitas he entered the cafeteria with, Eddie saunters over to Steve. The sooner he gets this table thing handled, the sooner he can get on with his lunchtime diatribe — see Mr. Vance, I do listen in English class, old bat.

Eddie’s not a quiet walker by any means — he’s had enough pillows thrown at his head from Wayne for the way he stomps around the trailer in the mornings — but he manages to sneak up on Steve. Maybe it’s because his eyes are trained on a squirrel running up a tree in the distance, mumbling encouragements as the poor thing struggles to make it up. 

Huh, Harrington’s a squirrel fan? Who knew? 

Eddie’s watch chirps, a reminder that there are only ten minutes left of lunch. Jesus H. Christ! He’ll have to do an abridged version of his speech now, but it should still be enough to get his point across. That is if he manages to get Steve to trade tables with them without a fight. 

“Fancy seeing you here, Steve,” Eddie says, loud enough to startle Steve out of the squirrel watching. “What brings you to my humble abode?” 

Steve glances up at him with a look of disinterest he seems to have perfected in his fall from grace. And honestly, as much as Eddie hates to admit it and would never say it out loud unless he was being waterboarded or some shit, this new version of Steve really works for him. 

“Your humble what?” Steve asks, dropping his disinterest to look up confused instead. 

His brows pull together, scrunching up his forehead in a way that should be unflattering but is honestly sort of endearing. And his head is tilted to the side like a confused animal — something Eddie has a lot of experience with, given his unofficial status as a trailer park animal rescuer. Eddie’s so lost in studying Steve’s confusion that he forgets to actually respond, which like, is new territory for Eddie. He’s never one not to talk. 

“Look, man, I don’t know what you want, but could you just spit it out so I can go back to enjoying my lunch?”

Eddie’s personality returns to his body in an instant. “Enjoying your lunch, you say?” He takes a second to glance at Steve’s lunch tray. A measly bite has been taken out of the cardboard the school passes off as pizza. The side of congealed mac and cheese sits untouch and his apple sauce cup is open but still perfectly intact. “Doesn’t look like you ate at all, Steve.” 

“Seriously, Munson, what do you want?” 

Eddie tsks and yanks the seat next to Steve away from the table before not-so-gracefully falling into it. He kicks his feet up on the table a moment later, the toe of his boot knocking against the carton of milk he’s willing to bet Steve also hasn’t touched. Though he can’t really blame him for that one. Milk is not a lunchtime beverage, and no amount of dairy propaganda is ever going to change that. 

“As I’m sure you’re aware, Harrington, this is my table.” 

“I didn’t know the cafeteria had assigned seats.” 

“Bullshit, you didn’t,” Eddie growls, throwing his hands up in the air. The move forces him to lose his balance, chair wobbling on two legs under him, threatening to give out and dump him on his ass. Definitely not the lunchtime show he was hoping to give today. But before he meets his demise, Steve extends his hand, steadying the chair long enough for Eddie to drop his feet and reclaim his balance. “Thanks.” 

Steve grunts in response and goes back to staring out the window. 

Fucking squirrel. 

“Look, Steve,” Eddie says, getting straight to the point this time. “I don’t know why you decided to switch tables today or why you decided my table was the one you suddenly wanted, but can we please just switch back?” 

“I’m good here.” 

He tears his eyes away from the window for long enough to glance at his former table, where Gareth and Jeff are using straws as lightsabers without a care in the world. Steve snorts, and Eddie stiffens; he really, really doesn’t want to have to fight anyone today, but if Steve’s willing to be a dick about his friends in front of his face, well, fight, he will. But then Steve’s face softens, and he shakes his head in amusement. 

“Looks like your friends are good where they’re at, too. Though the lightsaber skills could use some work,” Steve teases. “Are we good then?”

“No, we’re not good!” Eddie shouts, trying his best to keep his brain on task. We’re here to get our table back, not ponder why Steve Harrington suddenly has a soft spot for nerds because what? “That’s your table, man, and this is ours. You’re going to upset the fragile balance of this place.” 

“Shouldn’t you be thanking me or something? I thought upsetting the balance was your life goal.” 

How dare Steve Harrington read him like that.

Since his dramatics haven’t worked, Eddie opts for the truth this time. “I have no interest in sitting in the middle of the damn cafeteria where everyone can see me and my friends just to cause a little societal unrest.” 

“And I have no interest in being forced to sit in the middle so everyone can stare at me while judging me and my mistakes.” 

Oh. 

The truth shouldn’t be all that shocking. Anyone who has eyes has witnessed Steve’s fall from King too well; Eddie’s not sure there is a word for what Steve is now. He’s not a pariah or an outcast, not smart enough to be a nerd, and the rumor is he quit basketball, so he’s not a jock. He’s just… lost? 

Steve groans, running a hand over his face for a second before his fingers pinch the bridge of his nose. “Can we pretend I didn’t say that?” 

“Uh, sure?” 

“Look, Eddie, I’m not going to trade tables with you, but if this one means that much to you, I don’t mind sharing.” 

“I thought you said you don’t want people staring at you?” 

“I don’t.” 

“Okay, well, sitting with the Freaks of Hawkins is definitely going to get people staring and talking, and honestly, you might even have to dodge a punch or two just for being in our vicinity.” 

“I’ll survive.” 

For the first time in his life, Eddie has no idea what to say. On one hand the idea of sharing a table is so preposterous he’s convinced he might be dreaming right now. But after a quick pinch to confirm that he is awake, he goes back to weighing his options. Sharing a table with Steve isn’t ideal, but sitting in the middle of the fucking cafeteria is a death sentence. He might be able to hold his own with the upper echelon of Hawkins High, but his ragtag group of friends isn’t so scrappy. 

And then there’s the lost sheep of it all. 

Eddie’s spent most of his high school career looking after lonely high schoolers. Whisking them under his wing, giving them a safe space to eat lunch or a club to hang out at after school to avoid having to walk back home alone. He thought he’d become somewhat of an expert at it, but it seems Steve Harrington has managed to slip through his cracks. 

Eddie would be the world’s biggest hypocrite if he didn’t at least try with Steve. It’s not like he has to join Hellfire or anything. All he’s really asking for his a spot at their lunch table. 

“I have one condition.” 

“Of course you do,” Steve says, rolling his eyes. 

“Actually, I have two.” Steve chuckles and motions for Eddie to get on with it already. “One, you can’t make fun of anything that happens at the table. We’re weird. You know it, we know it. We’re allowed to tease each other about it. You are not.” 

“I wouldn’t do that. Not anymore.” 

Eddie nods. “And two, you have to give me your dessert every day.” 

“Every day?” Steve balks. “You can have my applesauce and pudding cups, but I’m not giving you Friday’s chocolate cake.” 

“Guess you’re going to have to go back to sitting at the fishbowl table then.” 

Eddie watches as Steve considers this for a moment before his shoulders heave the world’s biggest sigh. “Fine.” 

Without warning, Eddie pushes away from the table, the legs of the chair screeching against the linoleum. His lips twitch at the corners, pulling into a genuine smile as he stands and offers Steve his hand. “Welcome to the Freak table, Steve.” 

[mari-lair]

your posts about this newest chapter are so real because it disappointed me so much.

It was way too lighthearted and just seemed like a huge joke. I was expecting the trial to have suspense where you can really feel for the characters and wonder what will happen next, but it just ended up being comedic. It was funny, I’ll give it that, but I really really wanted some angst.

This may just be me, but Teru felt so out of canon to me. I can understand him putting on that “flawless student council” mask but it feels odd considering he is around mostly supernaturals. He is shown to be very intelligent and considering he is an exorcist and they are school mysteries why tf would that “look at how beautiful I am I could never” argument work. It was funny, sure, but just seemed out of canon for him.

Akane felt a little out of canon too to me? Probably not but he seemed to fully accept his role as a judge with little to no guilt at all. We don’t really get him looking guiltily at Teru or feeling frustrated, he’s just kind of there. Probably because (as always) the story focused on Hanako, Yashiro, and Tsukasa.

NOW UGHH TSUKASA IS SO FAVORITED ITS PAINFUL. You’re telling me after all that suspense around the clock keepers he takes them out in TWO PANELS. The clock keepers seem like a fucking joke in this chapter instead of the powerful mysterious beings they have shown to be previously.

Overall I expected something much more satisfying and I hope next chapter will be a little better because the last chapter got me so excited for nothing.

just my opinion though, I know some people enjoyed this chapter and that’s totally ok! just not my personal favorite

That's a mood ya-rr-ow. Big mood.

Many people enjoyed the chapter, and I'm happy for them, but I was also majorly disappointed so I'll talk about what you mentioned here and add some other things.

(I will just focus on the negatives here so if you're feeling hyped about the chapter. I am sorry, I wouldn't recommend reading this)

Okay let's go

Chapter 108 went out of its way to create a tense atmosphere, it was mostly a set up and hype piece for the trial.

Mirai was a beast, but Akane was the one that really set up the tone. He had the power to make Teru harmless, which only hyped up the other clock keepers since he is the lowest ranking keeper. Mirai and Kako's supposed power was said to be dangerous enough to make Akane, who hates supernaturals and is so firm in his beliefs, feel cornered, switch sides to 'do his duties', his vague words hinting that there is more to this trial than it seems on the surface.

So I don't think we were being delusional to expect this trial to be dramatic. To have angst. Or at least, character dept. To be important.

But despite the trial being the title, the spotlight, we got none of it: Not only is the trial treated as a joke, which I already don't vibe with considering how tense the atmosphere in chapter 108 is. It is an empty joke.

It doesn't teach us anything about the characters, it doesn't give any new information. Nothing.

Hanako's trial was a gag. He isn't even my priority character, but considering how he have the title of 'leader of the mysteries' and had been put on trial before for the Yorishiro's destruction, it is a baffling choice to make Kako not mention this big BIG crime when judging him.

Nene's trial 'revealed' she likes Hanako and want to confess to him. Which she has been doing this whole manga.

We could talk about her time crimes (every time travel that made her meet Amane), try to bargain her lifespan since this is the main conflict in the story and they are talking to the keepers of time. They could talk about her crime of helping to destroy the yorishiros with Hanako, or just acknowledge she is still a threat since she is the Kannagi, the only one capable of ripping their yorishiro in the first place. But no, those are stupid, let's spend 4 full pages of a monthly manga to tease a confession she already did in the very previous chapter.

Teru revealed he has some craving for destruction on him. Which surprise, surprise! It also isn't new information! How nice!

( I talked about his love for the idea of destruction and how it's almost an escapism recently, here you go if you're curious)

About Teru and Akane's acting weird. That's not them being ooc, that's Aidairo making a narrative choice to not take anything serious, including his own characters. Everyone is acting like themselves, and nothing contradicts what has been established about their personalities, but their competence has been drastically downgraded to move the plot quickly.

Teru has the bad habit of becoming pathetic when he has strong feelings, like locking himself in his room and hiding under the covers after his fight with Kou, immediately hitting Akane's stab wound when he is too late to rescue aoi cause the situation stressed him. So it is in character that he wants to kill Akane, who has always been his stress relief.

However, because Teru takes things so personally, and it was stablished in chapter 108 that Teru is way more bothered by Akane's betrayal than being in a court of law, it makes no sense that he treat it as a normal court instead of using his very obvious alibi that he couldn't destroy the clock because he was with Akane. Teru doesn't turn this court into the confrontation that would bring attention to their split up, doesn't go "Are you doing to deny my alibi now?? betray me again??" or question "So? We are here! Why did it had to be now??" or anything that builds up on the last chapter to expand it.

Cause Aidairo decided the court doesn't matter. The build up doesn't matter. Once more, the consequences are an afterthought. We don't need the answers to anything.

Akane is still guilty, he can't look at Teru in the eye, can't defend him, but he goes "!!!" when Teru finally calls for him, paying full attention.

But this is comedic. And as i mentioned above, Teru doesn't say anything useful, anything with more depth than what we already know: that he is angry by Akane's betrayal and hasn't forgiven him.

We TRULY are given nothing in this trial.

Which is insane, cause even the promo art had details to build intrigue, a vague idea that while the chapter would be comedic in nature, it would explain more about the clock keepers, or at least expand on their boundaries.

Like, what are those numbers on the scale? will they be judged by year? Will a lie make their time be stolen? oooh what could it be! Can't wait for the chapter!

And the chapter comes, and there is nothing. The whole trial feels like filler. They treated the audience as a fool for being excited.

That's why this big twist at the end? I don't care.

As you said Tsukasa is overpowered, they are Aidairo's golden child. And they will break established lore rules and make a joke out of everyone else just cause he can.

It's not just Teru and Akane who were nerfed to make the plot move faster, not allowed to have any proper focus. The clock keepers were also a joke, acting 'in character' but more incompetent than they have been stablished to be.

Tsukasa op moment doesn't make me go "wow he is so cool" it made me look at the clock keepers and go "You are all are stupid"

Cause Tsukasa has the judgment seal?? And he was already sentenced as guilty??? There are three clock keepers in the room too? So why not... you know... restrict him again...?

The clock keepers is a school rumor that was introduced all the way back in chapter 23. Like you said they are supposed to be super op! They are a mystery so hyped up that just Mirai's power (who isn't the strongest keeper) can throw the intire school into chaos in the Near Shore, where supernaturals are debuffed.

