#dick: the benefit of killing him would be that I will be bothered way less

[littlefankingdom]

I need more fics where Dick acts just like in the comics when Jason comes back.

No more "Little Wing! I missed you so much! I'm fine with you killing people, I don't care! You're right, B is an asshole."

Bring back the original "Jason?! Wtf are you doing??? Stop killing people, you little bitch! I'm gonna kick your fucking ass! B is way too nice to you, because it would be me, you would be in jail!"

[king-midas-fortnite]

Hello. I assume there is little need for introduction, but I am Midas. I've recently returned from a brief..."sabbatical", shall we call it, in the Underworld.

My daughter, Jules thought it would be a good idea to keep a blog. Not sure why. Something about venting feelings, connecting with other people not in my crew, etc. Not exactly things I find very high priority, but I suppose it can't kill me. I'd know better than anyone what can, after all. And perhaps it'll make keeping tabs on people of interest easier...

Feel free to reach out, if you wish. Message me, tag me, whatever the case may be. I'll do my best to be active here. Whatever it takes to make my daughter happy. However, I am a busy man. Apologies if I miss anything.

((Keep reading for rules and notes!))

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Rules and guidelines for interacting!

1. This blog is run by an adult. I am 26, my main is @snippydippy. Please keep this in mind when interacting with me. I ask that minors please consider a different Midas.

I will use (()) to indicate when I'm speaking out of character in any posts!

2. I don't mind NSFW content myself, but may not answer questions or reblog content pertaining to sexually explicit topics to keep things relatively appropriate.

3. This blog may contain ship content, it may not. I have ships I like, they may not be the ones you do. While my version of Midas is cis, he's not straight (bi king). If this bothers you, I don't know what to tell you.

4. My DMs and asks will always be open! Please don't be shy, Midas won't bite. I'm down to RP in the reblogs with anyone! However, DM roleplays for other adults only, please.

5. This blog will always be skewed towards a more serious vibe. I take my characterization of Midas very seriously (more so than I probably should for a FN character lol). You won't find much in the way of him being a silly guy. Even if I find it funny, if I don't think a situation would be in character for my version of him, it won't happen.

That's it as far as my rules go aside from the obvious "don't be a dick" sentiments that I feel I shouldn't have to say. Thank you for reading them! Next are just a couple notes on my headcanons for Midas.

-Midas has some control over his Golden Touch. I think of the curse in a way that is similar to chronic pains. Some days, it is manageable, and he can touch whatever he'd like without issue. Some days, it is bad. He has to avoid people, can't eat, and struggles getting through mundane tasks without frustration.

I believe his curse may also be in part tied to his emotions. Any intense anger, sadness, or other strong feelings will make it harder to control the Touch, and it does cause him some amount of pain when it's out of control. (Doing mental gymnastics to explain why Fortnite itself isn't consistent with his power.)

-Jules means everything to Midas. He will do absolutely anything in his power to keep his daughter safe and to keep his relationship with her in good standing. He's wronged her in the past, and is doing all he can to make up for those actions and lost time.

-His time in the underworld changed him a bit. He's less cold to the people close to him. He allows more feeling than pure calculation into his thought processes, but a stranger may not be able to tell. Midas is a relatively closed off man. He does not wear his emotions on his sleeve, and doesn't often make friends without some kind of benefit to be had from the relationship. Be it power or connections. However, the friendships he does have mean a great deal to him. He is quick to provide aid in any way he can to those he cares about.

Another thing about his imprisonment in Hell: Time in the underworld was experienced differently. While we may have waited four years for Midas to return, for him it was much, much longer. Now that he is back, he is determined to never be put in chains ever again.

-My version of him obviously has not left the island after returning from the underworld, instead opting to stay as his curiosity for how things have changed has gotten the better of him. He wants to keep up with the power struggles, and find a way to insert himself back into them.

This blog is semi-independent! Some lore is shared with @perseus-ihatemydad-fortnite in that he helped Midas escape from the Underworld. As well as most often being seen interacting with @kado-fortnite and @valeria-fortnite

Tags I'll use!

#Midas Answers -For asks answered in character

#Midas Posts -For interactions in character

#Gold Reserves -In-character reblogs of art, aesthetic posts, etc.

#Gold Encounter -For interactions between other characters that are meant to be read as happening in-person/privately

#Journal Entries - For uh. For Journal Entries lol. These are, in a meta sense, private to him. They are for interactions that happen on the Discord server rather than Tumblr for reader convenience.

- 👑 for anon messages

#Shut your trap snippy -For posts like these that include me talking OOC (I know, long tag. It's just what I've been using on my main blog for years to tag my own garbage lol)

Screenshot in this post and my header are from @corvidazed 💛

Thank you for getting all the way down here! I hope our interactions are fun!

[crossdressingdeath]

#has anyone written Catharsis Fic for this because I would LOVE someone getting mad at him#for going 'you don't want to be here or in charge but I WON'T do it so you don't have a choice (again)'#like he seriously just keeps doing what Duncan did#forcing the Warden into a position they might not want#but if they're brutally pragmatic about it - as I think would be REASONABLE#given they've been taken from their life and their family and given a deferred death sentence and forced to be in charge#because it's the only way that death sentence doesn't become LESS deferred#if they do become the person circumstances might reasonably make of them#then he gets MAD about it (tags via @teaandinanity)

You've made me think of a very interesting point which is that... the Warden doesn't want to be there. I've talked about that before, but the thing I haven't gotten into is that Alistair does want to be there. He loves the Wardens! Or rather he thinks he does, he doesn't actually understand the Wardens well enough to love them rather than the idealized version of them he made up in his head. But no matter how much he thinks he loves the Wardens, Alistair chooses to give leadership of what's left of the Ferelden branch to someone who might openly, vocally despise the Wardens. Fortunately for him the Warden is guaranteed to be decent/pragmatic enough to not sabotage the Wardens at the first opportunity, but they could have! In some world states Alistair forces someone who would happily watch the Wardens burn to lead the whole thing and he is very lucky that they're not the sort to put their personal desires ahead of what's best for the cause.

Honestly Alistair's total refusal to even consider the pragmatic options if he feels at all morally icky about it kind of creates a worst of both worlds situation, because while it's still incredibly selfish of him to refuse to lead and then freak out when the person he forced into the position doesn't do what he wants (you could've kept this from happening super easily by fulfilling your responsibilities, my dude) he proves in one stroke that a) he'd be a shit leader and b) he's a shit Warden. You cannot lead or even work in an organization like the Wardens if you freak out whenever you have to get your hands dirty! And while some of the Warden's choices are just awful (there is no benefit to leaving Redcliffe to be slaughtered, for example) a lot of them are just... things need to be done and done quickly. While we the players know that the plot will very politely hold itself in place while we dick around, the characters don't! It's most obvious with Connor and Isolde: we know that the desire demon will cheerfully sit around the castle not bothering anyone while we make our way to the Circle and back, but the characters don't. Both killing Connor outright and sacrificing Isolde to enter the Fade are very reasonable paths to take given the imminent risk of a demon slaughtering everyone if it's not dealt with (honestly it kind of weakens the quest that there's a perfect ending where everyone lives and there's no drawbacks, the writer in me wishes that that wasn't a thing, but whatever I do like happy endings), but Alistair freaks out about it because it made him feel bad. The other companions dislike decisions the Warden makes, but they don't corral them at camp to yell at them for it! And sure! Alistair feels bad, they were his "family" and he helped kill them! The Warden probably doesn't feel great about it either! But that failure to recognize that sometimes you have to do awful things to prevent greater evils and how that's basically the Wardens' whole ethos makes Alistair an awful Warden, and I'd love the chance to actually point that out to him, that he's so totally failed to grasp what the Wardens are that he's an absolutely terrible Warden. ...God, imagine if there was an option during the argument after sparing Loghain for a Warden who expressed displeasure at Alistair forcing them to lead at every opportunity to turn around and say "I'm glad you forced me to lead, because you're so incapable of understanding the concept of necessity that you would've gotten us all killed". Now that would be a fun argument.

A thing I wish DAO went into more: the way Alistair is in some ways incredibly selfish. Like, the way he refuses to take charge of the group is treated as kind of endearing in the text, but the game doesn't really get into what a massive burden he just... drops on the junior Warden present with no warning or discussion. Think about it: the Warden is heavily implied to be very young (possibly younger than Alistair, definitely around the same age), most of them have no real experience in leadership, several of them have no experience in the world outside their small corner, all of them have only been Wardens for a few days. And Alistair dumps leadership of the group on them and refuses to take any of that weight. Does your Warden like leadership? Are they any good at it? Is it exhausting and difficult for them? Alistair doesn't care! He doesn't want to lead, and that means you have to lead, and whether or not you want to lead has no bearing on that. It's not a discussion, there's no suggestion of sharing the responsibility of leadership as the Wardens of the group; Alistair metaphorically throws the responsibility at you and runs.

But if you go for low approval with Alistair it's basically all about calling him childish and immature, even though I think a much more compelling low approval dynamic is the Warden despising Alistair for putting so much on them with no hesitation, but being stuck with him (because they know as well as he does that they need all hands on deck Warden-wise) and stuck with that burden of leadership (because a Warden kind of has to be in charge of the group and even if one didn't no one else in the group would be very good as a leader in this situation, and Alistair has made it very clear that he won't take it). Even at high approval it would be very compelling to have this sense of resentment at how Alistair just assumed they'd take on the burden of leadership and refuses to take any of it for himself. But that aspect gets completely ignored in the story, you don't really get the chance to raise the matter aside from asking why you're in charge despite him being the senior Warden present a couple of times.

It also adds something really spicy to the fallout of sparing Loghain, though, because... Alistair forced the Warden to take on leadership. He made them be the one to make these hard choices. It's never been a discussion, it's never been the Warden's choice whether or not they take on responsibility for these tough decisions, Alistair always just expects them to do it. And now they've made a call he doesn't like, and he abandons the group on the eve of battle because of his wounded feelings? I'd argue that's as much a betrayal as sparing Loghain if not more so, and certainly more of a betrayal of Duncan's memory; Duncan understood that a good Warden must be driven by necessity, not emotion or even morality, and I feel like in the Warden's place he likely would've made the same call. They need Wardens around to kill the Archdemon, as many as they can get, and even one more could make the difference between victory and defeat. The Warden and Alistair may not know the details, but with the most senior Warden present saying they should make Loghain a Warden instead of killing him a logical assumption would be he has a very good reason for saying so and maybe they should listen to him! I would've loved it if during the argument with Alistair after sparing Loghain you could really get into that "You forced the responsibility of making these decisions on me when I never wanted or asked for it, you don't get to throw a tantrum now that I've made one you don't like" aspect of it, but you... don't. And that's a shame, because it takes a lot of depth away from his dynamic with the Warden.

[cookinguptales]

At the night market Guillermo called Nandor “Master”, at least I think I heard him say that. But I believe he did that just to keep up appearances in front of all the other vampires.? Guillermo didn’t call Nandor “Master” all season long otherwise, right? Do you think Guillermo still attends to some of his familiar duties? Does Nandor dress himself, gets out of the coffin alone, brush his hair on his own? Who is getting them their food/ their victims? We haven’t seen them feed yet in s4 (Aside from Sal, who was killed and we were told that they will drink him later).

He's done it a few times, actually, including when it's just the two of them. He did it, for instance, when he was calling for Nandor and trying to find him when he broke into his treasure room. I'm not sure he even knew the cameras were down there when he was calling for him, so I don't think it was for their benefit.

That said, it's way less regular (usually he just doesn't refer to him as anything at all) and he's also much more likely to just refer to him as "Nandor" as opposed to "my master" in interviews, though I've noticed that they've also cut Guillermo's interviews way down. (Something that makes me nervous, tbh; is there a reason they want to keep Guillermo's motivations more mysterious? Was it just the embezzling thing or is there more...?)

I think that he's probably still doing some familiar duties, but only for Nandor. He's obviously washed his hands of Nadja and Laszlo, he seems resentful when they ask him to do anything these days, and he's not bothering to fix up the house. That said, it could just be that it's such a wreck that it's not worth cleaning it. There are no bodies piling up, so it could be that he's at least doing that.

The fact that Nandor's first response upon waking up is to call for Guillermo makes me think that Guillermo's probably still helping him with his morning/evening routines. But that could also just be that he pretty much defaults to calling Guillermo for help and he's still not used to doing things himself. Guillermo didn't immediately come, but it was the middle of the day (so he could be asleep or out) and there also wasn't long before the scene ended. Possible he just couldn't get there within thirty seconds. lmao

The fact that he had no idea what Nandor would be wearing what he was in 4.05 kind of seems to imply that he's not dressing him every time, but I think there were probably exceptions to him dressing Nandor a few times when he was busy in s1-3, too. (Like I don't think Guillermo was dressing him for the gym, for instance.) So I'm not sure if that's evidence one way or the other...

He's definitely doing a lot of work for Nandor, but it's hard to say if he considers that part of being a familiar or part of being a best man. (Or occasionally being Uncle Memo.) He took care of the wives, wedding planning, and Nandor's dick, but that could be best man/friend stuff. Even if the Djinn clearly saw that last one as a familiar thing and was trying to manipulate him as such... He wasn't given much of a chance in 4.04 to do anything for Nandor one way or another (other than the whole pokemon battle situation, but idk how much choice he had there); they mostly just bickered like a married couple in the rest of the Night Market.

He obviously still cares about Nandor very deeply and that muddies the waters a lot. How much is he doing for him because it's what a familiar does, how much does he do because it's become habit to babysit him, and how much does he do because he loves him...? idk. Hard to say.

He's done a lot of care work for Colin Robinson, too, and seems to think of himself in a nanny role, which seems to kind of go along with familiar... but again, it's unclear if he considers that to be a personal choice rather than an obligation as familiar. He served water during the interview, similar to how he served food to the human gf when the vampires came to visit in s3, but that might've, again, just been for Colin's sake. Like Nandor, it's entirely possible that he's just caring for the people that he loves here as opposed to doing it because it's his "job". (Then again, he always seemed to consider being a familiar a labor of love, too...)

I do think that Guillermo is definitely falling into some very familiar (no pun intended) familiar patterns, but he's coming up with a million and one reasons to excuse that. He's caring for Nandor as much as ever and in ways that are even more onerous than they used to be, but he can say that's because he's his best man and his friend. He's caring for Colin Robinson to the point where he considers himself an unappreciated nanny, but he can say that's because he won't let a child be abused. He's doing a fair amount of work (it seems) for the club, but he can say that's just because he wants to skim off the top.

Guillermo keeps repeating this whole looking out for number one thing, but it seems that he's falling into a lot of the old patterns that got him into this mess; he's just conceptualizing them a different way. He's in denial, I think. He can come up with a reason for every horrible, annoying thing he's doing for this household, but he's still behaving like a familiar, to some degree. Just a very bitchy one. Which I respect.

I guess it's hard to say because Guillermo's familiar status was always so tied up in his codependency. Being a familiar was always more than a job for him. He did it because he loved them and wanted to be a vampire. He clearly still loves them and clearly still wants to take care of them, even if they piss him the hell off. So how much of this was ever being a familiar, and how much of it was just being Guillermo...?

(I will say that I am surprised that Guillermo's allowing so much sunlight to come into Nandor's room during the day, but it's possible that he just hasn't realized what a safety hazard that is yet. He's pretty clearly distracted.)

The one thing that really gives me pause is him not talking about becoming a vampire anymore! I do think he still wants to be one... He kind of sideways alluded to it in 4.01 when he said something along the lines of "one could argue that being a best man is better than being turned into a vampire. I don't know why anyone would, but."

But he hasn't been nearly as direct about it anymore, which makes me wonder if he just has no faith in them ever doing it. (I know that Harvey kind of mentioned this in an interview, but idk how canon it is. Harvey... says a lot of things.) If that's the case, him still being there at all requires considerably more mental gymnastics than I'd previously thought.

I will be genuinely upset if Guillermo ever gives up on being a vampire, unless it's to focus on being something else similarly supernatural, but if he's just disillusioned with the vampires a bit, I can handle that. lmao. Giving up the vampire thing would just be too much change in his core motivations happening offscreen, though. I'd hate that.

[fridayfirefly]

All For The Investigation

Read All For The Investigation on AO3

Masterlist

By Tim’s calculations, there was an 87% certain that Marinette Dupain-Cheng was the Parisian former hero Ladybug. However, 87% was not 100%, so Bruce required further investigation. Damian was stuck with the job.

Except, Damian knew that stuck wasn't exactly the right word. Stuck implied that he was displeased with the situation. Damian wasn't displeased. Marinette Dupain-Cheng was the most pleasant person in all of Gotham Academy. If Damian had to choose anyone to be forced to spend time with, he would choose Marinette. Though he grumbled about being forced to spend time with plebeians (for the benefit of his brothers, who would mercilessly tease Damian if they even suspected that he had a crush), Damian was quite pleased by the assignment.

Given that Marinette was in his history class, it was quite easy to arrange a situation in which they were forced to be in each others' proximities. When their teacher announced that there would be an upcoming group project with randomly assigned partnerships, it was simple for Damian to break into her office and switch around some of the names. When the partnerships were announced and Marinette and Damian were paired together, Damian made his move.

"Dupain-Cheng, if you would like to work on the project over the weekend, we can do so at my house."

"Sounds good, Wayne, but you know, you can just call me Marinette," said Marinette with a smile.

Damian felt flustered, which was a very bad sign. He never felt anything less than perfectly composed. "Then you may call me Damian."

Marinette's smile got even bigger. There was a feeling in his chest that, had it been caused by anyone else, Damian would have suspected it to be a complication of the broken ribs from Joker's last attack. "Let me give you my number, and we can plan a meeting this weekend. Would Saturday work for you?"

Damian nodded as he handed Marinette his phone. "My schedule is free on Saturday."

"Great!" chirped Marinette. She plugged in her number, then posed for a picture, explaining that it was, "For the contact photo."

And if in the privacy of his bedroom, Damian stared at that contact photo for twenty-minutes straight, it was just for research purposes. Just to compare Marinette's facial structure to that of Ladybug. Completely normal investigative business.

The next morning, Damian found his way to the bedroom of his most tolerable brother. "Grayson. Can I confide in you without any of the information getting to anyone else?"