Even before Tsukasa attacked he made the clock keepers act incompetent, to make him look more mysterious and cool in comparison.

These very old and supposedly op school mysteries know Yugi Amane is Hanako, but they don't know who Amane's twin brother 'Tsukasa' is, they also don't refer to him as a yorishiro despite the seal being in his face, and use titles for every other character (Leader of the school mysteries. Kannagi. Student Body Representative)

Which might look like a small thing, silly nitpick, but it shows the favoritism isn't just for a twist. Aidairo naturally likes Tsukasa more than his own narrative, and is willing to make others be less competent for the sake of it.

I don't think Kako will die. That would objectively be bad writing at this point. He'll probably be back in the next chap, a la "teru got fucked up by No.6" and "Akane got stabbed by Aoi but he lives bitch" or even "i always had a ton of clones, like Mei of the art room" but it is still disappointing to see him and Mirai get fucked up in their own boundary after all the hype they have accumulated through the story.

There is a hint Akane can be a yorishiro at the end of the chapter, and that is cool, genuinely really cool, but I am tired of getting excited over possibilities and 'promises for the future'. I want something concrete.

Speaking of which, I don't think Akane will die. This is just another bait to keep reading like when No.6 slashed Teru, Kou, and Akane and we didn't get any answers for a few months before 'oh well nothing happened :) no consequences to be had here folks!'

"But Tsukasa has always killed everyone that he pulled the heart of! there is Mitsuba, and The puffer fish of the mermaid, and the previous No.3 (the bird)" And to that I say I trust Akane's ability to say fuck to fate.

My boy gets new death flags every year, he collects them like pokemon cards, you all should have gotten used to it.

He also survived his bae stabbing him, this isn't new. Sucks to be Tsukasa and die by a stab in the gut and all but Akane is built differently (quite literally with two bodies).

He is also in his own boundary, so if Aoi doesn't kill him while in the territory of another mystery, but he dies in No.1's boundary I will... idk probably just sigh.

In short, Aidairo treated this as joke, so I will treat their cliffhanger as one too. Give me reasons to care in chapter 110. Cause at the moment? I don't.

[armoricaroyalty]

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author's note: now here are those wholesome sibling relationships we have all come to love and expect from my story!

Transcript under the cut.

Nakawe Palace // Armorican State Visit - Day 2

REPORTER | ...I'm live outside of Nakawe Palace, where the press and members of the public alike have gathered following unconfirmed reports that Crown Princess Rosalind has, for 3 years, conducted a secret relationship. REPORTER | This afternoon, Uspanian tabloid The Concordia Times broke the story of the Crown Princess's relationship with Komrebigan national—and accused murderer—Hakane Satō, also known as Mary Yokoyama. REPORTER | [offscreen] In 2013, Yokoyama was named as a person of interest in the still-unsolved disappearance of her husband, Noah Satō. She was questioned by Komorebigan police in 2013 and again in 2014, but released without charge. Blackwell Palace has yet to comment on this developing story... MARY | [offscreen] Are you sure this is a good idea? ROSALIND | Do you have a better one? MARY | No, but give me a week— ROSALIND | We don't have a week. ROSALIND | [in Komorebigo] Darling, is everything alright? You seem upset. MARY | [forcing a smile] I'm fine. [knock on door] ROSALIND | That's them, now. ROSALIND | You're late. MARY | Good to see you both. EMILY | Don't look at me! I was ready to go while he was still putting his contacts in. FREDERICK | Sorry. I was late getting back from Canarís. I ran into an old friend... ROSALIND | Well...whatever! Come in! Sit down! We need to talk... ROSALIND | So...I'm sure you've seen the news by now. FREDERICK | Heck, I've seen the reporters. They're still all outside, by the way. EMILY | Frederick... ROSALIND | Can you not be a smug know-it-all for 15 minutes? This is serious. ROSALIND | We don't know how the story got out. We're looking into potential leaks, but in the meantime, we can't allow the press to run with this. The longer it's in the headlines, the worse it'll be for the family. EMILY | I'm so sorry, Your Highness. This must be so difficult— FREDERICK | You've got friends in the press. Can't you get Vance Marshall or one of his cronies to kill this one for you? He's done it before. ROSALIND | It's too late for that. It's all over the Uspanian press and the major Armorican networks have already picked it up. Our only option now is damage control, and we'll need something big to bury this one. ROSALIND | [sighs] We need you. Both of you. EMILY | Both of us? FREDERICK | I don't think I like where this is headed... ROSALIND | [offscreen] The only thing that people love more than a royal scandal is a royal wedding. EMILY | ... FREDERICK | ... FREDERICK | Roz, are you shitting me? EMILY | Frederick— FREDERICK | You want me to propose just to bury an embarrassing story? ROSALIND | What's the big deal? You were going to do it, anyway— FREDERICK | get shit from the press every single day of my life! And you have never once lifted a finger to defend me, but I'm supposed to make major life decisions to spare you a couple weeks of bad press? ROSALIND | [offscreen] I am the Crown Princess— FREDERICK | Yeah! I know! You've never once let anyone forget it. ROSALIND | [offscreen] —I have to be beyond reproach. ROSALIND | Unlike you, I do not have the luxury of making mistakes. Everything I do has to be perfect, for the sake of the entire family! Everyone depends on me, Freddy! Do you really think the Armorican taxpayer would keep paying for your fuck-ups if I wasn't included in the bargain? FREDERICK | Oh, poor you, it must be sOoOo fucking hard being the chosen one! ROSALIND | IT'S NOT MY FAULT I WAS BORN FIRST YOU ENTITLED LITTLE— EMILY | [offscreen] [sobs] FREDERICK | ...Em?

[jiangwanyinscatmom]

Did jc kill wwx with his own two hands? No. Is he responsible? Yes, heavily

Was him not personally exploiting the path into the burial mounds during the siege not enough then to mean Jiang Cheng had a hand in leading Wei Wuxian to his death? And does this also somehow not stand that Wen Ning, the man whose family was killed by that exploitation personally, sees Jiang Cheng as the one reason for his family was killed?

The word you use is "responsible", let's focus on that word. Since we have one person in plot who admits to the deaths he caused. Wei Wuxian admits to his part of the killings in war, he admits to himself, Wen Qing and Wen Ning being the cause of using Wen Ning to having killed Jin Zixuan with hefty amounts of regret (despite all circumstance leading to that), and to having justifiably killed the cultivators that set an attack on the Burial Mounds.

Yi Weichun, the middle aged cultivator who proclaimed to have had his leg cut off by him and had to wear a wooden prosthetic from then on, spoke up once more, “The debts of blood you owe to three thousand people will never be repaid, not even if you die over a million deaths!"

Wei Wuxian interrupted him, “Three thousand people? There were indeed three thousand cultivators present at Nightless City, but so too were the leaders, the sects and many of their best. With all of them present, could I have really killed all three thousand people? You are either thinking too highly of me, or are you looking down on them?”

He was only trying to reason fact, but the other cultivator felt as if he was being scorned, and became enraged.

"What do you think we’re talking about here? How could there be bargaining for debts of blood?”

“It’s not that I want to bargain over such a thing, but I would prefer my crimes to not to be exaggerated just because of the words of others. I won’t carry the burdens of what I didn’t do.”

Someone spoke, “What you didn’t do? What is there that you didn’t do?”

“Well, for example, I’m not the one who tore Chifeng-Zun apart. I’m not the one who forced Madam Jin to take her own life at Jinlintai. I’m also not the one who controls all of those corpses you ran into when you rushed up the mountain.”

The cultivators present are a blatant and literal metaphor for Jiang Cheng's own unreasonable grudges for how he blamed Wei Wuxian for all of the tragedies he was met with or, how he used Wei Wuxian as his scapegoat to justify his own lack of loyalty and trust to Wei Wuxian.

On the other hand, Jiang Cheng refused to give up, shouting, “Wei Wuxian, who was the one who broke his promise and betrayed the Jiang Sect first? Tell me. That I’d be the sect leader and you’d be my subordinate, that you’d help me your whole life, that so long as the Gusu Lan Clan had its Twin Jades, the Yunmeng Jiang Clan would have its Two Prides, that you’d never betray me or betray the Jiang Clan—who was the one that said that?! I’m asking you—who was the one that said all of that?! Did just you eat all your fucking words?!”

He got more agitated as he ranted on, “And in the end? You go and protect outsiders, haha! The Wen Sect’s people, even. How much of their rice did you eat?! Defecting with such resolution! What did you take our sect to be?! You did all the best things, yet every time you do the worst ones, it’s involuntary! Forced! With some unspeakable grievances! Grievances?! You told me nothing, you played me for a fool!!!

“Just how much do you owe the Jiang Clan!? Am I not supposed to hate you? Can I not hate you?! Why is it that now it’s like I’m supposed to have wronged you?! Why do I have to feel like I’m a fucking clown all these years?! What am I? Do I deserve to be blinded by all your dazzling splendor?! Am I not supposed to hate you?!”

Even blatant foreshadowing and callbacks, are sadly ignored to say, yes, Jiang Cheng is right to hate and still use his excuses to hate Wei Wuxian no matter the real reasons. Ironic, isn't it?

[backtothefanfiction]

The Angel In The Garden of Evil | Chapter Five: You Don't Own Me

Summary: Things continue to grow tense for Angel and Peter as secrets come to light on both sides.

Warnings: 18+ Only, eventual smut, lots of drama, mentions of genre typical violence, angst

Word Count: 2.6k

A/N: With all my recent traveling I almost forgot it was Wednesday... Anyway I am super excited to share yet another chapter of this story. Things continue to heat up for our couple, we introduce and get to know more characters and dynamics from Peter's team as well as work in and reference other things from canon Spiderman lore. Just as an extra, when I think of and write about Felicia I can't help but picture Anya Taylor Joy, let me know if you see it. Enjoy!

FIVE

“What? How do you know?” Asked Eddie as they all piled back into May’s apartment.

“Yeah, I thought this guy was supposed to be a ghost.” Harry chimed in.

Peter held his hand close to Angel’s back. He hadn’t taken his eyes off of her the whole way home. He ushered her further forward into the flat, coaxing her towards the sofa, prompting her to take a seat so they could talk about this properly.

Peter sat himself on the coffee table directly in front of her, his hands reaching out to rest against her thighs, drawing her out of her thoughts in her head and back into the room with him.

“Angel, you gotta tell me baby, what’s going on? What’s happening?” Peter encouraged her soothingly, but his irritation was burning under his skin and Harry’s incessant babbling and theorising in the background wasn’t helping him. “HARRY, SHUT UP!” he snapped, turning his head towards his friend then back to his wife. He watched as she swallowed deeply, she had gone so pale, it was honestly scaring him. “Princess-”

“I met him.”

“What? When?”

“With my Dad. They had this sit down. My Dad wanted to sort things out; he was trying to minimise the casualties.” He watched uncomfortably as she winced, the memories flooding her.

But Peter felt confused. “He spoke like he hadn’t seen you in years. Like he was this old work colleague of your Dad’s. Almost like you would run around his back garden at company barbecues.”

“I told you Pete, he’s a fucking mastermind. He plans out every single detail for maximum impact.” She suddenly shrugged off her blazer and brought her uninjured arm up closer to his face, twisting her arm to show off a small burn scar on the back of her arm. Peter tenderly reached out his hand, his thumb brushing against the shiny healed skin. “I got that after they took me hostage.” she informed him. “He used me as a bargaining chip.” she continued to explain as Peter suddenly stood, his internal rage bubbling under the surface, ready to burst, making him restless. He began to pace the floor, nibbling at his thumb and lower lip as she continued. 

“That looks like the barrel of a gun.” Eddie said, inching forward to get a better look.

“One of his men fired a warning shot then placed the still smoking metal to the back of my arm.”

“When was this?” Peter asked between gritted teeth.

“Around 8 weeks ago.”

“Jesus Christ.” Peter snarled, his hands thrusting into his hair. “What were you thinking?” he snapped at her. “Why didn’t you come home!” He pressed her, his pupils blown in anger.

“I couldn’t-”

“Why didn’t he send you home!”

“Pete.” Harry tried to hold his hands out to Peter, encouraging him to give her some space and calm down.

“He was playing with her fucking life!” Peter continued to shout in his face. “All this time he was trying to keep her safe from me, KEPT MY OWN WIFE FROM ME, because he said it was safer and-!” Peter couldn’t even finish his sentence he was in such a rage.

Eddie quickly stood between the couple too, slowly stepping forward with Harry to try and back Peter away, to get him to calm down enough to see sense. 

Angel was struggling to look at him, his words slicing at her like a knife. As Harry and Eddie continued their attempt to quell Peter’s anger, she began to look around the room. She was surprised with all of his shouting that May hadn’t come out from wherever she was to see what all the commotion was about.

“Where’s May?” she asked to the room.

“We’ve got someone driving her out to the cabin to keep her safe while all this is going on.” Eddie turned to fill her in.

“Which is exactly the kind of thing HE should have done in the first place.” Peter spat, his anger starting to boil again.

“Jesus Peter!” she shouted at him as she finally found her nerve again and came to a stand to confront him. “Pull yourself together. Fuck! This is exactly why he didn’t want me near you.”

Peter froze, her words going off like a bomb, an awkward silence falling over the room. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he said as he stepped towards her. He suddenly had that controlled, scary calm demeanour to him.

“I think you know exactly what that means.” she said quietly, but determinedly to him.

“Okay. Okay, I think everyone just needs to chill out.” Eddie said as he stepped forward with his arms outstretched in an attempt to separate them before either one of them did or said anything else to cause even more damage to their marriage.

Angel sighed as she turned back towards the sofa, her hands pressing lightly against the sides of her face as she sat. Peter too turned away, pacing towards the bookcase she had been observing the night before.

There was a light knock on the door and Harry walked down the hall to answer it. 

“Hey man, what’s going on?” the youthful deep voice she recognised from the morning, greeted Harry as he opened it. Harry gave a non verbal answer making the voice respond, “ooh tough crowd.”

The two gentlemen made their way back down to the living room.

“Boss… Eddie… Maam.” a tall black youth said as he entered the room. Looking at him, Angel didn’t think he could be more than 19 or 20 years of age. A young recruit for Peter and definitely not in line with their old rules.

“Angel, this is Miles, Miles this is Angel, my wife.” Peter hissed the final word as he made introductions.

“Pleasure to meet you.” Miles said, stepping forward and reaching out a hand to her.

“And you, Miles.” she said quietly, still exacerbated by the recent spat.

“Umm, we’re going out, Miles is here to look after you while we’re gone.” Peter informed her.

“Really, Pete?” she said suddenly standing again, the tension in the room beginning to rise once more. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. You got me a BabySitter!” She stressed the syllables of the word. “How old are you?” she quickly snapped to Miles.

“21.” he quietly interjected as she continued to rant.

“He’s a fucking child Peter. You are having me babysat by a literal child.”

“I’m not a child.” Miles tried to defend himself.

“Look I can’t have you come out with me, it’s not safe.” Peter began throwing back her way. “And especially not after this morning or what you’ve just fucking told me.”

“Oh My God!” She started to protest.

“And he’s not a child Angel. He is perfectly capable of watching out for you while I run out for a few hours.”

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

“No, I’m not.” Peter said as he began to snatch up his things, eager to leave the apartment as quickly as possible before either one of them said anything that would really hurt the other. “Look, I’ll be back in a couple hours, you can scream at me then, but until then you’re gonna stay here and not cause Him any trouble.” he said pointing towards Miles, before he took one look back at her as she sat herself down on the sofa, a scowl on her face. “Fuck.” he grumbled more to himself. “Come on, let’s go.” He finished as he corralled Harry and Eddie out the door which he slammed shut.

Miles uncomfortably edged himself over to the empty armchair before taking a seat across from his new charge. “I promise I’m not that bad.” he said, hoping to diffuse the tension. She just rolled her eyes at him.

--

Miles sat patiently scrolling on his phone as Angel paced back and forth across the main living room floor, her hands constantly raking through her hair trying to destress.

“Would you just chill out or something, you’re making me nervous.” Miles threw out to the room which only resulted in her flashing him yet another glower. “Fine. Jeez.” he grumbled as his attention turned back to his phone.

She continued to pace back and forth for another few minutes before she suddenly stormed off to the kitchen. Miles listened as cupboards were opened and different items were slammed onto the kitchen counter. He reluctantly got up from his seat to investigate.

“What are you doing?” he asked as he came to a stand in the doorway, watching her as she began to spoon cups of flour into a glass bowl.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” 

“Ummm, cooking?”

“I’m making cupcakes.” She corrected. “You told me to chill out so that’s what I’m doing. When I’m stressed, I bake.” she said as she began grinding butter and sugar in a separate mixer she’d dragged out of one of the cupboards.

--

When Peter arrived back at the apartment 2 and a half hours later, Eddie, Harry and a mystery blonde in tow, she had made and frosted, one batch of vanilla cupcakes, one batch of chocolate cupcakes, one batch of traditional chocolate chip cookies and another of white chocolate and cherry. She was just taking the last tray of chocolate chip cookies out of the oven, placing them carefully onto a cooling rack when Eddie barrelled into the kitchen.

“Uhh I knew I smelt something good.” he exclaimed as his fingers reached for one of the cookies and took a bite. He’d reached for one of the fresh out of the oven cookies however and instantly regretted it as he burnt his tongue on a still molten chocolate chip. “Ahh shit.” he breathed loudly as he sucked air into his mouth to try and cool it down.

“Serves you right.” Angel chastised.

“Damn.” the platinum blonde, who Angel noticed wore a pair of small black cat ears on her head, said as she made her way into the kitchen. “I didn’t realise we were opening up a bakery.” she jests.

“She stress bakes.” Miles proudly spoke up, filling her in.

“I see.” The blonde said as her fingers reached for a vanilla cupcake. Angel watched enviously as the woman skulked away, pausing in the doorway when Peter stepped into it. “She stress bakes.” the woman lowly repeated with what Angel felt was a sense of superiority.

“Not now Felicia.” he said as he let her pass. “Umm, can I talk to you for a second?” he asked, his attention now falling on Angel.

“Umm, yeah, of course.” she quietly said as she put down the now empty baking tray and slipped her hands out of the oven mitts she had been wearing. “Don’t touch that, it’s hot.” she quickly said to Eddie in jest as she passed him.

“Ha, ha.” he deadpanned and she couldn’t help but chuckle.

As they passed through the living room, Peter leading her towards his old bedroom, her eyes couldn’t help but fall on the other woman, Felicia, who now sat in the old faded armchair in the living room, carefully picking at the cupcake she had taken. Noticing their presence Felicia couldn’t help but shoot a knowing look between them, a small smirk growing in the corner of her mouth.

“You slept with her, didn’t you?” Angel calmly asked him as he closed the door behind them.

“What?” His brow furrowed as he looked at her.

“The platinum blonde beauty in the living room currently picking at one of my cupcakes-”

“Felicia.” he interjected.

“You slept with her didn’t you?” 

“What? Really you wanna go into this now?” he asked her, his irritation rising despite her calm demeanour.

“It’s a simple yes or no Peter.” she stated as she moved across the room to sit on the end of the bed as he continued to stand by the door, flummoxed about how they’d even got into this conversation.

“Look, I don’t blame you.” she continued. “Pete I was gone for 3 years, you really think I expected you to be cellibate.” He looked to his feet as he shook his head in disbelief. “Yes or no?”

“YES.” he hastily threw out.

“Does it mean anything?” she calmly asked.

“No, of course not.” he said a lot more calmly. “Now can we not talk about it.”

“Sure, sure.”

There was a pause as he attempted to compose himself once more. “Look, I pulled you in here because I wanted to apologise.” he said but his eye’s couldn’t fully meet hers. She pursed her lips, holding her tongue whilst she waited for him to continue. “I’m sorry okay.” he said again, this time with more conviction as his gaze slowly met hers. “I shouldn’t have shouted at you like I did and… I shouldn’t have treated you like we were on lockdown and that you needed a babysitter okay. I’m just not used to…” his voice trailed off for a moment as he observed her. “This.” he finally said as his hands motioned towards her. “I mean, last night and then everything this morning and then…” he really didn’t know how to articulate. How to even summarise her changes, the distance between them. How he felt about it all. “It’s just- different okay.”

“Okay.” she agreed timidly and understandingly.

There was silence between them as they both tried to process what had been said and find the right words to say. Peter chose to focus on familiarity in the end,

“I see you still bake then.” he quietly said, his body taking a small step towards her.

“Yeah.” she acknowledged quietly.

“What’ you planning on doing with all that?” he asked.

“I’m sure given the chance Eddie would probably eat most of it.” Peter chuckled in agreement. He always had enjoyed her sense of humour. “I was actually thinking I might take it down to the shelter.”

“F.E.A.S.T?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“I think they’d like that.”

“You gonna let me take them down myself?” she asked as he quietly took a seat next to her.

“Take Miles with you.”

She nodded in agreement. “Was there anything else you wanted to talk about?” she asked quietly, not daring to look at him now he was so close, despite the way his body was turned towards her.

“I’m gonna pop back to the house, see it for myself.” he announced softly.

“Okay.” she replied, finally allowing herself to look up at him. 

“Umm, I’ve got a couple of other errands to run after that but, umm,” he said nervously, “I’m gonna get Felicia to book us a table for dinner tonight so we can umm, talk. You know, try and figure this out.”

“Okay.” she agreed.

“Okay.” he repeated.

They sat on the bed in silence for a moment, the two of them just staring at one another. Peter couldn’t help it, when she moved her head and a few strands of hair fell forward across her face, his fingers automatically reached to push them back, tucking them behind her ear. His hand lingered at the edge of her jaw. For a moment that tension seemed to come back. Every time it felt heavier and heavier, both of them waiting to see who would break first, who would make the first move. But then the reminder of their fight took over, the unaccounted time that hung between them beginning to drive them apart.

“Umm, you should get going.” she said quietly. “And I should go and box all those baked goods up and take them down to the shelter.”

He didn’t want to speak. Didn’t want this moment to end. Didn’t want to take his hand away from her, the comfort of her skin against his fingertips.

When he continued not to move, she finally brought her fingers up to his, slowly lowering his hand away from her face, carefully placing it back down between them. She licked her lips regrettably, then got up and left.

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

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[fiction-box]

How about being kidnapped together with Dimitri and Ashe x reader separately? Thanks so much! ❤️

No problem at all! These did run a little long, so I think I will post them separately. They will still come out around the same time, no worries! I had so much fun thinking about the circumstances surrounding these (as well as how to make them seem realistically romantic despite the circumstances). May this be what you're looking for!

I have been having issues with tumblr just omitting entire sentences from my works, so I really hope the whole thing comes out this time.

Requests are open. The story will be continued under the cut.

Ashe:

Sore, uncomfortable, and exhausted, you tried to peel your eyes open.

The air was too thick, your surroundings dark save for the light shining from the torch on the wall.

On the wall opposite the bars you sat behind.

Frantic, you tried to wake yourself up a bit more by getting up, though you were now aware you were tied to something.

Or rather, to someone.

Turning your head, you caught sight of a mop of gray hair on a limp body. The two of you were tied together at the wrists by what felt like rope.

You shifted your arms, trying to rotate your wrists or loosen the hold in some way, but to no avail.

The sound of footsteps approached down the hall toward your cell. You needed more time…an escape plan…and it would probably be best if your companion were conscious.

In a moment of quick thinking, you lowered your head and rearranged your body into the position in which you remember waking up. If you could buy some time, the other person might wake up naturally after the guards had made their rounds. Shutting your eyes and steadying your breathing, you tried to sharpen your ears and listen.

There were two pairs of footsteps, one heavier and clunkier than the other. The first was obviously a physical fighter while the swishing of robes alerted you to a potential mage.

Two captives, two captors, three conscious, one cell, and if you remembered correctly based on the bars’ complicated appearance…

No key.

But there were strange sounds regardless, and after something like beeping came the creaking of the iron. Your cage had been opened.

Their footsteps grew even closer as every fiber of your being went into playing the part of an unconscious victim.

A voice, low and gruff.

“Wake them up.”

All for nothing, you supposed.

Sooner than your thought could finish, a sensation like lightning ripped through your whole body. A horrifying scream was torn through your throat. Not that you could process it while you felt like you were burning on the inside.

It stopped just as suddenly, but your throat had been left hoarse and your body in pain. You struggled to catch your breath.

“What’s going on? Why are we here?”

It seemed your suffering was enough to startle that boy awake.

…wait, Ashe?

“You don’t need to know anything. We will ask and you will answer. Immediately. Give us your names.”

Gritting your teeth, you complied. It would probably be best to do what they said. Neither of you had power here, and they clearly weren’t afraid of enforcing authority.

There was a sharp intake of breath behind you as you gave them your name.

“Something wrong, boy?” the mage pushed.

“...no. Ashe Ubert.”

The axe-wielding warrior turned to his companion, enraged.

“Are you fucking kidding me? This is like…the beans and rice of the group.”

“Beg pardon?” the dark mage responded testily.

“You kidnapped the only two commoners without crests. Literally the most useless-” he made a noise, dangerous yet exasperated. “At least nab the prince’s advisor!”

“Goddess, no,” you breathed, just low enough that the only person who might’ve heard you would have been Ashe.

These people were probably looking for a bargaining chip in the form of you two. Maybe they wanted money, maybe something else, but…

There’s no way Rhea would give anything for an herbalist’s daughter and the adopted son of a church dissenter.

“Just hang on,” Ashe muttered, “we’ll find a way out of this.”

“They came directly from the officer’s academy, I assure you. They must mean something, at least to the prince.”

“Screw the Kingdom! It’s the Church we’re after-”

“And you’re the one that said the Church and Kingdom were close enough that the Archbishop would- what was it you said? ‘Give an arm and a leg to keep them safe?’”

“You know damn well I meant…”

Shifting your wrists a bit, you stifled a gasp. Leaning backward into Ashe, you turned your head away from the two men.

“Remember when they used that lightning spell on me?” you whispered.

“How could I forget that?” he shuddered, keeping his gaze forward. “Are you feeling okay?”

You almost shook your head before remembering you didn’t want to be caught conversing.

“Nevermind that. The rope; it’s frayed.”

No response came, though you felt him shift his wrists as if to test your claim.

“I don’t…do we break it or wait?” you shifted your head so that you were staring straight at the wall again.

Subtly, Ashe sighed and leaned his head back into yours. You felt your hair shift left, then right, then left and right again.