Richard glanced up from his laptop. "Sure thing, Baby Bird." He patted a spot on the bed next to him,

"Don't call me that. I despise nicknames," grumbled Damian. He took a seat, staring at the wall in front of him, still weighing the risk versus reward of talking to Richard. If his brother had some technique for extinguishing romantic interest it would solve Damian's problem. However, if either Drake or Todd got word of Damian's crush there was no doubt in Damian's mind that they would never let him hear the end of it.

"So what's on your mind?"

"It pertains to the girl in my who Drake suspects to be Ladybug, Marinette Dupain-Cheng. She has become difficult to investigate. I have found myself unable to observe her objectively."

Richard frowned. "I'm not sure I know what you mean. Is it something that she did that's bothering you?"

Damian searched for the right words to explain the situation. He was not usually so tongue-tied, but the proper words seemed to escape him at every turn. "Dupain-Cheng is not what I expected. I assumed that it would be a simple task, to observe her and determine whether she has any connection to the Parisian superhero. However, I have found it difficult to concentrate on my mission when I am around her."

"You find it difficult to concentrate when you're around her. How so?"

Damian gritted his teeth. He didn't want to spell out his crush so obviously, but Richard seemed incapable of looking between the lines. "I have found myself preoccupied with trivial things like getting to know her personality, rather than investigating her background. She makes me feel... flustered."

Damian could see the moment that Richard made the connection. His brother's face lit up as he exclaimed, "You have a crush on her?!"

"Quiet!" snapped Damian. "This does not leave this room. I need to learn how to get rid of it, so I can get back to completing the mission."

Richard was grinning ear to ear. "That's not how crushes work. You can't just snap your fingers and have them disappear. The only thing that can get rid of a crush is time. Or sometimes if they get a haircut that kills the feeling. But mostly it just takes time."

"I cannot afford to wait for these feelings to fade. I'll look into scheduling her a haircut." Damian stood up, resolved to get rid of his crush before Marinette came over later that day to work on their project.

"No wait," Richard grabbed Damian's arm. "I doubt that your attraction to her is so shallow that a haircut would destroy the feelings you have for her. This is something that you'll have to talk to her about."

Damian frowned. "Perhaps I should give the mission to someone else. Jon could transfer to Gotham Academy for the semester. His detective skills are lacking but his judgment would be less clouded than mine. If I ignore her for long enough I'm sure that I can evade talking about my feelings."

"Why don't you just ignore the mission for a few weeks while you get to know her."

Damian fixed Richard with a death glare. "I cannot ignore this mission. Father gave it to me personally."

"How about twenty-four hours? You spend the next twenty-four hours in getting-to-know-her mode rather than background-check mode and at the end of it, we can regroup and decide what to do next. If you actually get to know her, you'll better understand the depths of your feelings. Once you have that understanding, you'll be able to see if waiting out your crush is a viable option or if you need to pass on the responsibilities to someone else."

It wasn't the perfect solution, but it was better than anything Damian had come up with. Anything that could potentially alleviate Damian's inability to focus on the investigation was worth trying. "Fine," Damian replied curtly. "Thank you for your assistance."

"No problem," said Richard. "You know, I would love to get to meet Marinette sometime."

"Don't push your luck," grumbled Damian, ignoring Richard's laughter as he stood up and left the room. There would be no way to hide the fact that Marinette was coming over to the Manor from his family. There was also no way that his family wouldn't intrude upon Damian and Marinette as they worked. However, if he explained everything beforehand and phrased everything in precisely the right way, he might be able to pass off his odd behavior towards Marinette as a part of his investigation. Damian pulled out his phone and composed a text to send to the family groupchat.

Damian: Dupain-Cheng is coming to the Manor at approximately 22:00 to work on a history project. I will be covertly conducting my investigation. From what I have gathered, she would respond better to subtle questioning, rather than a straightforward interrogation.

Tim: wait does subtle interrogation mean that you'll be flirting with her???

Jason: I need to see this

Steph: I'm willing to bet money that his flirting offends Marinette so much she storms out of the Manor before Damian can finish the mission

Dick: No way. I'll bet 20 dollars that his flirting works too well

Steph: done

Damian huffed, half tempted to call off his meeting with Marinette. His siblings were insufferable.

Damian: Please refrain from intervening. Confirming that Dupain-Cheng is Ladybug is a vital first step in determining whether the Justice League needs to interfere in the affairs of the Order of the Miraculous.

Bruce: Damian is correct. No one will bother him while he is working with Marinette.

Damian smirked as he turned his phone off. His plan wasn't foolproof, of course, but a direct order from Bruce to not interfere would force his siblings to be more subtle about spying on him and Marinette. The chance of him being interrupted was significantly decreased.

Damian got everything set up in the den, which was only ever used on family movie night. It was perfectly situated for the task at hand - a room small enough to be classed as cozy but big enough to not feel cramped. It was out of the way, surrounded by other equally unused rooms, so his siblings would have no excuse for lurking in the hallway outside. Damian brought in snacks, chargers, and a few books from the Wayne Manor library on Renaissance Art, the topic of their project.

Marinette arrived promptly at 2 in the afternoon, holding a Tupperware container full of gingerbread cookies, with a smile on her face. "Hi, Damian. I brought cookies."

None of his planning accounted for this moment, for first laying eyes on Marinette. Damian froze up, desperate to put the right words in the right order. "Welcome to Wayne Manor, Marinette. I have everything set up in the den if you'll just follow me."

"Sure." Marinette toed off her black boots and arranged them on the shoe tray next to the door. She was left in sage green cat-print socks that matched the rest of her outfit, a pine green sweater and black jeans. Damian couldn't help but wonder if she knit the sweater herself - Marinette's talent for designing was well-known throughout Gotham Academy, as it was what got her accepted into the prestigious high school in the first place.

Marinette followed Damian through the Manor, complimenting little details that Damian had never noticed before - the pattern of the curtains, the bay window in a sitting room that Damian had never bothered to enter, the family pictures that lined the wall in the hallway. Marinette made it seem so obvious to pay attention to those little details. Damian wished that he could see the Manor for the first time through her eyes and feel the same amazement that she felt as she oohed and awed over the decadence that Damian had considered banal.

Damian was so captivated by Marinette that he almost missed the fact that Drake and Brown were lurking in the study across the hall from the den. A text to his father about the gravity of his mission would be enough to get them sent away on some inconsequential but time-consuming task. Damian would have to find an inconspicuous time to pull out his phone during their work on the project to let his father know about their intrusion.

"Now I know why you call it Wayne Manor. This place is huge." Marinette shrugged off her backpack and set it down on the coffee table next to her container of cookies.

"Its size is entirely unnecessary for ordinary life," agreed Damian. "However, it makes for very challenging games of hide-and-seek."

Marinette giggled. "That sounds like fun. You'll have to invite me next time you play."

"I'll make sure of it." Damian smiled, surprised to find that his happiness wasn't forced. He rarely engaged in childish behavior, and even more rarely did he find any enjoyment in it. Yet the mental image of playing a child's game with Marinette was pleasant to him. The feelings he had for her were deeper than Damian anticipated.

The pair got to work on their project. Damian sent out the text to his father as soon as he opened his laptop, leaving Marinette under the impression that he was researching sources. A series of irritable texts in the family groupchat confirmed the fact that Drake and Brown had been removed from their hiding spot.

"Do you want to try a cookie?" asked Marinette, pushing the Tupperware towards Damian.

"Thank you." Damian took one, just to be polite. Growing up in the League of Assassins, he never really had a taste for sweets. Alfred's baking was the extent of what he would tolerate. He took a bite - small, to back up his claim that he already ate if it turned out to be inedible. Surprisingly, it was nearly as good as Alfred's gingerbread cookies, and those were tailer made to Damian's taste. The cookies were heavy on the ginger and cloves, just as Damian liked. "These are delicious," Damian professed.

Marinette blushed. "Thanks. I know they taste a little different than store-bought gingerbread. My parents make them with a lot of ginger."

"These are much superior to store-bought cookies."

"Thanks. You know, you're a lot nicer outside of school. You always seemed kind of grumpy in class."

"I'm not a fan of the state-mandated curriculum."

Marinette nodded. "I get what you mean. I barely have any room in my schedule for my design classes, with all the mandatory classes that Gotham Academy makes us take. I'm lucky that I have my internship, otherwise, I think I would go crazy, taking so many classes that I don't care about."

"Your internship is with Audrey Bourgeoise, isn't it?"

Marinette nodded. "I was friends with her daughter, back in Paris. Originally it was going to be a four-year internship in New York City, but I renegotiated some of the terms so that I could do the first two years in Paris, then the last two in Gotham, while she established the new branch of her company."

"You renegotiated the terms of a prestigious internship at the age of fourteen? Weren't you afraid of losing it if you pushed too hard?"

Marinette shrugged, nonchalant as if it were normal for an intern to make such a bold move. "I didn't want to leave Paris. My whole life was there. I wasn't ready to just pick up and move to a new country."

"What changed that you were able to come to Gotham?"

"There were a lot of reasons. Hawkmoth was the biggest one. I felt nervous about leaving my family and friends behind when he was terrorizing the city. After he was defeated I felt a lot more comfortable leaving."

That aligned with the theory that Marinette was Ladybug. "What were the other reasons?"

"My age was one. I didn't feel ready to leave home at fourteen and my parents didn't like the idea of me leaving home that young either. Another big one was the fact that I didn't have a good handle on my personal style. I was worried that designing full-time in Audrey Bourgeoise's office would cause me to lose my originality. The worst thing I could imagine was watering down my designs to appeal to the rest of the fashion industry."

"Your conviction is impressive. Most in your position would not worry about selling out to obtain such a highly coveted position."

"Audrey said the same thing, though when she said it, she spoke it with annoyance, not admiration. I've never been highly motivated by wide-spread success. I don't need to be a household name to feel content with life. I just want to design clothes that I'm proud of."

The fluttering feeling in Damian's chest returned with full force, alongside a tendril of anger at the unfairness of the situation. Here was the most perfect person Damian had ever laid his eyes on, and he was forced to pick her apart piece by piece to figure out her deepest darkest secrets. Damian didn't know much about relationships, but this didn't seem like the way they were supposed to go.

"You look upset," Marinette's observation was tinged by the worry in her voice.

"I'm not upset," he assured her. "I was just wondering how I never noticed how interesting you are."

Marinette flushed, her cheeks turning pink. "What does that mean?"

Damian shrugged. While his nonchalant attitude was all a bluff, his admiration of her accomplishments was all real. "Most of our classmates feel accomplished with the most conventional of achievements. Yet you secured an internship at the side of one of the most renowned fashion critics in the world and you still stay humble about it. You weren't blind-sighted by the incredible opportunity. You fought to maintain your values, no matter if it meant losing something priceless."

Marinette's blush deepened. "That's just who I am. It's not special, it's me."

"It is you," agreed Damian. "And it is special."

Marinette gave him a wide-eyed look, shocked by the emotion in his words. "We should get back to work," she said, self-consciously rubbing one cheek with the sleeve of her green wool sweater.

"Of course," Damian amicably agreed. He had pushed far enough for intel and had managed to get to know her a little better in the process. His flirting wasn't as blatant as it could have been, but it got the job done. Richard had said that once he knew the depths of his feelings he would know what to do. Richard was right. Damian's feelings were seemingly endless, a maze of all the things he liked about Marinette, in which every corner he turned was a new quirk that he couldn't un-notice. Yet Damian didn't want to pass on the responsibility of investigating Marinette to anyone else. He wanted a reason to spend time with her.

It wasn't the best situation. Damian wished that he could get to know her organically. However, Damian wasn't the type to dwell on the could-have-been. He had an opportunity to get to know Marinette right in front of him and he wasn't going to let it go.

Hours later, after Marinette went home, Richard stopped him in the hallway. "So what did you learn?"

"My investigation has proven inconclusive. I need to further get to know Marinette Dupain-Cheng if I want to uncover her identity. For research purposes, of course."

Richard laughed. "Of course."

[bigskydreaming]

What kills me in fics is when you have tags going like "Good brother Jason", which, cool, but in the same story there's " Dick TRIES to be a Good Brother" LOL way to switch the dynamics. I also tend to stay clear of the ones where the centric character seems to have a platonic relationship tag with everyone (including the ones where they're antagonists in canon like Jason & Tim) except Dick. You can feel the hate/dislike/prejudice a MILE away.

Yeeeeeeah. You are definitely not alone. Like pretty much every Dick Grayson stan I’ve ever talked to on the subject stays the hell away from any fic tagged “Dick Grayson tries to be a good brother.”

LOL like....it’s basically what I was talking about in that older post I just reblogged a few minutes ago. That thing where Dick’s actions or choices in a canon story or fic aren’t judged on their own merits but are rather inherently weighed against some hypothetical perfect choice that he DIDNT make and so he’s basically evaluated based on how much he falls short of that mark each time instead of anything he actually did.

Sorry not sorry, but I’m just not interested in stories that TRANSFORM the character most commonly referred to as the emotional glue of the family and the only one who consistently even CARES about them all being a family....into the fumbling incompetent relationship disaster man who at best gets credit for at least putting in an attempt at being there for his family.

Especially not when Bruce and Jason and Tim are praised for doing the bare minimum in canon when it comes to family interactions while everything Dick ACTUALLY did is just completely ignored and overwritten in order to make his Failure to People Good the narrative obstacle to be overcome.

Now, the “Dick Grayson Tries To Be A Good Brother” tag applied to Tim-centric fics in particular tho....hoo boy I am out of there so fast there’s a Kool-Aid Man shaped hole in the wall and not a sign of me as far as the horizon.

Like, currently my Pet Peeve Thermostat is set to Battle for the Cowl-referencing fics that don’t use this tag but very much are in that spirit. You probably know the ones, like their summaries suggest they’re open to considering Dick’s side of the situation but turns out the author at most is throwing him a “well at least you tried not to suck” bone while still reading him the riot act for very much still sucking.

Because what drives me up a flipping WALL here in particular, when I naively click on a link that seems different from the usual and ignore the voice of experience because I’m just desperate enough for Tim and Dick food that doesn’t just go on and on about how Dick ruined their brotherhood and it will never be truly repaired....

What makes the fruit bats in my belfry go absolutely B-A-N-A-N-A-S is not just the super fun realization that Psych! You thought this fic might be different but it’s actually the same!

Nah.

It’s how much people, both writers AND commenters, just absolutely LOVE to reference Tim’s shitbag parents and how emotionally abusive and neglectful they were (all true and valid, btw, let’s be totally clear about that)....but bringing them up here specifically to emphasize just how great Dick’s ‘betrayal’ was and how what he did makes him no better than them.

It’s like. Oh. I see.

So because after twenty years worth of stories about Dick dropping everything the second Tim needs him, whether it’s for help or just advice or even just reassurance or comfort or ANYTHING ....because after two decades worth of content showing Dick absolutely doting on Tim in their EVERY SINGLE interaction and buttressing his self confidence at every opportunity, never passing up a chance to call him his brother and emphasize that they’re family and he loves Tim and is so proud of him...

Because after all that there’s a story whose very premise forced Dick to choose between two kids, both still very much his brothers and their shared father’s sons even if one was new to him and didn’t have the same history the other two had....

Because by the very nature of the story Dick had no choice but to prioritize one over the other due to them both hating each other and Dick already being stretched to his absolute limits trying to live his dead father’s life and take on everything Bruce used to do at the cost of giving up everything Dick had chosen for his own life and wants and priorities, all while dealing with his own grief....

And with it being inevitable that the boy he DIDNT choose to prioritize was going to be hurt....

Because after twenty years of never failing to put Tim first the second Tim needed him, never even putting HIMSELF first OVER Tim....because for the first time Dick felt that someone else he felt obligated to, felt a responsibility towards, actually needed him MORE than Tim....

And for that reason and that reason ONLY, Dick picked that other boy, all while trying his best to tell Tim that he still needed him, still valued him, all the things that Bruce DIDNT tell him when he took Robin not even because he thought someone else needed it at the time but simply to take away, with absolutely nothing Dick said in any way negating or contradicting any of his many, MANY assurances to Tim over the years that they were brothers and always would be and with them still very much legally brothers and with concrete ties to each other that declared them family even WITHOUT the connection of Robin....

Because after and despite ALL OF THAT, Dick picked the brother that he didn’t know and frankly didn’t even LIKE, because he knew no one else was going to pick this kid and he also knew he’d already picked Tim a hundred times before and hoped that at least all that HISTORY of past focus and attention he’d given Tim to help build him up, give him foundations to build further upon, that hopefully at least that history that was still there, still relevant, still something Tim had actively benefited and grown from in ways Dick now hoped to help Damian....like surely this would be of at least SOME significance to Tim, SOME kind of proof of how much Dick loved and valued Tim....

Because one time and one time ONLY, Dick DIDNT put Tim’s needs first, not because he didn’t want to or because he was being selfish or short sighted or simply didn’t care, but rather solely because this one time Tim’s needs were in direct opposition with the needs of another young boy Dick saw as his responsibility and in even greater need and with even less of a foundation than the one Dick had helped Tim build....

This puts Dick on the same level as Tim’s shitbag parents, the ones who are infamous for (and practically synonymous with) emotional abuse and neglect. Dick’s basically interchangeable with them now. Certainly no better than them. Tim’s entire emotional well-being rested on Dick and Dick alone and nothing he’d provided Tim with in the past counts, just this one moment in time right here right now, that’s the entirety of their relationship see, it all comes down to this and nothing else, and because Dick didn’t put Tim first, no matter WHAT his reasons or how much he wanted to, he has officially failed Tim as hard as the neglectful parents who did nothing BUT neglect, ignore and just not give a shit at all, simply because they couldn’t be bothered to.

Yeah.

That’s neat.

[danny-chase]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Batman (Comics) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Damian Wayne & Dick Grayson, Damian Wayne & Bruce Wayne Characters: Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne Additional Tags: Damian Wayne Centric, Panic Attack, Sickfic, Sick Dick Grayson, Damian Wayne Needs a Hug, he gets half a hug, Damian Wayne is a sweetheart, Dick Grayson is a Good Brother, Damian Wayne is a good brother Series: Part 10 of Bad Things Happen Bingo Summary:

Sequel to Pneumonia, Damian decides to spend his day home with Richard.