Patience it was.

“Well, we’re not giving them back, of course,” the mage scoffed. “Seven opponents are more manageable than nine any day. Someone will come for these two.”

“Hey girl!” the warrior barked at you, “You got a fiance or something? Anyone that’d care enough to come for you?”

“She’s my girlfriend,” Ashe bit back before you could respond.

You said nothing, hoping your classmate had a plan.

The man sighed, “Just one disappointment after another with you guys, huh?”

“Fine then,” the mage had grown tired of this, it seemed. “Give us one reason we shouldn’t kill you right here.”

Again, Ashe with the quick thinking while all you could do was stiffen in fear.

“She’s a prodigal herbalist; good with remedies, antidotes…probably poisons too, but that’s never come up in conversation,” he faked a laugh.

What the hell was he doing?

“I don’t know what you guys are up to, but you’d be hard pressed to find someone with her skills; let alone one willing to work with you.”

“Hmm…” the dark mage pondered, “...be nice to have an expert on the field…a cleric can only do so much, but to have a direct producer of…”

“Not so fast; I’m calling your bluff- Ashe, was it?” he turned to you, “What can you really do, girl? And why the hell would you up and work for us? I’ve got a hard time believing you’d betray your friends so quickly.”

You sighed. Everything was moving way too quickly. At this rate, you feared being branded a traitor.

“I…have experience cultivating white verona, golden apples- even Ailell Pomegranates with the right resources.”

“Don’t forget ambrosia.”

“-right, thank you. Some things take longer, like gathering and steaming magic herbs or growing fruit of life, but they can be done. Most people avoid learning how because of the time it takes; however, my family has owned one of the few instructional books on the process for generations.”

“And why suddenly use it for us?”

You bit your lip, thinking.

“It’s true that I don’t know who you are…but I do know that you can keep us safe. I’ll only help you if you keep us both alive, unharmed, and together.”

Footsteps down the hallway. A commotion, just quiet enough that you and Ashe could hear with your younger ears.

Ashe began moving his wrists.

“I don’t know about all that, miss,” the barbarian drawled. “Keeping you both untied and unlocked sounds like a recipe for trouble. How about we leave him down here, and you can see him on weekends?”

The other man snickered, approaching presumably to break you two apart and imprison Ashe individually.

Noises from the hall grew louder, but you kept their attention by rotating to hide your wrists and placing yourself slightly in front of your friend.

“If you only permit me to see him so often, that deal can easily be changed to give me less and less time until I’m not even sure he’d be alive anymore!” you shouted at them. This would both prove a point and hopefully alert whoever had started the scuffle down the hall. “The hour I lose sight of him shall be the hour of my death! You can accept my deal and help yourselves out, or you can see how much of a mess I can make before I go down!”

Ashe’s breath hitched from behind you as the warrior glared down upon you both.

A moment later, the archer’s wrists were free, and he began to work on pulling the remains of the rope away from yours.

“Fine, fine,” the mage waved his hand in the air, unconcerned, “Let’s get you two untied and on your feet. I’m rather interested in just what you have to offer-”

“P-Professor?” Ashe asked incredulously from behind you. “How did you find us?”

“The hell?” the two men whipped around, snapping their heads to the door.

Your classmate grabbed your wrist, now free from restraint, and pulled you up off the ground. Bumping into the monk, he led you out of the room before swinging you in front of him, giving you a push down the hall.

“Go! I’ll be right behind you!”

So you ran, no questions asked as you heard the cell slam shut from somewhere behind you. A thunder spell, a string of rough curses, and a set of footsteps quickly approaching followed the sound.

“Come on! I don’t know how much time we have!”

“This way!” you called, turning left down a corridor.

Ashe overtook you slightly only to collide with an enemy swordsman as he rounded the corner. You kicked the enemy’s side as the archer scrambled to his feet, the two of you continuing down the corridor after you had taken his sword for yourself.

Finally, after several more turns, you located the source of the commotion.

It seemed your house really did care enough to come for you.

“They’re right here, your highness!” Ingrid shouted over the fray as she caught sight of you two.

“Mercedes, head over and make sure they’re okay. Dedue, cover the back! Felix, lead us out of here!”

“...I still can’t believe we went behind the Church’s back for this…” Annette fired off another spell at the oncoming reinforcements.

“Not hard to understand why we had to in the first place,” Sylvain frowned. “They’ve made it pretty clear where their priorities lie.”

“We’re here for you,” Felix called back to you and Ashe, cutting a way out.

Slowly but surely, your friends guided you to safety. A quick explanation revealed that Professor Byleth was spending his time keeping the Archbishop and her advisors occupied. The goal was to complete the mission before the house’s absence was noticed; a feat accomplished only by bribing the guards at the gate.

And when the eight of you returned to the monastery, the Blue Lions’ bond had been made stronger by your shared escapade.

Your house was your family after all, and no one in the world could keep you apart.

[artknifeandglue]

as shattered stars shine: DVD Commentary (5/12)

Last bit of commentary on Eggsy's half of the story before we progress to Harry's half.

The cabin walls dull the roar of the engines to a muted hum in the background. Harry sits next to him, a perfect picture of ease, The Picture of Dorian Gray in hand and martini in the glass perched in the drink holder between him and the cabin wall. Whatever easy calm Harry has, Eggsy thinks, he’d like some of it. The leather chair, usually comfortable enough to fall asleep in, is off somehow in a way he can’t explain, and no amount of shifting or adjusting seems to alleviate it or diminish the budding headache only just beginning to throb in his temples. He crosses his legs for the who-fucking-knows-th time in ten minutes, only to uncross them thirty seconds later and cross his arms instead. They’ve left the mission dossiers in Merlin’s office — too much of a security risk compared to the safety of Kingsman glasses — but that leaves his hands one less thing to fidget with. Eggsy toys with the bullet-back closure of his cufflink, opening and closing it again and again.

Probably a good time to mention that every book title featured in this fic is deliberate. All of them contain some sort of Faustian bargain (trading your soul/everything for a particular goal). Also, Dorian Gray is one of my favourite books.

Harry’s quiet laugh interrupts the comfortable lull of almost-nap. “Are you falling asleep on me?” His thumb strokes gently against Eggsy’s scalp, all soft touch and fond caress that makes Eggsy want to melt into a puddle here and never get up. He shifts slightly, finds an even more comfortable spot an inch to his left on Harry’s lap, and settles back in for a proper nap. “Do you need anything?” Harry asks.

Eyes closed, Eggsy thinks of the firm muscle of Harry’s thigh under his head, the warmth of Harry’s palm against the back of his head, the cedarwood hints of cologne that smells like home, like Harry. In answer, he shakes his head no and thinks only a lifetime with you.

A lifetime like this. God, what a prospect.

Sweet moment! Immediately followed by–

He dreams a little dream, a thoroughly uneventful one. They’re in Arthur’s office, a blazing fire warming the room while the winter moon scatters its light across the lawn, Eggsy sitting in an armchair with a drink in one hand and his phone in the other. Harry sits at his desk, poring over yet another document under the light of his desk lamp, the first hints of tiredness creeping into his furrowed brow. He reaches for the tumbler to his left, takes a small sip of whisky, and sets the drink back down on its wooden coaster. The hearth bathes the room in orange-red, light reflecting off the signet ring on Eggsy’s hand, the mirror-smooth toecaps of his oxfords, the curved surfaces of three glasses of scotch.

That can’t be right.

Eggsy blinks at the third glass of scotch sitting next to the decanter, a drink with no owner in a room at full capacity. Amidst the silence, someone knocks on the door, and then the ground gives way—

The half-weightlessness of descent tugs at his core, and he opens his eyes to Harry’s hand on his shoulder. Another moment of mid-air suspense, and then landing gear hits runway and gravity renews its inexorable demand as the force of deceleration pushes him back into the leather seat and presses heavy on his chest.

–Ominous dream! One goal that I had throughout the fic was to make moments like this unsettling but also have a real-world explanation for them, so the characters themselves aren’t always fully sure what’s happening. Therein lies the horror, I suppose? This isn’t specifically a horror fic, but I hope that vibe came through.

Prague turns out to be just as beautiful as Google Images shows, and Eggsy takes advantage of the mission to go sightseeing with Harry in tow. It isn’t often that anyone gets to do the tourist clichés on the clock, but they’re also supposed to be Andrew and Michael Tate, married couple on holiday, so it’s several birds with one stone, really. Eggsy gets a blank cheque to play up the obnoxious-tourist-in-love act to hell and back, pout at Harry all day in the hope of kisses, steal bites of his ice cream and beam brightly at him before doing it again. Knowing that Harry let him get away with it and even indulges him every single time only makes it better, and Eggsy goes the extra mile to be publicly, sickeningly sappy just because he can, and because Merlin absolutely hates having to watch it. Being paid to sit in the city square half-draped on his boyfriend and demanding kisses all day is great, but there is also literally nothing else to do, and the occasional aggrieved sigh or snarky comment from Merlin helps break up the monotony of watching their target.

I love Prague. Not sure Prague loves me back after what I do with it in this fic. Featuring also: Hartwin raising Merlin’s blood pressure for kicks.

Instead, here they are in the familiar waltz of gunshots and knives, a dance so familiar Eggsy wonders sometimes if it were branded into his soul before his life even began, if he was meant to end up here next to Harry all this while. He doesn’t manage to stop the grin that creeps up on his face when Harry clubs one of their attackers with the butt of his gun and shoves him directly into the path of a shot Eggsy fires, blind but for the trust that there will be a mark for the bullet to find at the end of its path. Another man charges at them and stumbles backwards, blood spilling from first a gunshot and then a knife wound that opens a second later as Harry snatches the man’s knife and plunges it into the vulnerable flesh between the fourth and fifth rib. “I already got him,” Eggsy calls over the chaos.

“You could have picked someone else to shoot, dearest. I was already going to stab him,” Harry points out casually as he plants a bullet into the last man’s chest almost entirely without looking. With a flick of his wrist, he tosses the knife back down the corridor, where it clatters to the ground and skids away from them both, and that really shouldn’t be as hot as Eggsy finds it.

Battle boyfriends!

Eggsy snickers under his breath, knowing full well Merlin’s opinion of repetitive questions. The bad-tempered reply comes in almost immediately, all threat and no action. “Ask me again and I’ll make sure Cardinal flies off the second you reach the roof.” Eggsy laughs and turns to look at Harry, warmth bubbling up in his chest. Harry still looks absolutely perfect, pristine suit and oxfords, not a hair out of place. They’re almost there, Eggsy knows, almost out of here, and then they’ll be done with the mission. One day to themselves in a beautiful city, just them and nothing else, so perfect and already within reach—

He rounds the corner to find himself staring down the barrel of a gun.

Motto of this fic might as well be Don’t Get Comfortable, because things have a habit of going south the moment they do. In keeping with the sort of “your fate isn’t up to you” idea, Eggsy isn’t outclassed or outbattled; he’s simply in the wrong damn place at the wrong damn time, and that’s what gets him killed.

Tangentially, this isn’t the first time I’ve featured a pilot with a codename in Kingsman fic (nor will it be the last!), but have a headcanon with approximately zero relevance to the movies: all the Kingsman pilots have bird codenames.  

The drink is half gone by the time Eggsy finds his voice again. “I’m dead, then?”

The other man purses his lips in thought. “At the moment? Yep.” Firelight glints off the facets of Eggsy’s glass, casting red and orange glimmers that dance with the slightest movement alongside the flickering shadows.

“You shot me?”

“What do you take me for? Obviously not. I’m hurt you’d even think that.”

Mephisto the gentleman devil! As mentioned previously, he actually isn’t responsible for Eggsy’s death here, nor did he engineer the circumstances necessary for it to happen. He does point out to Eggsy earlier in Chapter 4 that Kingsman is a dangerous business, and at the end of the day, it isn’t divine/demonic intervention that leads to the events of chapter 5, but rather the humans themselves. Mephisto here is an opportunistic bystander to human affairs.

The man sips smugly at his scotch, watching Eggsy with eyes like polished obsidian, black and cold and unyielding. “You see, the living aren’t done with you. You might have some idea how this goes.”

Eggsy’s blood runs cold. “No.”

“Oh, yes. He’s a much better negotiator, too.”

“No. No, no, no.” Eggsy is on his feet, hands balled into trembling fists by his side. “You can’t have him, don’t you dare—”

The shadows stretch and creep across the walls, inching along the shelves as the fire dims and the room darkens. “I’m afraid that’s not up to you.” The visitor stands, those long legs uncrossing and straightening before he takes a step forward to close the distance between them, his triumphant sneer inches from Eggsy’s face. Long slender fingers reach for the lapels of Eggsy’s jacket and straighten them, tugging lightly at the fabric and brushing a spot of lint away. “You see,” the man croons, saccharine-sweet and sickening, “he’s already made me an offer I can’t refuse.”

So this is the most blatant “powerless in the face of the cosmos” moment in the entire fic. This scene takes places simultaneously with Harry’s rooftop scene in chapter 12, which leaves Eggsy unable to stop Harry from making his own deal with the Devil. Also, it’s worth pointing out that Eggsy isn’t a bad negotiator per se – Harry has the benefit of seeing the full picture and recognising what Mephisto wants, but Eggsy did specify that Mephisto wasn’t allowed to cheat and kill Harry. Genre-savvy protagonists!