Full story under cut

Footsteps echo through the hall, light, but heavy enough to be intentional. Too carefully timed to be confident in their placement. And with too little bounce to be Richard’s.

 Nor would he waken if they were Richard’s and that’s really his first clue. Briskly throwing off the sheets and flattening his hair, he throws open the door before his father can make it the rest of the way down the hall. The footsteps stop in their tracks.

 He leaves the door open as invitation, yet it’s unnecessary – father doesn’t approach. From what little time they’ve spent together, Damian finds it strange – his father is single minded in his work but yet so indecisive in his home – well – really this wasn’t his home. “How is he?” The words come out too harshly and he grits his teeth, hoping for leniency – father is to be respected, not talked to in such a manner.

 Nor was father was pleased the last time he erred in his judgment. Ever since he’d failed the first time he meant, he’d been treated like a plague, locked in his room then, and avoided now.

 …But he’d heard stories from Richard about a softer man than the one he’d met a year ago. A man whose love was stronger than his hate – who took in children and saved their souls.

 It was odd that such a man had shied away from his own son. Damian couldn’t understand what he’d done wrong – he understood the skirmish with Drake was wrong – but Richard spoke of a man who could forgive. And yet. He’d only seen forgiveness from Richard.

 He’d thought perhaps, that had been his father’s influence.

 Another footstep resounds around him, and the realization strikes – he hasn’t moved. Huffing – at no one in particular – he silently strides forward, yanking his dresser drawers open to retrieve a set of perfectly folded clothes.

 “Damian.” Father stays just out of sight beyond the door. Its nerve wracking – almost painful – waiting for information. Richard promised he would be fine, last night, he promised Bruce could take care of the things – would be back – would fix it.

 He’d almost believed him, but for a flicker of doubt in his eyes.

 It was odd, seeing him waver – especially because he’d seen for himself how much Bruce cared for him. He’d read the worry in his expressions and the thinly veiled pain as he stitched his successor’s side. Father was back – he’d believed that much – though he didn’t believe it when Richard said it – and that was… a complicated thing.

 Suffice to say, he’d kept watch from afar until he heard the doorknob turn, leaving once father began to speak.

 An awkward clearing of the throat makes him turn. Father stands in the doorway, looking stern but unsure, finally having decided to make an appearance. It’s irritating, how tall he seems; his head mere inches away from the top of the doorframe. “What?” He can’t keep panic from slipping into his voice. Swallowing, he makes another attempt. “How is Richard?”

 Frowning, father shakes his head slightly looking displeased. Damian’s heart sinks to the floor – Richard couldn’t – he promised – he –

 “He’s not doing as well as I’d hoped. His blood oxygen level fell last night, I had to put him on an external canister to raise it.” Damian lets out a long breath, his pulse returning to normal as father continued. “He’s stable, Leslie came over an hour ago. She predicts a full recovery, just don’t expect him to bounce back too quickly.” His father paused, giving him a curious look. “You look flush, are you alright?”

 Suddenly full of the desire to be alone, he shuts the door. “Yes. One moment.” For a moment he thought – never mind that now. Turning back to his clothes, he kicks off his pajamas, hastily changing. He runs a hand through his hair, breathing steadily – everything is fine.

 He can hear his father hesitating, the floorboards groaning as he shifts his weight. “School starts in an hour. I’ll drive you.” It takes all the willpower he can muster not to let a groan escape his lips. School’s awful on the best of days, a miserable prison with miserable teachers not paid enough to put up with his obnoxious rich classmates’ egregious behavior.

 “I’m not going.” Richard needs monitoring after all and his father had fulfilled the task last night. For proper care, he needs properly awake caretakers.

 “You will go.” The response is firm, but not without minor hesitation – something Richard had taught him to look for – something he could exploit in interrogations – something he could exploit here (for a good cause of course).

 His argument must be flawless – rational and logical, nothing else will suffice. Pulling on his socks, crossing the room, he flings the door open, storming into the hall, in a display of righteous fury. “The benefits of my attending school today do not outweigh the benefits Richard would receive if I monitor his progress and allow you sleep in order to be prepared to monitor him tonight. Firstly, I know the material already.” His father makes a noise to interrupt, but he continues unperturbed.

 “Secondly, I understand the social benefits are a concern to you. Ask Richard, I have made a friend. His name is Colin and he’s much better than any of the awful children at that school. And I’ve met with Lian and Irey and Jay.” The Titan’s children were annoying, but he wasn’t lying. It was awful, but he’d made it through the ‘playdate’. “Thirdly, as for extracurricular activities, Grayson has provided me with all necessary materials to pursue my interests. And…” He trails off, finding his father’s eyes tired, the bags under them unreasonably puffy. Gesturing vaguely, he pointed back at a mirror in his room. “Just look at yourself, you expect to watch him well like that?” They can debate all they’d like, but if father refuses to sleep much longer, the argument will be decided in his favor.

 The eyes shift to the mirror and back, then to him, to the floor, then covered by a hand. His father turns, muttering something he can’t quite hear, but he makes out the words from reading his lips. ‘What the hell has Dick been teaching you?’ A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth – he’s won. Perhaps, with further needling, he’ll be out of school for good, but today, he doesn’t press his luck.

 Father drops his hand with a sigh. “Fine. Keep up with your studies.” He takes a few steps back. “You can sit in the room but don’t bother him.” Damian holds back an eye roll, as if he would bother Richard while he’s recuperating. “Call if anything changes, I’ll make breakfast.” Father turns, Damian’s eyes follow, watching him stride down the hall, ducking into the kitchen.

 As the kitchen door smoothly thuds shut, he turns back to his room, swallowing down the odd sensation that stirs in the base of his throat. His steps are silent – mindlessly so, as he pads over into the adjacent bathroom to finish his morning routine.

 He emerges – the strange feelings sticking with him – he supposes he ought to feel relieved, but dread builds in the pit of his stomach instead at the prospect of seeing Richard.

 Father said Richard would be fine. Leslie said Richard would be fine. Richard promised he would be fine.

 None of them are liars – but what if they missed something? The thought wracks his mind on an endless loop. The hallway seems to stretch out as he takes a step towards his brother’s room. What if something changes before he gets there? What if the medication doesn’t work – what if it’s a super virus or an antibiotic resistant bacteria? Their enemies could come up with ridiculously effective toxins, pathogens aren’t that much different.

Richard promised. He tries desperately to hold on to that thought, stumbling forward, forcing himself closer to his room. His heart pounds harder the closer he inches, his head joining the party and thudding along in time. He feels like the deer slipping on ice on that dumb movie Richard made him watch; it’s as if his legs have forgotten to function.

 He’s nearly there – the hallway spins slightly but it’s just a few more steps – he needs to get control of himself but he can’t breathe. Two more steps. Two more steps and then he can. See Richard.

 Halfway through his next step, he trips, falling face first onto the floor, unable to do anything but choke out unsteady breaths, his mind screaming the counts to a breathing exercise learned as a child long ago.

 Pathetic. He would have been killed in the League for less. He mastered control of his emotion as a child – this – this is unacceptable! He reaches a hand forward, sheer willpower the only thing keeping him from curling in on himself – he has to keep moving.

 His hand connects with a foot, he looks up, finding a flush face with bleary eyes staring back. “Damian?” Richard’s voice is rough and quiet, guilt floods his stomach – Richard shouldn’t be out of bed – he shouldn’t have panicked like this – this is – “Woah, buddy, breathe.” There’s a hand resting on his shoulder, the next time he looks up, Richard sits next to him on the floor, tapping his hand in time to a new count, one he learned here a few months ago.

 There’s a million pieces of his mind scattered about the hallway and the longer he sits there breathing, the more pieces settle back into their places. Richard’s verbal count shifts into coughs, but he keeps his hand steady. When he finishes, the tapping’s all that’s left.

 Damian shakily pulls himself up on his knees, not quite sure what exactly happened. Richard gives him a small sad smile, his eyes full of sympathy – sympathy that Damian doesn’t want – feels guilty for receiving – sympathy he’s never earned. It’s overwhelming – and something’s wrong with him – because he doesn’t cry – hasn’t cried since he was nine – and he’s nearly eleven and he’s over this.

 He can’t cry because everything’s okay – Richard’s arms are open in an invitation, his hand receding from his shoulder, but close enough to hover. He’s fine. Richard is fine. Tired, yes, but his side’s not gushing blood, and his coughs subsided. Damian wipes his eyes on his sleeve, glancing around – ensuring they’re alone – before sliding up against the wall next to Richard, scooting under one of his shoulders. A muscular arm drapes over his shoulders, hand settling back on his shoulder.

 He’s warm, a bit uncomfortably so, and his breathing sounds raspy, but as he leans against his brother’s chest, he hears a steady heartbeat and it’s unbelievingly reassuring. The hand on his shoulder is firm, but not tight; he can slip out; he’s not trapped.

 Really, he ought to be ashamed, of needing comfort like some sniveling third-grader, but it’s different – coming from Richard – someone he’s seen far too many times on the wrong end of some twisted concoction of fear gas, crying and screaming – needing comforting himself. Fear gas. Maybe this was an after effect – he files away the notion to mull over later – perhaps run a blood test on himself later.