Lips brush against the back of his hand, still held gently in Harry’s, and Eggsy understands.

Of course he does. He’s had his own moment of knowing what it’s like to lose the one you love and then barely, just barely get them back at a painfully high cost. Once Harry’s own bargain is made, all the secrets and doubts and fears they’ve been keeping from one another (mostly Mephisto lmao) disappear, leaving only the two of them together for the rest of their lives. In a sense, that’s the happy ending they both wanted, except it’s come at so high a cost to both of them that it isn’t a perfect storybook ending. Worth it, though? Yes.

[1016anon]

Title: Thinking About Crashing Author: 1016anon Fandom: Bridgerton Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton/Kathani Sharma

That fateful moment

"This is your fault," are the first words out of his mouth to this woman who is his-- something.

"I beg your pardon?" she replies, indignant.

Well, as indignant as anyone can be perched on top of a knot, cock-locked and still shivering from coming.  He lost count how many times.

It appears, however, that two can play at that game because she stares at him intensely and clenches down, making him nearly jack-knife up as she keeps her hands firmly on his shoulders, riding him in the truest sense of the word.

Good god.

Anthony curses-- colorful phrases he has not uttered since his days at Oxford, all along the lines of fucking whoreson of a slick-licking knotslut.  It should scandalize her; she merely raises her eyebrow.

This... connection... which seems to have formed between them does not help.  He can feel her trying to hold back her amusement; who knows what she's picking up from him.  Anthony fervently hopes that he got the better end of the bargain, since there's nothing in his brain but the way the silky skin of her inner thighs feels against him.

"If it's anyone's fault, it's yours," she says.  "If you hadn't chased me--"

"You were the one who scent-swept me--"

"Not in the way you scent--"

"And how exactly did I smell?"

He's furious, aroused, furious that he's still aroused; from what he can feel, she's no different.  Their frustration is compounded by an undercurrent of wariness, distrust-- not of each other per se, but of this... thing growing like a thorn between them.  Every moment they remain joined strengthens the bewildering feeling of unearned affection; if they agree on anything, it's that they want to keep it from spreading.

Like scarlet fever, or smallpox.

She tries to dislodge herself and--

"Stop doing that, you're making things worse!"

"When did you last knot?" she demands.

"I fail to see how that is relevant to our current predicament!"

"Then you suffer from a condition-- your knot should have gone down."

"I assure you, I am perfectly well," he grits his teeth and manages to keep himself from bucking up into her, since it would only prove her point.

She scoffs.

"No alpha ties for a quarter hour."

He looks up at her, realization dawning.

"You worry about being seen."

The flush of her face and the way her nipples peak is quite becoming; the imperious tilt of her head is... not unattractive.

"I worry about strange alphas in parks at dawn who fail to unknot their erections."

"This secret shall remain between us."

"That was never in question."

"Then we understand each other."

She nods.  They both ignore the braided cord between them.

"I suppose I ought to be grateful."

"Whatever for?"

"That you did not give me a mating bite."

"I have more self control than that!"

"Clearly you do not."

Anthony tries to gather his patience.  It is rather difficult when he's overtaken by the alien sensation that a bite would, in fact, be the perfect solution and resolve all their problems.  Her breath catches and pupils blow wide; she's been flooded with the same unwelcome thought.  The connection almost seems to have a will of its own as it attempts to overwhelm them with a sense of longing and euphoria (a strange combination, he notes in the back of his mind).

This time he cannot blame her for tensing, despite the fact it will only prolong their tie.  Anthony manages a smile of grim commiseration.

"We neither could have predicted this would happen," he says.

There is a bizarre pain in his chest which widens with each beat of their heart.

"We could not," her voice is soft.

For a moment, there is only a morning-sun silence.  She shatters it, saying:

"It will pass.  So long as we do not see each other--"

Her eyes flutter as he grabs her hips and grinds into her, filthy and a raw feeling of triumph roaring through him when he feels her pulse around him from that act alone.

Their bodies are in tune now.

He pushes that thought away viciously; she feels him and whimpers.  Anthony knows it's an unconscious sound-- that doesn't stop it from feeling like a dagger puncturing his lungs.

With a strength of will he didn't know he possessed, Anthony lets go of her waist to keep from giving into the impulse to hold her until her scent turns ripe.

His breath hitches, hurtling towards panicked delight at the thought that--

"Will you need--"

"No."

His exhale is explosive with relief.

"Not that I wouldn't-- if it indeed came to pass, I assure you, I would--"

This time she gives him a grimace of commiseration.

The woods are quiet.

"If you are ever in need of anything-- anything whatsoever--" he holds her gaze.  "I will find a way to give it to you, so long as it's within my power to give."

So long as it is not--

She hears him through the silence; her relief is melted wax.

"Thank you."

With that, his cock subsides enough for her to stand.  The scent of their mating, essence mixed together, spills onto him and from his vantage point, sitting under her spread legs, his hands gripping her calves to keep her standing, he's so close to her cunt he can taste it just from inhaling.  It fills him with a disturbingly deep, calm sense of satisfaction.  Instead of giving into the impulse to lick and mark her where no one can see, he rubs her calves to help her restore circulation; she hisses in pain.

As one, they help each other dress, unable to resist stealing kisses even while she tells him, "no, the other way, the laces on the left side cross under," or he tells her "you missed a spot" after she wipes their come from his stomach.

When they are somewhat decent (though far from presentable), they manage to locate their horses.  He gives her a leg up; gazes up at her when she's settled.

"You know where to find me?"

"Yes."

"Not the house-- my lodgings."

"If I have need, I shall ask."

"Anything at all, send word.  There is a special license for circumstances such as ours."

"You will be careful," she commands.

"As we agreed," he nods, something sour curdling in his stomach.

She must feel it too, the way her hand unconsciously moves to press against her abdomen.

"Two weeks would be best."

"Most reasonable."

He finds himself searching for anything to say to keep her from leaving; it reminds him of what is at stake.  Anthony lets go of the reins and steps back, bearing stiff and patrician.  He bows, as expected of a gentleman, though he supposes they are far past formalities now.

"Good day."

For less than a second, her eyes spark with something unnameable.  They cannot help but stare until they're interrupted-- the distant sound of a horse whinnying, followed by vague shouting.  Probably riders on their way to Mayfair.

She turns her horse and leaves without a word, taking that scent with her.

--

With distance comes perspective and the only thing he can think is: fuck.

[thereyvan]

Humorous Chapter Titles: A Very Long Compilation

What The Fuck Is A Driver’s License 

In Which We Learn Why Tiny Demons Shouldn’t Drive Cars 

Asses Were Kicked In This One 

Welcome To Cry Time, Bitch 

Well, I Guess That Happened 

Not This Shit Again 

Why Does God Hate Me 

Stop Calling Me A Twink(I’m Straight And Have A Girlfriend) 

He Said That If You Call Him A Catboy One More Time, He’ll Scratch You 

Fuck The Moon 

I Fucked Your Mom And She Liked It 

Alexa, Play Can You Feel My Heart By Bring Me The Horizon 

She’s Cheer Captain And I’ve Been Suffering For A Really Long Time 

The Boys Are Back In Town(And They Brought Some Trauma) 

It Is Wednesday My Dudes 

Fuck You And Your Ugly Christmas Sweater 

Never Gonna Give You Up, Probably Gonna Let You Down 

Dance Dance Till You’re Falling Apart To Halftime 

Some People Shouldn’t Be Allowed To Adult 

Really? Right In Front Of My Crocs? 

That’s Not Even Remotely Reassuring 

Facing God And Moonwalking Into Hell 

Well, When Life Gives You Lemons, (Insert Screaming Here) 

You Can Probably Tell That The Author Failed Chemistry 

Standing On A Pile Of Corpses Whilst Eating An Entire Package Of Peeps 

Shitty Advice From A Dumbass Demon Guy 

Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, And Acceptance Of Depression 

Look At All Those Chickens 

Everyone’s Favorite Pedophile 

Sir That’s Our Emotional Support Asshole 

You Give Love A Bad Name 

Externally A Ghost, Internally A Zombie 

The Author Can’t Stop Traumatizing The Protagonist 

Falling Out Of A Tree 

That Wasn’t Supposed To Happen 

Literally Nobody Agreed To This 

When The Fuck Is This Story Going To End 

We Don’t Get Bitches, We Are Bitches 

The Good, The Bad, And The Even Worse 

This Meme Is Dead, But There Isn’t Any Way To Describe This Other Than Ohio Moment 

Oh My God, They Were Roommates 

Devastation Demolition 

Take This Chance Like A Pill 

I Would Literally Rather Be Dead 

Ohana Means Family 

Parkouring Into Purgatory 

You Take That Back 

Where Is Your Turkey God Now 

Rallying For Kinder Eggs 

All Aboard The Fun Train To Party Hell 

God Is Canon And I’m The Author Now 

We Put The “Fun” Into Dysfunction 

My Bed Is A Grave, So Shovel Dirt Onto My Sheets 

The Odd-yssey 

“He’s Well Hung” And I Am Hanging Up 

Orgasm Smile 

I Shot Romance In The Chest 

Who The Hell Ruined My Life(I Did) 

I’m A Loose Bolt Of A Complete Machine 

Stop Ending Every Sentence With Bitch, Bitch 

And Here We Have The Mentally Disturbed 

Professional Conflict Escalator 

Hey Look At This Rock I Found 

Crime’s Only Crime If You Get Caught 

Refuge In A Gay Nightclub 

Neurodivergency Called And Had A Panic Attack(They Hate Talking On The Phone) 

Ending Conversations Before They Start 

You Can’t Stop Me From Not Being Okay 

Suck My Co- Wait You Weren’t Supposed To- Oh… 

No, You Can’t Go Scuba Diving In The Wishing Well 

I Pissed Your Pants 

Dismember Me For Centuries 

Time For Crab 

Men’s Tits, Am I Right? 

[disneydatass]

I’m not an attorney of law but I’m legally allowed to kill during pride month correct?

[kiridarling]

"𝐒𝐈𝐌𝐎𝐍 𝐒𝐀𝐘𝐒."

izuku midoriya | friends older brother!izuku + college student!reader + f!reader + squirting + size kink + more! minors dni! does this count? as dark content?

— 2.4k words

"It's simple: I'll stuff you full with two fingers, but they only do what simon says. Understand?"

“[Y/N?]”

“Uh, hey Izuku!” You smile, grip tightening around the strap to your bag. Izuku fills the doorway, broad shoulders kissing both sides of the frame, and you can’t help but feel minuscule in comparison. “Kota around?”

Izuku shakes his head, peering over his shoulder for a second before returning his attention to you with a click of his tongue. "Uh, no I think he's out with Eri. They should be back soon though...it's been a few hours."

"Shit," you curse under your breath. Your friend's older brother smiles in apology, biceps straining under his white tee.

"You need something?"

"Yeah," you nod, forcing your eyes back onto his, instead of the broad chest presented at eye-level. "Just my precalc book."

Izuku waits a second, thinking, before his palm claps against the doorframe and he's walking deeper into the house. "Come on in, then! I'm sure he won't mind."

You step into the house after him, and it's...weird. Weird being with your Kota's older brother without Kota there, because despite the thousands of times you've been in your best friend's house and as well as you know the greenette, you and Izuku have never been alone.

"Find it?"

You've been rummaging through Kota's room for a solid ten minutes and somehow still empty-handed, moving slowly in fear you'll see something you can't unsee. And hey, with Kota and Eri dating, anything's possible.

"No," you sigh, ready to give up rather than find a strap-on. "It's fine. I can just come to get it tomorrow or something."

"How soon do you need it?" The greenette asks, his forearms leaning against his younger brother's dresser. You take a seat on Kota's comforter instead, silently hoping you'll find your book by accidentally breaking your tailbone against the damn thing; you're a little disappointed when all your ass comes in contact with is a plush mattress.

"Like, tonight," you grieve, knowing that tomorrow morning, your math grade will suffer severely. "'S fine though. There's always another test."

Izuku snorts at that, crossing the room to take a seat next to you. The bed whines under his weight but doesn't collapse, and you feel a little bad to say you're surprised. Voice full of reminiscence, he sighs, "Ah, the college days."

You giggle, "You act like they're lightyears behind you."

"They might as well be," the greenette shrugs, before reaching behind your waist to steal a pillow. "Couldn't tell you a thing I learned."

You shrug trying to remember the last time you’ve felt prepared for a test, “Neither can I.”

Izuku chuckles and nods, though you’re convinced it’s because he has nothing to say. An awkward silence takes possession of the room by the neck, and you shift awkwardly, unsure of what to say that could give you an excuse to leave, or at least redirect his strange yet heavy gaze. As Izuku licks his lips, you notice how close you two actually are, as he's big to the point where your shoulders almost brush, but not quite.

"How um, hows your boyfriend?"

You scoff at that, but you suppose it's been a while since you and the greenette have talked one on one—and the last time you had, you weren't single.

"Oh uh, he's fine, I guess," you brush it off with a shrug and a wave, cringing at the thought of how that ended. "I don't know. We broke up a while ago, so."

"Oh sorry!" Izuku flushes and throws a hand over his mouth, and you giggle.