 Richard’s grip tightens as he coughs, turning to face away. Damian’s gut drops – Richard was supposed to be on supplemental oxygen. Guilt claws at his insides as he quickly stands, pulling his brother along the best he can. It gives him appreciation for Nightwing’s smaller frame – his brother is way heavier and bulkier than he was a year ago – supporting him takes nearly all his might. “Come on.” He urges, dragging Richard into his room, this times his steps steady and stable.

 They’re both out of breath by the time they’ve made it to the bed. Richard plops down, bouncing slightly on mattress, gasping for air. Biting back his guilt, Damian quickly traces the path of the nasal cannula, shoving the nose piece into Richard’s hands. “Here.” He watches the man fumble for a second before settling it place.

 He slides down, tucking himself into a tight ball beside the bed, listening as gasps turns to wheezes, wheezes to coughs, coughs to rasps and back again, as Richard learns how to breathe like a normal human being. “Thanks.” He grunts, nudging Damian with his shin.

 Damian huffs, he shouldn’t be thanked – he caused this mess! “For what?!” He half-shouts, quickly lowering his voice before he can say more. He needs to stay calm – he’s not supposed to be a disturbance. “It’s my fault you-”

 “Damian.” Richard groans in an annoyed way, not an ‘I’m about to hack up another lung’ way. “Thanks for staying in to keep me company. It’s sweet.” Some company he is, forcing his brother out of bed to come pick him up off the floor. “Quit pouting, I’m fine.” The leg nudges him again. A third time when he doesn’t respond. He pushes back. Richard nudges him again. Damian scowls, what’s he supposed to even do in this situation?! “Let’s play Mario Kart or something.” Richard says, as if he’s overheard Damian’s thoughts.

 Just as he pauses to mull over the suggestion, the door screeches on its hinges, shaking him out of his musings. “We should get that oiled.” Father mutters, carrying a tray of breakfast foods. He freezes in his tracks at the sight of Damian on the floor. “Everything okay?” Unfreezing, his motions are rigid and forced, his lips pursing into a straight line, brow furrowing, contorting into deep worry lines.

 Richard swings his legs back onto the bed. “Just left to use the bathroom, Damian helped me back.” The lie sounds natural, comes far too readily out of his mouth. Damian swallows, staring at the floor as his father ponders whether the statement rings true.

 It seems he’s decided to let it slip if he knows. He grunts an acknowledgement, setting the tray aside the bed, passing each a plate. It’s funny – how their dishes are so plain – just pure white, no décor. It struck him as odd when he’d first used them, now no longer odd, but fitting. The bland dish fits right in with Richard’s bland room.

 Father leaves as quick as he came, and Damian’s left to reflect on the empty room as he munches on a bagel. He hasn’t spent much time in here, out of respect for privacy, he’s seen it before, but never thought what it would be like to live in it. “Don’t you get bored of looking at the walls?” He mutters, after swallowing a bite. His own walls are cluttered with his possessions; trophies from fallen enemies, keepsakes from his mother, and gifts from his brother (even a friendship bracelet from Brown is tacked to his corkboard). Richard’s are bare, save one faded poster. His eyes linger on the grinning young acrobat, gracefully swinging with his parents in the background.

 Richard hums, curiously following his gaze. “Walls are walls, I don’t normally look at them. I just come in here to sleep.” He nods towards the television. “If I’m bored I can watch a show.”

 Damian rolls his eyes. “When’s the last time you even turned it on?” He stands, spinning, taking in a full view of the room. “Room color effects your mood.” It’s something Richard used an excuse, to get him to pick a new color for his bedroom when they first moved in. “And potted plants are good for overall wellbeing.” He has a few on his dresser, he even set up an automatic watering system. He could hang some ivy over the balcony. Though… maybe not ivy.

 Richard smiles to himself, letting out a little raspy noise that he supposes could be a laugh. “You’re really into it, huh?” Damian feels heat rise to his cheeks, he’s not ‘into’ anything as trivial as room décor. “Go wild, you can order whatever online and have it delivered.”

 Damian turns his attention back towards Richard, hastily scoffing as he finishes speaking. “I’m not interested, I just wondered how <em>you</em> of all people could have such a bland room.” A flash of annoyance runs over Richard’s face, lingering long enough for Damian to properly identify it. It’s surprising to say the least; Richard almost never looks that way at him anymore.

 Annoyance fades as Richard gazes out past the balcony. “I… lost a lot of stuff in the move.” Damian kicks himself mentally – Richard last lived in New York, but a month ago he overheard him and Drake talk about an old apartment back in Blüdhaven. He’d done some snooping in old casefiles, Richard’s stint there had been quite extended. Extended enough to have his property demolished by a villain even before the entire city was leveled by a nuclear explosion. “Damian.” Richard looks at him, face carefully neutral. “Don’t worry about it, let’s play cards or something.”

 Don’t worry about it – how can he not worry about it?! He’d be devastated if he lost the gifts from his mother – some things aren’t replaceable. He gives the room another glance – it’s still empty – but he could fix it slightly. Maybe consult with Drake about the former apartment, if necessary contact – he shudders – the Titans during – he gags – one of their playdates for advice. “Damian are you okay?” Richard looks perplexed.

 He shoves his plans back down, first things first, walls and flooring. He turns on the spot, marching out the door. “We’re fixing your room.” He mutters, storming down the hall to grab his laptop.

 When he walks back in the room, Richard is staring at him. “What?” He demands, as Richard’s eyes follow him all the way to a chair aside the bed. He’s a bit annoyed at the chair even, it’s from the kitchen, probably dragged in here by his father last night. He adds ‘seating’ to his mental list – if Richard’s ill or injured, it would be nice for Pennyworth or him to be able to sit somewhere.

 Richard shuffles back, edging closer and sitting upright against a mountain of pillows. “Nothing. I just thought you weren’t interested.” He cocks an eyebrow as Damian pulls up a paint comparison site.

 “I’m not.” He spits. “I don’t want to look at your boring walls anymore.”

 Richard laughs again, in his modified way. “Mm. Yup. Sure.”

 Damian ignores the comment, already delving into the program, comparing colors against the wall - connecting to the TV to display them, and weighing the pros and cons of each one. Richard watches, providing occasional commentary, rating each color on a scale from one to one hundred. They argue over shades of green, and the correct way to make purple pop – nothing serious, nor work related. Later the room will be full of things, but for now he’s content to let their conversation fill the void.

[magioftheseas]

The Capital Magical Defense Force

For @oumota-events

DAY 1: Magical Boys AU

Rating: T​+

Warnings: Violence, blood, death mentioned, darker implications. Yeah it’s one of those magical au. The daaaaark subversions.

Notes: This is the longest one because we’re starting off with a big bang~ It’s not that long though. It’s just not a ficlet unlike the others. I did really enjoy writing this though. It’s a pretty...fun...au. Yeah. Haha.

Ao3 Link

In just about every world, there are unseen forces to make sure a system works a certain way. That the cogs in the machine turn without fail and that any disturbances are dealt with promptly. These unseen forces can be mundane and dull—but they can also be fantastical...while still incredibly dull.

In this instance, there are two worlds. The dull, mundane one and the dull, fantastical one. The only way to transverse is through contracts between the respective denizens, and it turns out that said contracts are necessary to keep everything in order.

There are benefits, truly. If one world collapses, the other is taken with it. It is within everyone’s best interest that the denizens work together—even if certain manipulations need to be made. After all, the greater good is such a vague and nebulous concept. It’s more encouraging to offer personal gains.

Like, for example, keeping someone alive, be it from sickness or the aftereffects of a horrible, terrible, despairing accident. The desire to live is a powerful force shared among many, both dim-witted and intelligent. It’s an efficient deal to make, especially when the other side of the exchange is not only responsibilities, but special, magical abilities to deal with those responsibilities.

Shame, then, that one particular being blessed with those abilities, those responsibilities, that gift of survival...doesn’t seem to fully appreciate it. Certain arrangements have been made. That being has been assigned to the same areas as another being of a similar caliber, but far more keen to do what must be done.

This is as much an experiment as it is an effort to keep matters under control. Observations are to be as follows...

--

“In the name of the stars, I’m gonna kick your fucking ass!!”

The town hero known as Starboy was being filmed again. Floating about, sending so-called comet punch after comet punch. The monster squealed under the abuse, but it didn’t squeal as much as that fucking eyesore that tailed the magical boy around as he cursed colorfully under his breath.

“This jackass just doesn’t know when to quit!”

“S-Starboy-kun,” the thing whimpered. “Please watch your language! Kids idolize you!”

“Sorry!” Starboy exclaimed, focusing more on the fight thankfully. “It’s just—let me protect the city first!!”

With a battle cry, Starboy summoned all his strength for a starstorm, pummeling the monster more and more until it fizzled out of existence. Starboy was left slumped on the ground and gasping for breath, but still found it in him to whoop for joy.

Unfortunately for him, that moment of victory was short-lived.

“Geeeez, Starboy-chan, I thought you’d really get trampled this time! You didn’t even need any help!” Another magical boy landed on the scene, right next to where the monster had once been and plucking up the fragment which was all that remained.

“H-Hey!” Starboy shouted, more like wheezed. “What the hell—that’s not yours to take!”