"You're fine. He was an asshole anyway," you chuck a laugh, but it's not really that funny. Frankly, he's left too many emotional scars to count, along with the ones healing from past exes. "I...don't have a good reputation when it comes to picking boyfriends."

“So, I’ve heard—no offense,” he says sheepishly, though you don't blame him. You've definitely had a few surprise visits caused by a nasty break-up or two, knowing this is the place you'll probably find both of your best friends hiding out. When Izuku speaks again, it’s borderline awkward as his eyes dart around the room, cheeks puffed and lips pursed in apprehension. “Found...anyone new?”

You frown, “Anyone new.”

“Yeah!” Izuku exclaims, and it’s almost encouraging. “Like a new boyfriend.”

“Oh,” you laugh, shaking your head. “Um, no. Like I said, I don’t have much luck with that type of stuff.”

Izuku snorts, rolling his eyes before he’s adjusting himself to lay on the pillow, half of his body upright. “I bet you do. You might not realize it, but you do.”

Now it’s your turn to snort and roll your eyes, leaning back on your hands with a huff. "You're just being nice, Izuku."

"No, seriously!" He props himself higher so you can see he really is serious, evergreen eyes locked and deadset, "Like—okay, and this might be a TMI or something, but how do they, y'know, and then be dicks, y'know?"

"They don't."

"They don't...what?"

"They don't...make me cum," you heave with great depression, despite the seemingly surface-level complaint. With wrists tightening around your ankles, you hate uncomfortably in the silence, and watch Izuku's mouth open and close, before it opens and closes again.

"Like...never?"

"No." You give him a weird look.

"But what about your last boyfriend? I thought he—"

"I don't know what you're looking for, Izuku," you chuckle, shaking your head. The greenette seems more pained than he is shocked, eyes wide with a big fat pout in place of a neutral face. "It's not like I haven't had an orgasm before. Just...not with someone else."

"That's not the same!" Izuku defends, slowly becoming more animated than you've ever seen him. "It's like...more passionate with another person, you know? And that makes everything a whole lot hotter."

"Thanks," you huff, mood souring more than it already has. Izuku's mouth stills once he realizes what he's essentially bragging, guilt clouding his face. As you exhale out of your nose, you can't escape feeling bad for snapping. "Look. I'm perfectly fine with being the only person to be able to make myself cum. It's not that deep."

"You sound like you expect no one to be able to," Izuku snorts with a raised eyebrow, shoulders bumping against yours. "You've just...had bad boyfriend luck. That doesn't mean no one's capable of doing it."

"Well," you click your tongue bitterly, because you've heard all of this before, and you're utterly tired of hearing it. "They've been able to make all their exes orgasm. And it's not like it even matters, relationships aren't abou—"

"I could do it."

"I—" you blink, shaking your head at the pure audacity of his request? Suggestion? Comment? Whatever the fuck. "Excuse me?"

"I—wait, listen," Izuku rushes like you're getting ready to book it the fuck out of there, sitting upright so his body is turned to yours. "You're...it's...I've been told I'm good with my fingers, right?"

And what a way to start a story.

"Izuku, in the nicest way, every guy is like this," you scoff, "He thinks he's all that just because a chick or two said you made her feel really good. I don't need to fake another orgasm."

"You won't have to," Izuku purrs cockily, leaning forwards on his hands and making you wonder where all of this is coming from. "Let's play a game of simon says, yeah?"

"Simon—" your chest collapses with a giggle of pure disbelief, "I'm not that much younger than you, you know."

"I wouldn't be offering if you were," the greenette reasons, eyes growing dark slowly, if any. "Yes or no?"

"What's the catch?" You bargain and Izuku huffs a laugh. You can feel it on your face.

"No catch, Pretty," he hums, and you can feel the vibrations in your fingers. "It's simple: I'll stuff you full with two fingers, but they only do what simon says. Understand?"

You gulp as Izuku lifts a hand—and a very large one, at that—and it's jagged and rough with scars and bulky knuckles. His free hand makes you grab his wrist and you're fingertips barely touch, but you’re pulling his hand south by your own volition.

“Gotta take your pants off first,” he chuckles, and you flush red. That would be helpful, yes.

It doesn't take long before they're off though, flung towards a corner somewhere—and this is when you realize that maybe, you shouldn't do this on Kota's bed.

"Izuku maybe we shoul—"

But before you can say anything else, he's pushing your panties to the side and shoving both fingers into you at once, eyebrows folding as he groans under his breath from the sensation.

"So wet already? Clearly, someone likes this more than they let on."

"I—what the fuck happened to simon says!" You yelp, but his fingers don't move. Izuku just beams like the deceptive asshole he is.

"Game starts now," is all he says, and you're huffing, propping yourself up on your elbows. Izuku's fingers might as well have knocked the wind out of you, lungs struggling to find room to breathe as he curls his fingers to tap directly onto your g-spot with worrying precision.

"Simon says um, move please," you grunt out. Izuku's fingers stay still, and you frown, kicking him in the thigh. "Hey, I sai—"

"You gotta be more specific than that, Pretty,” he says with a grin. You snarl. "Tell me what you want me to do to you."

"I..." you start, but it's fucking embarrassing, and you know Izuku feels you twitch around him when you say: "Can you um, fuck me with your fingers."

He doesn't move.

"Simon says fuck me with your fingers, asshole," you grunt with narrowed eyes, though they widen when he starts to pump his fingers in and out, chuckling when you shiver from the dexterity.

Except, his fingers move painfully slow, and you find yourself gritting your teeth at the speed when he doesn't make an effort to go any faster. You click your tongue—he's really going to make you request everything, isn't he?

"Simon says faster," you growl with a challenge burning in your eyes, and Izuku meets them with equal fire, fingers finally forgetting their torturous pace for a much quicker one. Finally.

"Fuck! Simo—simon says right t-there," your legs spread wider and Izuku makes more room for himself in between. He hums with dark eyes as you whimper and whine his name, writhing in his younger brother's sheets like they belong to him—like you belong to him.

"I wanna touch you all the time, you know," Izuku grunts before cursing at the sight of your wetness around his fingers. "Make you feel good, make you mine. I don't think Kota would approve, though."

"We don—" you wheeze and he places a hand next to your head, towering over you. The angle only gets better, your hands digging into the sheets as Izuku's fingers curl just right. "We don't have to tell him."

Izuku chuckles at that, chest rumbling as he leans in closer to the point where your noses nearly touch. "You dirty fucking girl."

You moan at that, hips bucking into his hand. You're so close and yet you need more, something else to push you over the edge for good. With a whimper behind a bitten lip, you say, "S-Simon says rub my clit."

Izuku's thumb falls upon your clit and you squeal from the amount of initial pressure, thighs jolting from the white-hot waves that pump through your bloodstream as his thumb moves in small, ever-quickening circles that have you gripping for Kota's comforter for dear life.

"Iz—Izuku I'm gonna—g-gonna cum," you pant, and he's ripping his hands away before you can even reach a hint of the edge. You glare at him out of pure and utter betrayal, and he beams.

"Simon didn't say, did he?"

Your mouth flies open before your brain has time to process it all, "Simon says make me cum, p-please, I need to—fuck!"

Izuku's stuffing you full with his fingers in an instant and his thumb returns to its rightful place.

"Yeah? You gonna cum for me, Pretty?" His hands somehow find the energy to speed up to the point where the clap of his palm against your pussy fills the room, slowly being replaced by a lewd squelch as you tighten around him. He chuckles when all you can do is whimper, grappling for his big shoulders as he says, "Oh, yes she is. So fucking close I can feel it."

You let out a broken moan and in a blink you're squirting, body buzzing as you make a big wet mess of Kota's sheets. It doesn't even register how screwed you two are because you're too busy wading waist-deep in the sea of Izuku's eyes, chest heaving in time with his as he gives you a look of pure awe. Not at what you've done, per se, but at you, and that's when you understand it—the passion.

"We should uh, probably clean up," Izuku flushes as he chuckles, cheeks pressing into the crescents of his face, and you find yourself smiling along with him. With a final click, he pulls his fingers out, gesturing to a circular wet spot on his now see-through shirt. "You made quite a mess."

Fuck the passion.

You shove your fists into his chest and Izuku laughs, pushing your hands away with his one dry free hand, wiping the wet one on Kota's sheets.

"Izuku!" You gasp, looking at the new and improved addition to your mess. The greenette shrugs.

"What? We're going to have to clean it anyway," he shrugs before assuming the dry spot to your right and nestling his forearms in the pillow to peck you on the forehead. Then he freezes.

"I uh...am I allowed to do that?"

You roll your eyes, grabbing him by his squirt-soaked shirt to pull him into a kiss. Izuku hums at that, suppressing the urge to smile as his big hands find their way to your waist. He's an annoyingly good kisser

"No, you're not," you say with swollen lips once you pull away. Izuku grins, teeth digging into his bottom lip as his eyes flutter to yours for a moment, before they're staring into your soul again.

"I like you," he boldly states, albeit quietly, like he's talking to your eyes and nothing else. "Like, a lot."

"I—" You start, but you're interrupted by a click of a lock and the sound of the front door opening. Shit.

"Oi! We're home, Izuku!"

[aerltarg]

honestly fuck every “dany doesn't have any idea what courtesy means” or “dany just The Angry TeenagerTM” bullshit. these ppl literally have never read any of her chapters.

just look how many times kraznys mo nakloz insulted her, while she actually understood him, but did she lose her temper? did she throw a temper tantrum bc she wasn't getting any respect, let's alone the one fit for a queen she is? did she forget her purpose bc of any of that?

just tell me how many characters in this series would be able to keep a straight face hearing such insults directed at them.

but when did dany come close to losing it?

as one of the quotes above shows, when kraznys started to harm others, the unsullied in front of them, “it was hard to pretend not to understand”.

and even more so there:

some characters in these books can't master a single drop of sympathy when ppl are dying in front of them but dany gets so angry and sick after hearing all of this that she started to feel faint. long dead infants whom she never met, long dead dogs she never saw, and yet she almost dropped her play after just hearing abt them and carried these feelings towards the very end of the chapter, after many hours since she left kraznys.

it's the first chapter where we actually get to meet the slaver's bay and the real face of slavery. and grrm went out of his way to show us how ugly it is w every single detail. the main representative of slavers there is kraznys and the man managed to insult literally everyone around him almost w his every breath, revealed himself as not only incredibly cruel slaver but also a misogynistic piece of shit at that.

in these quotes i also highlighted some passages, like kraznys laughing at dany for showing kindness and compassion and openly despising her for this as well as talking without blinking abt men being sold “for less than the price of their swords”, abt many atrocities done to unsullied, abt forcing them to murder infants in front of their mothers, calling incitement of a bear on three little boys w non-existent intention to allow any of them survive “a nice folly”, etc.

and i dare anyone to look me in the eye and say that “slavery is complicated”, “it's a part of their culture” or “grrm doesn't write slavery as clearly evil and deserved to be destroyed practice”. i dare you to try and say that kraznys didn't deserve to die, that dany is wrong for killing him, that dany is mad for doing so, that we aren't supposed to cheer for her, that she isn't a hero for that and freeing unsullied and the whole anti slavery campaign.

i can't imagine how anyone can read these books and come to the conclusion that “slavers are innocent” LMFAO

btw, a child murder is portrayed as one of the biggest sins and the worst crimes possible (if not the biggest and the worse) by the narrative all the time. so grrm filling the very first chapter we spent in the slaver's bay w the great variety of violence, abuse and horrible deaths of children inflicted by slavers is NOT setting up slavery as “complex issue”.

it was pointed out again and again but i will repeat once more. grrm doesn't give the purely evil monsters any redeeming qualities in his books. not a drop of greyness. it should be obvious enough already. and yet fandom doesn't have problems for acknowledging this w gregor clegane or boltons. but when it comes to dany? suddenly it's “why wouldn't anyone think abt poor slavers” and “but what abt the economy” or “it's their cUlTuRe” lmao

i also would like to point out a really tiny but curious detail that probably isn't a thing put there w a purpose from grrm. though, maybe it is... but anyway, this chapter is Daenerys II, ASOS, that that comes after Arya IV, where we have gendry talking abt thoros of myr, how he used to bargain w a blacksmith over a price of his swords (“slave swordsmen can be had for less than the price of their swords”, remember?), and Bran II is the chapter that comes after Daenerys II where we have the line “Some people hurt others just because they can” in the context of winterfell being taken by ramsay and boltons' men w the great unnecessary violence, e.g. murdering all the ppl living in the castle.

tldr; you need to open just one (1) random chapter to see what a nonsense bullshit antis invent in their obsessive attempts to hate on dany. 1) dany is very smart, perfectly knows what courtesy and self-control is, but also is a very kind and compassionate person w a strong sense of justice who can let any insults against her personally slide but gets infuriated when meets injustice and violence against others, esp innocent and defenceless ones like children. 2) dany is the hero we are supposed to root for in her fight against slavery just like we are supposed to root for jon when he decided to march against boltons or even for oberyn when he fought gregor clegane demanding justice for elia. dany is quite different from these men, though, bc she fights not over any personal reason but for the greater good, for many ppl she doesn't even know. bc slavery IS evil and it's needed to disappear, full stop. the “slavery is complex”/“some slavers are innocent” narrative is nowhere to be seen.

[mypoisonedvine]

𝗹𝗶𝗯𝗲𝗿𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 || (very dark) 70s!Bucky x reader

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: he tried to be sympathetic to your cause, he really did, but he couldn’t just let you get away with disrespecting him like that.  

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 2.4k

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: smut (noncon, plus breeding kink and tons of degradation, like very heavy degradation, and multiple orgasms/overstimulation), misogyny, a bit of dumbification, housewife kink, ‘sir’ kink (brief), choking, implied anal, spitting (not on the reader, unfortunately lmao), quite a bit more than period-typical sexism, awful awful awful this fic is absolutely awful

                            Brooklyn, 1970.

Bucky’s mornings were sacred.  He had his rituals: showering, cooking breakfast, reading the paper and having his first drink and cigarette of the day, all before he left for work.

But throughout this entire week, his mornings had been ruined by the stupid fucking protest in the park just outside his window.  And to think he’d actually paid more for an apartment with a view of the park— he hadn’t realized then that the “view” was gonna be a bunch of hippies creating awful music and an unbearable smell that left his whole apartment reeking of reefer if he dared to open his window.

Attempting to ignore it for a week only made him more resentful with each passing day.  Each time he figured the crowd would surely leave soon or at least be quiet for the night, they seemed to somehow get louder just to spite him.

He probably should've waited until he was a bit less agitated to go down and try to bargain with you, but he stormed down there instead and tapped you on the shoulder when his presence alone wasn't enough to distract you from your incessant chanting.

“Would you consider being quiet?" he asked firmly.  "I have to work in the morning and—”

“We won’t be quiet until women have equal treatment under the eyes of society and the law,” you interrupted to explain condescendingly, shocking him with your icy tone.  He could hardly believe your attitude, in fact he couldn’t remember any woman speaking to him that way in his life: so far, he wasn’t enjoying it.

“I just thought you could be a little more respectful,” Bucky shot back, even more stern.  “You’re not making anyone wanna support your movement by acting entitled and inconveniencing everyone.”

“I’m sorry the revolution is inconvenient for you,” you replied, but it didn’t sound much like an apology. 

He wanted to say more but you blew him off and disappeared into the crowd, leaving him confused and irritated and livid.  Up until now he had been quietly skeptical about all this talk of liberation but now he saw it for the poison it really was.  A girl like you— who could've been a real looker with some willingness to try and a better attitude— talking to a man like him with so much hate and over what, a polite request?

This could not be tolerated; he couldn't let you get away with acting like that.  And lucky for you, he was exactly the guy you needed to teach you your lesson.

The good thing about hippies high on shrooms is they aren’t the most observant.  When he returned to the demonstration area the next night, he was able to grab you roughly and pull you back from the crowd with almost no trouble at all, dragging you into an empty alley and clamping his hand down over your mouth as your eyes went wide and your throat vibrated with silent screams.

“Shh, shh,” he soothed against your ear, “whatcha fightin’ for?”

He liked the way it felt to have you squirming against his grasp, using all your strength and not even getting close to escaping.  

“How does it feel to know I can do anything I want to you?” he growled against your ear.  “C’mon, sweetheart, can’t you put up a better fight than that?  I thought you believed in equality… you should be able to get away if you’re as strong as I am.”

He felt your warm tears trailing down around his fingers which held your face tightly, the struggle of your limbs slowing and weakening slightly.  His cock was already getting hard as he imagined the moment you would finally give in.

“You remember me, don’t you?  You didn’t need to be so rude, darlin’.  You could’ve just been nice and none of this would be happening.”

Your elbow shot back into his ribs and he exhaled sharply but didn't let go, grabbing your wrists and holding your arms to your chest as he pinned you to the wall.

"Oh, that's not gonna work, babydoll.  I'm so much stronger and bigger than you, all you're gonna do is make me angrier.  Is that what you want, sweetheart?  To make me angry?" he asked mockingly, leaning in to lick the shell of your ear as you tried to turn away.  “Pretty girl like you would make a great wife, why would you want anything else?”

Ignoring your struggle, he reached into your shirt and purred as he groped your chest, your nipples hardening when he pinched them.  “Maybe I can get behind this bra-burning thing if it means having easier access to your tits all the time,” he grinned.  “How am I supposed to keep my hands to myself when I can see them through your shirt?  Shouldn’t be showing ‘em off if you don’t want any attention.”

As fun as it was to play with your tits, he had bigger plans, so he reached lower to start tugging down your jeans, your legs uselessly kicking as he exposed your ass and thighs.

His cock was already rock hard as he hastily opened his fly and pulled it out with one hand, leaning back to spit on it quickly.  He spread the fluid with a few strokes over his length, figuring it would be enough to get inside you even if he didn’t really care if he hurt you.  

Your eyes went wide and your head bucked wildly as he poked the head of it against your opening, your body fighting a little harder once again.  The irony of that, though, was that you were already plenty wet in spite of what he had expected; it was so much funnier to watch you struggle now that he knew you were not-so-secretly enjoying it.

“Don’t be so dramatic," he chuckled darkly, "I bet you can take a cock real easy since you believe in all this ‘free love’ bullshit.”

He groaned as he pushed into you, impressed by how tight you were— so tight that it made his cock throb right away, your walls pulsing and rippling around him as he filled you to the brim.

“Oh fuck, there you go…” he hissed, smiling as you sobbed harder and struggled a bit more before finally relaxing into his tight embrace.  "You're gonna take it all, baby, every fuckin' inch of me."

A hard sob choked out of you every time he slammed himself to the end of you; he could feel the hatred radiating from you, the way you would kill him in a moment if only you weren't so weak.  But he could feel your reluctant acceptance, too, and the way it was slowly turning into euphoria— you were finally starting to like how it felt to be helpless to him, it was obvious with the way your pussy gave him such a warm and willing welcome while your pretty tits got even harder.

You clearly wanted to hate him, but your body knew better.

"You think I'm a sexist pig, I'm sure," he chuckled, "but I'm really not— I love women!  And you know what I love most?  Huh?"

He felt you nervously shake your head behind his hand and he laughed.

"I love the way you get so dumb when you get a cock in you.  All those useless little thoughts leaving your head when you're finally getting fucked right."

Your cries got louder even though they were still muffled by his hand, your sweet little pussy giving him a squeeze of encouragement.

"It's okay to like it, babydoll, it's what you were meant for.  Made to be my brainless fucktoy… born to serve me," he growled.  “You really should learn to appreciate," he grunted between brutal thrusts, "that your only purpose is to keep my dinner hot and my cock warm.”

Your eyes rolled back in your head and he felt your walls bear down on him tightly, wetness seeping down around him.

"Oh fuck, are you coming?  Shit," he moaned.  "Looks like you really needed to be put in your place, just needed to be used... god, you made a fuckin' mess, too, you soaked my cock…"

Your little hands tightened into fists, pushing against where his arm held them back, but he stayed steady as he pumped into you, letting himself get a bit lost in the feeling of you while he buried his face in the crook of your neck.

It felt so damn good to have a cunt coming around him, but it was even better knowing that you were fighting it and still couldn’t stop it, completely helpless to how good he was making you feel.

You almost screamed under his hand when he reached down to quickly rub your clit, your back arching to try to run away from his touch; poor thing, you were so sensitive it probably hurt you, but he was having too much fun watching you realize you were going to come again.

"Yeah, gimme another one, slut," he grinned, your legs quivering as waves of slick coated him and started to even drip down your legs.  "Can't stop coming like the dirty whore you are, huh?  Bet nobody's made you come like this before— cause nobody's given it to you right.  Nobody's shown ya what it's supposed to be like when a man takes you and makes you his."

From the way you moaned softly, teary eyes fluttering shut, he knew you liked the sound of that.

"Yeah, wanna be mine, baby?  Wanna be my little slut?  Or do you want me to pump this pussy full and leave you here on the ground for any other man that comes by to use you if he needs?"

You groaned softly, a weak little noise, and he felt his cock flex; as much as he wanted this to last as long as possible, he couldn’t hold back anymore.

“M’close, honey,” he breathed.  “I’m gonna come.”

He laughed breathlessly when you shut your eyes, like you were trying to go somewhere else in your mind, trying to pretend this wasn’t real.  But it was real, and he wasn’t going to let you forget that.  He was elated to make your nightmares come true.

"I sure wouldn't mind pulling out and covering that pretty face you've got,” he hissed.  “It'd be funny to see you go back to your little march and show them how owned you are.  But not today, babydoll, I think there's only one way you're gonna learn your lesson."

Another muffled gurgle from you, and this time it didn’t even sound like protest.  Maybe you were just too tired for that at this point, but it gave him hope that you could finally behave.

"I'm gonna take my hand away from your mouth and you're gonna beg me to come inside you, is that clear?" he grunted, feeling you nod vigorously.  "You're not gonna scream are you?"

You shook your head, and he slowly pulled his hand from your mouth as you gasped for air.  "Please— come in me," you panted.

"Address me as 'sir'," he instructed.

"Please, sir, I— I want you to come," you whined.

He chuckled right against your ear, feeling you shiver in his grasp.  "Honey, I don't give a fuck what you want."

To think you ever resisted your natural desire for submission was absurd now, considering the way that statement made you openly moan, your walls fluttering around him.

“Gonna fill you so fuckin’ deep you’ll never get it outta you, sweetheart.”

One more orgasm washed over you, making him laugh darkly while he watched you bite your lip to attempt to stay quiet; but that was impossible once he fucked you harder just to spite you, having to hold you tight to make sure he got as deep in you as possible.  Your whole body shook as he slammed into you, and he laughed at how dumb and helpless you looked.

"Bet you're on those new birth control pills," he grimaced.  They really weren’t that new, but he still hadn’t gotten used to them.  "Makes me sick to think you're letting a perfectly good womb go to waste.  Betcha want me to breed you nice and deep, yeah?  Wanna get knocked up?  You don't even care that I'm a stranger, you wanna get your pussy filled by any random man's come so you can have any random man's baby, ain't that right?"

At first he had worried that you would scream or cry for help, but now his concern was more that your moans would be too loud and somebody would catch the two of you in this alley.  Even if it was obvious now that you wanted it, public indecency was still a crime.

Good thing he had a new way to shut you up: his hand tight around your throat, silencing your sobs to blessed silence.  It was so hot to have you entirely at his mercy like that, to feel your pulse beneath his fingers, that he couldn’t stop himself from speeding up his thrusts suddenly.

"Fuck, I’m gonna come,” he gasped, “fuck, y-you… little whore…”

He had a habit of running his mouth when he was right on the edge, and the way your pussy was milking him for all he was worth made him spit out whatever filth he could think of.  

“Stupid fuckin' bitch," he mumbled under his breath as he fucked you as fast and rough as he could, chasing his high with no regard for your pleasure or your pain.  "Dumb whore, fuck, you stupid— ah, shit— stupid fucking cunt!"

He cried out as he filled you, groaning loudly with every pump of his seed into your waiting body.  Only when he was sure every drop was inside you did he release his grip on your neck, a loud gasp coming first before a few coughs and chokes that only made his cock harder despite having just filled you.

You started to struggle again, and he couldn’t believe it— after everything, did you still not know your place?

There wasn’t much time to relax and enjoy the afterglow when you were already trying to get away, and so he had to hold you tight again while he smiled exhaustedly.

“N-no,” you stammered, and he covered your mouth again as he pulled your head back to rest on his shoulder.  Clearly he hadn’t done enough yet to fuck that word out of you.

“Where ya goin’, sweetheart?” he panted against your ear, still catching his breath, his chest covered in a thin layer of sweat where it was exposed by his shirt.  “You’ve still got another hole to fill.”

[whump-a-la-mode]

Could you do a story where the villain tries to break into the hero’s house but finds them barely conscious (broken ribs maybe) and they decide to help them? Idk if you’ve done smtg similar, sorry

Ooh, this is a fun one! There’s more story here than real caretaking, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. Thank you so much for the prompt!

CW//Strong language, implied violence against children, injuries

When that week had begun, Villain would have been lying if they had said that kidnapping a hero was on the very top of their to-do list. In fact, it was so low on their list of priorities that was little more than a contingency plan. A vague idea. There were far more useful things they could do than stooping to the level of their adversaries and taking captives.

That had been at the start of the week, however. When Villain’s life wasn’t a complete disaster. They’d started their Monday morning with a cup of coffee and a pile of plans to carry out.

None of them had included staking out in the bushes outside the home of a particular Hero. But, here they were, stalking through undergrowth, picking up burrs on their clothes all the way.

Now, those plans had been tossed in the nearest wastepaper bin. This was of a far greater importance.

The heroes were cruel. No villain in the city would dispute that point. There was no level to which they would hesitate to stoop, from kidnapping to bioweaponry to manipulation.

But a child? A child should have been off limits. A child was innocent, far too young to be involved in the waged conflicts surrounding them. It was why Villain had never wanted a Sidekick in the first place. When the kid approached them, though, they knew that refusal wasn’t an option. The poor thing was washed up, on the brink of falling into a far worse world. In desperate need of a wing to be taken under.

Sidekick was just a kid. Villain was mentoring them, training them, nothing more. They could hardly fight, much less win any conflict they found themself thrown into. They were far more of a civilian than they were any sort of threat.

And the heroes had taken them. Driven up alongside them and tossed them into the back of a van. A kid, Villain’s kid, now sat in a cell somewhere, in hero custody. A child turned into a bargaining chip.