“It’s payment for making me worry so much,” he cackled. “You really should be more careful! You don’t want to be killed in the line of duty, now do you?”

Weakened as he was from the fight, dodging Starboy lurching towards him was child’s play.

“D-Dice!!” that eyesore shrieked. “You and Starboy-kun should be working together! Why are you doing this?!”

Dice gave that thing a cold stare, but grinned in Starboy’s direction.

“Because I like you. That’s a lie. I like messing with you. Also a lie! I really—love you, Starboy-chan!”

“Quit messing around!” Starboy gasped. “Y-You—if you need those damn fragments, you don’t have to steal them! You’re a magical boy, aren’t ya?! You should be helping me defend the city! And then I’d split them with ya even!”

Aah. This guy...

“Oh Starboy-chan, I actually, truthfully loathe you,” Dice sighed.

“D-Dice!” the thing shrieked and without looking, Dice had fired a beam that knocked the pitifully contemptible creature out, much to Starboy’s dismay.

“S-SHIROKUMA...!”

Before he could go to help, however, Dice had seized the bow of his uniform, yanking him to not-quite eye level.

“If you know what’s good for you, you’d stop bothering with that thing and join me instead.”

Starboy only scowled.

“Why the hell would I join you when you act like a villain! I-If I could, I’d beat your ass too...!”

Such a remark gets Dice shoving him back, knocking him onto the ground. Starboy glared up at him defiantly, his stare only darkening as Dice grinned.

“It’s a joke, obviously!” he chirped. “After all—what sort of desperate loser would want to ally with an idiot like you?”

Starboy shouted at him, but whatever he shouted, he was already long gone. Starboy shouted again but, being the justice-obsessed type, he switched gears to muster up the strength to go stumbling after the fainted Shirokuma. Scooping the pitiful bear head-looking creature into his hands, Starboy avoided the incoming paparazzi and gracious civilians and rushed off to safety.

The ideal worker. Starboy will be a great boon of energy in the future once his limit is reached.

--

“Dice is such a fucking dick,” Kaito grumbles, rubbing ointment onto his bruises. “We’re both working for the same thing but for no reason at all, he’s self-serving and a piece of shit.”

He observes himself in the mirror, rubbing at the circles under his eyes. He’s been going at this whole magical boy hero thing for almost a year. It’s getting harder and harder, but for the sake of the city, he can’t give up. He’s its protector, after all.

Still, it’s getting difficult. His wastebasket is filled with bloodied tissue and bandages. Shirokuma, at least, is currently resting in a bucket of warm water. Dice’s attack had been as sudden as it was vicious, and for what?

“Why is he such a dick?” Kaito asks, but Shirokuma hums.

“Some people...are just bad. It can’t be helped. I’m sorry if that sounds despairing, Momota-kun.”

“Bad, huh.”

It’s not the first time he’s gotten that answer. When he describes Dice to his sidekicks, he more or less gets the same response. Harumaki even goes out of her way to call Dice a supervillain, which Shuuichi agrees to, but...

Here’s a secret that no one else knows. The crack in the foundation so painstakingly paved for black and white heroism.

Dice has saved his life more than once. When blood rushed up his throat and his knees buckled in, Dice would swoop in and let him save face. It would be passed off as Dice once again taking advantage of the situation...but it always, always happens when Kaito is facing death head-on.

Dice is a dick. A self-serving piece of shit. Possibly a supervillain.

He’s also definitely looking out for Starboy. It’s happened too consistently for Kaito to be convinced it’s unintentional.

If Dice insists on helping him, then surely he can’t be a bad person...except he still acts like a bad person most of the time.

What a headache.

“Feeling better, Momota-kun?” Shirokuma chirps up at him in that big sweet voice that Kaito can’t say no to, even when he probably should.

“Never better!”

A thumps-up. A wide grin. Doing his damnedest to pretend like his lungs don’t want to collapse in on themselves.

--

“Starboy-chan is such a fucking idiot.”

Ouma slams his chest of fragments shut. He still hasn’t figured out what the damn things do, but Shirokuma insists on collecting them so they must be important in some sense. Sure, Shirokuma says that it’s something to do with negative energy and restoring balance, blah, blah, blah—but Shirokuma is a piece of shit liar. And Ouma hates liars.

But he thinks he hates Starboy the most. Or, at least, he finds Starboy to be the most frustrating dumbass in the galaxy.

Because it’s obvious, isn’t it? It’s obvious that Shirokuma is shady as all get out. It’s obvious that there is something deeply wrong with the magical boy system. There have been so many disappearances and it’s suspicious as all get out how Starboy in particular is being worked to the bone and pushed to the brink.

There’s something seriously wrong with all of it.

Ouma just needs to figure out what before everything goes wrong.

--

To become a magical boy, one needs resolve. To encourage magical boys, a wish is often granted to sweeten—and seal the deal. Ouma’s was a cowardly, stupid wish that he’s still kicking himself for to this day, although in hindsight he should be glad it was so simple. The worthless wish to live as everyone else was dead around him.

He’s still haunted by their faces. He should’ve wished for them but couldn’t. He was targeted and tricked, and now he’s stuck. But the least he can do is make everything difficult for those monsters along the way.

Starboy—aka Momota Kaito...well. Ouma doesn’t know what his wish was, but he suspects it’s as stupidly noble and short-sighted as he’s come to expect.

Oh, yes, he knows that Starboy is Momota Kaito. Who wouldn’t know that? They look the same—although Ouma suspects that magic is at play since no civilians have made the connection. Not even Saihara Shuuichi, a would-be detective.

It’s clear, however, that Saihara-chan has noticed the effects.

“This is the fourth time you’ve had to clear your throat, Momota-kun.”

Momota clears his throat again. He musters up a laugh.

“It’s just been dry. No big deal. You worry too much.”

“Gooooooodness, Momota-kun!” Ouma crowed, skipping in. “Are you dying?! Please, please don’t die! I haven’t even gotten to tell you how much I love you!”

Momota recoils when Ouma jumps on him. Saihara shrieks in surprise but Momota only growls as he tries to shake the brat off.

“Let—GO!”

Ouma does, but not without jabbing the back of Momota’s knee and causing him to topple over. Saihara rushes to steady him, shooting Ouma quite the ugly look. Ouma shrugs that off.

“Whatever it is you’re doing is killing you,” he merely states. “So, you should stop lest you traumatize my poor Saihara-chan.”

“I...” Saihara swallowed, looking like he’d hate to agree but when it came to Momota... “You shouldn’t overwork yourself, Momota-kun.”

“I’m fine,” Momota slurred. “Totally fine. I’m a goddamn Luminary, Shuuichi...” He says he’s fine while learning into Saihara. It’s a bright sunny day. People are no doubt stealing glances, and Momota no doubt has to hide his exhausted face in his sidekick’s shoulder. It’s a good thing Harukawa isn’t here.

Ouma scoffed. Saihara shot him another glare.

“If you’re just here to mess with Momota-kun, you can leave.”

Saihara’s hands tighten on Momota. Goodness, it really is like Ouma is the supervillain tormenting the tired hero.

How boring.

Ouma turns heel, smiling as he waves them off.

I shouldn’t bother. I shouldn’t have to bother.

--

No matter how many times he’s thought that, he ends up in this situation. With Starboy exhausted on the ground and a fragment pinched so firmly between his fingers that it’s this close to embedding itself in the skin. Shirokuma floats around Starboy.

“He’s getting close,” Shirokuma is saying. “He won’t be able to take much more. How despairing. So despairing.”

Ou—Dice swats the thing to the ground. It giggles up at him.

“You can’t save him, you weren’t able to save your other friends. Just give up, Dice-kun. Give into despair.”

It’s laughing, its laughter resounding even as Dice stomps the thing to bits. It’ll just reshape itself and find Momota again. No matter what he does, he can’t get rid of it. It’s part of a damn hivemind after all.

Sighing, Dice goes to Starboy once again, and Starboy is lying there almost prone. Looking painfully pale. His breathing is shallow. At least he’s still alive.

But for how much longer? And what am I even doing wasting my time with this idiot? No matter what I tell him or how bad he gets, he refuses to back down and Shirokuma just eggs him on.

He gets down, rolling Starboy onto his back. Starboy groans and for a moment, he blearily comes to.

“Di...ce... You...again...” There’s a couple of missing words. It’s clearly difficult for Starboy to speak. He groans, eyes screwing shut. When Dice helps him sit up, he coughs and there’s a thin stream of blood that trickles down his chin. “U-Urgh...hurts bad.”

“Well, yeah. You don’t take breaks, idiot.” Ouma tutted him. “Some of the monsters you take are mooks. You shouldn’t waste your time.”

“S-Shuuut,” Starboy slurs. He coughs again. “I’m...s’posed to be...a hero. A-A... Luminary.”

It’s because of shit like this that made it was so easy for Ouma to find Momota in the first place.

And Starboy—fucking laughs.

“Even through that stupid mask of yours, I can tell you’re disproving.” He musters up a bit more strength to speak, for all the good that’s doing him. “You’re really worried, huh?”

“I don’t trust Shirokuma,” Dice said simply. “You shouldn’t either.”