The only problem with that? Villain had nothing to offer in return. The heroes knew that full well. That was why they’d taken the kid in the damn first place.

They wanted Villain. Sidekick’s release in exchange for their imprisonment.

It was a deal that was simply untenable. As much as the idea of their own captivity horrified them, it would bring along with it another consequence: Sidekick would have no one to go to.

They simply couldn’t go along with it. They needed their own bargaining chip, their own cash in the pile.

Hero was going to be that chip.

In a way, to them, it was revenge as much as it was strategy. Hero was the only one of the heroes that Villain had ever truly interacted with. They were young as well, only a new inductee into the ranks of the protectors of the city. That meant, too, that they were weak.

It had been easier than Villain had expected, to find the home address of one of the city’s heroes. But, so it turned out, just about information could be bought and sold from any number of unscrupulous street characters-- for the right price, of course.

And, here they were. With heavy, clomping steps, they approached the back of Hero’s home. Their uniform and mask covered nearly every inch of their expression, blending them into the shadows and grass they moved through.

A few hours prior, they’d scouted out the building, making note of a second-story window that never seemed to lock quite right. Of course, most of the time, this wouldn’t be an issue-- no criminal would be bold enough to hook a ladder all the way up there.

But Villain didn’t need a ladder.

With a hop, skip, and a jump, solid ground disappeared from beneath them. It wasn’t flight, per se, but diving deeper into the logistics of levitation bored most. What mattered was that, to Villain, gravity was no deterrent.

Now at the height of the window, they hooked their fingers under it. They cringed as the frame let out a terrible screeching noise, their heart lunging between their lungs. Dammit, dammit, dammit!

But, from within the bedroom, there was no reaction; aside from a low, exhausted groan. Was Hero asleep? It certainly sounded like it. They supposed that that was why they had decided to make their attack in the middle of the night.

Gritting their teeth, Villain pushed the window open the rest of the way, siddling their body through and collapsing upon the crumbling carpet below.

Another groan.

“Mom?”

Villain stiffened as they scrambled to first their knees, then their feet. The bedroom was standard, in most ways. A bed, a dresser, a closet with a single broken, dangling from a single nail.

And a hero. Hero laid upon the bed, covers tossed off of their body and to the floor. One of their arms was folded so as to cover their eyes, all while yet another groan escaped their body.

As the villain approached the edge of the footrest, they could not help but taste the choking sensation of a trap. Had their accomplice sold them out? Had Hero seen them during their scouting mission? There was no way they had slept through all this!

But, this wasn’t sleep. No. Sleeping people did not twitch painfully in their unconsciousness.

They dared take a step closer, examining their incapacitated target. Their shirt had been pulled up, nearly to their chest, as though they had been desperately trying to cool themself down. Or... Or to relieve the pain of an injury.

From their naval to their chest, and likely beyond, though it was covered by their shirt, their skin had turned a deep, flushed, blue color. The edges of the bruises, in certain places, had even begun to turn sickly green and purple colors.

Villain knew broken ribs when they saw them. They knew for a fact that they were not the one to have inflicted these wounds. Hell, they hadn’t faced the hero in battle in nearly a month!

So who had?

When they had entered the home, they had had no thoughts in their mind besides those of their child. The hostage video the heroes had sent them, in which Sidekick shivered in a lonely, cold cell.

Now- Now they had two people to worry about. Certainly the heroes had their own doctors, didn’t they? No doctor worth their salt would leave a patient in this condition, especially not alone!

“Hey.” Villain’s stomped their foot. “Get up, you deft ass. I’m trying to kidnap you.”

Hero’s arm lazily flopped onto the bed as their eyes fluttered open.

Every muscle in their body tensed, making the bruises on their exposed stomach twist and flex.

“What the absolute- Villain?” They shifted, as though they were about to sit up-- but they did not. Instead, they lay only groaning on the bed. “Get out of my house, you piece of shit! Get out! You shouldn’t be here in the first place!”

Villain knew that voice like a ringtone. That undertone of terror, masked by layers and layers of fury, like a canine’s medication hidden in peanut butter.

“You’re beat up halfway to hell.”

“And you’re going to be if you don’t leave my house!”

The villain raised a brow, dropping their hands to the side.

“Go for it. I’ll give you a free shot, even.”

Hero narrowed their eyes, twitching once more on the bed, but moving no more than that.

“I said, hit me, you damn do-gooder.”

“I’m not stooping to your level.” Hero defended hastily.

“It seems more to me.” Villain placed one threatening hand upon the bed-- not touching their foe, but close enough. “Like you’re a bit stuck. Like your abdomen is so fucked that you can’t so much as sit yourself up.”

“More like I’m not wasting my energy one someone as low as you.”

“Isn’t that your whole job?”

Hero gritted their teeth.

“What in the hell do you want?”

“Unimportant, at least for now.” A shark encircling its prey, Villain moved to the side of Hero’s bed, forcing them to turn their head at an awkward side angle in order to see their attacker. “I think the most important thing, right about now, is getting you to the nearest medic.”

“I don’t need an ambulance.”

“I didn’t say you did.”

And, like that, the Hero was hoisted up into their enemy’s arms. Their injuries minimized their thrashing, leaving them as a rather compliant captive.

“I have some medic friends who would just love to know what in the hell happened to you.” Villain turned, beginning to head out the door. Their vehicle was parked at only a few block’s distance. “They don’t treat heroes often, but, right about now, you don’t look like too much of a hero to me.”

“What do you want from me?”

“I was just getting there, wasn’t I? We’re getting my damn kid back.”

“We?”

“Did I stutter?”

[emwritesfootball]

On The Wall | John Stones

Also you should write a piece about John coming into the pub where the reader works and hitting on her and making fun of her for having his picture on the wall and you can go from there 👀

Word Count: 1,612

Warnings: unprotected sex, oral (Female receiving), fingering, drinking

A/N: an idea I pitched to @bluemoonstonesy who said I should write this myself. Enjoy x

- - -

“We’re closed,” you say automatically when you hear the little bell at the top of the door signal that someone’s come in. You’re wiping the sticky surface of the bar down, not paying attention to anything but making sure the wooden area is spotless for tomorrow.

“Oh, sorry, I must’ve missed the sign,” a familiar voice chuckles and you look up to find none other than John Stones in your family’s pub. John freaking Stones, whose picture happens to be on the wall of your family’s Manchester City-themed pub right next to Aguero and Grealish.

“I-” You don’t know what to say at first, speechless as you just stare at him. You let out a nervous chuckle, ducking your head to hide the embarrassment that you knew was plainly spelled out across your face.

“I can leave if you’d like,” he says when you still haven’t found your words.

“N-No,” you stutter, shaking your head rapidly. “It’s fine. What are you drinking?”

“Virgin of whatever’s your favourite,” he responds, giving you a saucy grin.

“No,” you reply, falling easily into your role behind the bar. “As your bartender, I can’t let you drink a virgin anything - footballer or not.”

John places his forearms on the bar, leaning forward. “And what if I’m an alcoholic?”

“I’d think the media would have let me know,” you retort, smirking.

“You got me there,” he chuckles, holding up his hands in surrender. “I’m out of excuses, and we just won earlier today-”

“You did, and you deserve a drink, so what’ll it be?” You don’t reply, mixing up your favourite cocktail and garnishing it, setting it down in front of him. “After the way you played today, this one is on the house.” You realize you actually hadn’t flipped the sign from OPEN to CLOSED, doing so as he sips on the drink. You can feel his eyes on you, watching as you finish your checklist of things to do to close the pub down for the evening.

“So, how’d you get this job?” John asks, making idle conversation as you continue to clean.

“My family owns the place, so I didn’t get much choice,” you shrug, starting to wipe down the tables. “Doesn’t matter, though - pay’s good even if the hours are shit, but at least I get the luxury of telling my bosses to fuck off without being fired.”

“Yeah, not many people get to say that, I suppose,” John said, wincing a little as the alcohol went down.

“Could have worse jobs than dealing with drunks, honestly. I could spend my days getting yelled at by drunks who think they know more than the refs while I get paid millions of pounds to kick a ball.” You shot him a wink to let him know you were kidding, your stomach dipping when you made him laugh.

“Fair enough. At least I don’t have a framed picture of myself where I- wait, nevermind. My picture’s everywhere at the Etihad.”

You walk back behind the bar, making him another drink - two mojitos this time. “Both of those aren’t for me, are they?”

“Only one of them is, unless you don’t wanna pay for your second drink.”

“You drive a hard bargain,” John laughs, shaking his head but motioning for the drink. “Give it to me.”

You hand him one, your fingers brushing his. Your breath hitches at the contact, your eyes meeting his, and you know he’s heard the sound.

“Who’s your favourite City player?” He asks, his voice barely a whisper.

You bite down on your bottom lip, flicking your gaze down at the bar before your eyes meet his again. “If I tell you it’s you, would you think I was lying because you’re the one in front of me right now?”

“Well, now that you’ve said it: yes,” he jokes, smiling. “But you’re so beautiful and sincere that I’m inclined to believe you.”

“Calling me beautiful to try to get out of paying for that second drink?” You tease in an attempt to ignore how fast your pulse is racing and how turned on by him you are.

“Maybe,” he smirks, reaching out and touching your face. You lean into his touch, his thumb brushing across your cheek in a way that makes you yearn for him to touch you in other places. “But it’s also true.”

“You shouldn’t press your luck, Stones.”

His eyes darken. “Call me John.”

“John.” You sound out the syllable, loving the way it feels coming out of your mouth. You’ve said his name a thousand times - screamed it when he’s scored, cried it when City’s lost, casually thrown it out to your friends or anyone when you’re talking about your team - but this feels different… intimate, even.

The pads of his fingers press into the sensitive skin on your neck and you let out an involuntary whimper. John swallows hard, his tongue peeking out to wet his bottom lip. “If I kiss you right now…”

“If you kiss me right now, I’ll end up begging you to fuck me on this bar,” you say, barely recognizing the words as the leave your mouth. You’re not usually this bold, but this man makes you do things you wouldn’t normally do, the least of which is beg him to fuck you in your family’s pub.

“Fuck, that’s hot,” John growls right before latching his lips onto yours. Your stomach presses painfully into the wood as you lean across the bar, matching him kiss for kiss.

“Wait,” you gasp, breaking the kiss as you pull back so you can walk around and stand in-between his legs, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Much better,” you smirk, leaning in to kiss him again.

“Wearing my kit, eh?” John murmurs between kisses, his hands sliding up your waist and underneath the material. “Sexy.”

The word travels out of his mouth and down your spine, your clit throbbing as it responds to his praise. He lifts his kit over your head, letting it fall to the floor. Your jeans are a little trickier and you kick off your shoes before wiggling out of them while he sheds his own shirt and joggers, toeing off his own trainers. For a moment you hate that your bra and panties don’t match, but you also weren’t expecting to get your brains fucked out by your favourite footballer tonight, so it’s definitely not going the way you’d planned.

“Let’s see how wet you are for me,” John rasps, his hand trailing up your thigh before settling between your legs, nimble fingers pushing your panties to the side to probe your slick folds. Your hands fly to his shoulders, a moan ripping from your throat as he slides a thick finger as deep as it’ll go inside your pussy, curling in to your g-spot just right when the heel of his palm grinds against your clit.

“Oh, God, John!” You cry out, a needy whimper leaving your mouth when he pulls out his finger, his eyes glued to yours as he licks his finger clean.

“You taste so good,” he praises, kissing you again so you can taste yourself off his lips.

“Please, John, just fuck me already,” you beg, reaching between the two of you to stroke his cock.

“How do you want it?” He asks, his eyes fluttering closed as you pump his shaft, your thumb brushing over the tip that’s now leaking precum. “I don’t have a condom so pullout will have to do.”

Your pussy clenches around nothing in anticipation, the thought of John fucking you raw and pulling out making you that much more turned on. “Pullout is fine - just fuck me already, John.” You pull yourself up so you’re sitting on the bar, spreading your legs so John can get the perfect view of your already-dripping pussy.

He lines his dick up with your entrance, letting out a groan as he slides the tip into you. You let him go slow so you can feel every inch of him, finally picking up the pace once he’s balls-deep inside you. Your legs are wrapped around his waist, your hands bracing yourself on the wood as he thrusts into you rhythmically, his fingers leaving marks on your hips.

You’re on the verge of an orgasm when John pulls out, pumping his dick a few times before spilling his seed on your stomach and letting out a groan. Without a second thought, you’re swiping it off and sticking your index finger in your mouth, tasting him like he’d tasted you earlier, making a big show of swirling your tongue around your finger.

“Did you cum?” He asks, and for a moment you think about lying to him, but you decide not to, shaking your head. “Lean back,” he orders before kissing up your inner thigh and putting his mouth on your pussy.

Your hands immediately tangle in his hair, grabbing the curls as he licks at your core. It doesn’t take long for you to cum around his tongue, his name on your lips as your orgasm races through you and you grind your pussy on his face.

His lips are shiny with your juices when he comes up, grinning at you before pulling you in for another kiss.

“When do you close next?” He asks a few minutes later as you’re both getting dressed.

“The same day as your next match,” you reply.

“Good,” is all he says, giving you a knowing smile before vanishing out the door, leaving you all alone with your thoughts as you begin wiping down the bar again to remove all the evidence of what you’ve just done.