Starboy swallows. No doubt swallows back blood. He sucks in his breath. He shakes. He tries to shake his head specifically. Ends up slumping against him. Dice isn’t as gentle with him as Saihara was, but Dice still has little choice but to help him up.

“Stay with me,” Dice ordered. “You’re not allowed to die.”

He’s wasting his breath. Starboy’s definitely going to die at this rate even if it’s not today. All because—

“I’m a hero,” Starboy is slurring. “Heroes don’t—take breaks...they don’t leave people to die.”

“You’re not a hero,” Dice snapped. One step at a time. “You’re just an idiot.”

“It’s not...not about trust...” Starboy huffs at him next. “Not that...you’d understand that... Ouma.”

Dice doesn’t pause. Far from it.

...idiot.

Ouma Kokichi wonders if it’s a coincidence that he and Momota ended up in this situation together.

...

That’s right. Momota Kaito is going to bring you down. The hero! The Luminary! Won’t that be the Ultimate Despair?

(That’s how she would respond.)

Ouma Kokichi, always so close and yet so far, can’t focus on that right now. He has to save the life of a dying man after all. The results are sure to be favorable.

And yet, also so very—predictable.

Boring.

[khaotic-kitsunes]

Generosity

And we’re starting off the Mirio scenarios with a delicious serving of Alpha Mirio~

Boy oh boy was this fun to re-read, I hope you all enjoy!

Cheeky Kitsune 🦊💋

 You frowned silently, stopping in front of your front door to look behind you at a grinning Mirio; it was a frustrating situation really. You had spent the entire day out with Mirio on his day off, accompanied by his friends Tamaki and Nejire; which wasn’t a problem, they were great and you had a fantastic day, right up until an hour ago.

 That was when your difficulties had begun. Mirio had entered his rut and though he hadn’t said anything about it, you could smell it and it was driving the omega in you insane. A problem made worse when he insisted on walking you home since it was both late and dark out; while you could understand his reasoning, understanding did nothing to actually help with that discomfort you felt.

 Having to pretend like you weren’t dripping just from the smell of your alpha friend.

   “Something wrong, (Name)?”

   You let out a soft whine, turning to face your front door while smacking your head against the hard surface, infuriated with how clueless he was pretending to be. He was too good of an alpha to push his problems onto those around him, so of course, he was falling back onto his innocent act.

 “Mirio…” You trailed off softly, lifting your head to look at him once more, chewing on your bottom lip while you tossed around the words in your head, debating how best to approach the subject. You didn’t want to offend him, nor did you want to risk your friendship with him; however, he was in a rut with no partner and you, an omega, the perfect solution for his problem, were aching to be filled with a knot. All because of him and his stupid, frustrating rut.

 “…I know, I’m sorry” He rubbed at the back of his neck sheepishly, his grin fading to a half-hearted smile. He was already aware of the problems he had caused you; it was just one of the reasons he insisted on taking you home.

 Mirio would feel terrible if something happened to you because of something he had caused.

   “If you want…you can come inside, we could help each other out?”

   Your face burned as the words fell past your lips, it was too late to take the words back, even if Mirio did look like you had just slapped him stupid; apparently, he hadn’t been expecting that to be your first reaction.

 Then again, it wasn’t technically your first reaction, you had been smelling his rut for a while now; multiple thoughts and scenarios had gone through your head, it could be the reason you were actually brave enough to offer your help to him.

 “Ah, are you s-” You cut him off with a dirty look, you weren’t in the mood for unnecessary hesitation; you were in the mood to experience his rut.

   “If you ask me ‘are you sure this is what you want?’ or anything similar, I won’t speak to you for a month.”

   He closed his mouth quickly, nodding his head in understanding before moving so that he was pressed up against you from behind, his lips ghosting over your scent gland; pulling a soft gasp from your plump lips.

 “Then open the door, (Name), before I knot you right here and now” He paused, grinning against your skin while his arms wrapped around you, keeping you tucked up against his muscled chest; stirring up every single omega instinct inside of you.

 “I’d do it, you know? Right here…fuck you so hard, you’re screaming for more and then the neighbours would come out, see you getting fucked senseless and loving every fucking second of it” He growled out, his words filled with promise while you fumbled with your keys, somehow managing to get your front door unlocked and open; it didn’t matter how appealing that threat sounded, it wasn’t a sensible idea.

 Not for you, nor for the pro-hero.

   “Oh? Inside it is”

   His cheerful tone had your head spinning, from a growling alpha behind you to a happy-go-lucky friend in less than a second was a little much for you to process; though, it didn’t help that his scent was clouding your mind.

 If you weren’t careful, his rut would stir your heat prematurely and that, would be a dangerous situation for the both of you. You might even end up bonded to one-another and while you wouldn’t complain, you weren’t so sure Mirio would be of the same thoughts.

 “Come on, no backing out now” Mirio hummed as he pressed his hand to the small of your back gently, giving you the push forwards that you needed; spurring you to turn and drag him into the apartment with you, a giggle spilling past your lips as he kicked your door shut.

 “You little giggle pot” He chuckled, pulling you up against his chest before leaning back against the door, his lips claiming your own in a heated kiss, quickly stealing your breath away with little care.

 Mirio grinned against your lips when you moved your arms around his neck, pulling him as close to you as possible; uncaring if it was strange, even in your current situation. If you wanted him close, you would have him close; after all, you were about to have his knot inside of you. A little contact wouldn’t kill him.

 You hoped.

   “As much as I’m enjoying the taste of you on my lips,”

   Your face flushed as he spoke, finally pulling your head away from his so that you could stare up at him, curious as to what he had to say to you in such a moment. Though you wished he hadn’t interrupted the kiss like that; while you were technically helping him with his rut, you were also enjoying having the opportunity to pretend your buried feelings weren’t one-sided.

 “I’m only just barely holding on to my sanity. This isn’t a casual fuck (Name), this is instinct driven and today, you’ve agreed to be my omega for my rut…” He trailed off with a smile, his large hand cupping your cheek with a gentleness you weren’t quite expecting from him during his rut, not that you were complaining.

 “You understand, right? Good” He turned you away from him as he spoke, his voice sounding uncharacteristically strained, almost like it was taking every last drop of willpower he had not to fuck you right then and there. You didn’t bother arguing with him, instead taking off into your apartment; seeking out the room that gave you the most comfort. Your bedroom. A room that no alpha had been invited into, until now.

 Mirio was hot on your tail as you made your way into your bedroom, his low growls of appreciation thunderous in your ears as you stripped yourself of your clothing; complete with a cheeky little butt wiggle while you crawled onto the soft mattress.

 “You know, I think you’re going to look good with my knot buried inside of you” Mirio groaned out as he crawled onto the bed behind you, having already used his quirk to get rid of his clothes, his hard, aching cock rubbing up against your dripping folds, pulling a soft whine from your plump lips; the mere sound of you the final straw.

 Large hands closed around your wrists, pinning them to the bed in front of you while he pushed himself inside of you; your hot, welcoming body making him curse out loudly. You weren’t entirely sure if you should scold him or ask him to treat you as if you were actually his omega, so instead, you settled for whining out his name softly while rolling your hips back hard.

 It didn’t take long before Mirio was leaning over you completely, his larger form pushing you into the mattress while his hips moved at a merciless pace; his body and mind completely driven by his rut. You could do little more than whimper and moan out his name beneath him, pinned to the bed, helpless and ravaged by the man you wish you could call your permanent alpha.

 Instead of that, however, it was a temporary agreement; one that you benefitted from, so it wasn’t too bad of an agreement. Just, a temporary one.

   “Fuck…you feel so good wrapped around my cock (Name), such a good omega, taking it so well”

   His praises had you pushing your hips back in time with his thrusts, soft whines spilling from your lips while you worked for his approval; your instincts driving you to do anything and everything possible in your current position to make him happy.

 Your dream alpha.

   “Oh? You like that? Hearing your alpha praise you?”

   His questions had you squirming, quiet and almost inaudible answers falling from your lips while he buried himself inside of you over and over again, his thick cock rubbing against your sweet spot without even the shortest of breaks; it didn’t matter how broken you were beginning to sound, with your choked out moans and soft pleas for him to fuck you slower, it all fell on deaf ears.

 Mirio was far too busy enjoying your body, his hands having moved from your wrists long ago to instead settle on your soft skin; groping roughly, wanting to hear more of your sweet noises. Noises only he could stir up from inside of you.

 You pressed your head down into the bed more as you felt a familiar pressure build in the very pit of your stomach, many lonely nights with various toys having given you enough experience to know that this was your orgasm approaching; though it felt stronger than any other time previously.

 Maybe it was because you had an alpha fucking you senseless, or maybe because it was Mirio specifically; you weren’t entirely sure. All you knew was that you were screaming out Mirio’s name at the top of your lungs while your walls clamped around his throbbing dick, pushing him over the edge moments later.

 Your cries of pleasure only grew louder as Mirio rutted his hips up against yours roughly, somehow managing to push his large knot inside of you while it swelled up into its full size, faint dribbles of his hot, thick cum managing to slip past his knot and down your folds onto the bed below; but you didn’t care.

 All you cared about, was how good it felt to be knotted by mirio for the first, but hopefully not the last, time.

   “Fuck…you feel good, so good”

   Mirio groaned against your ear, his body heavy atop yours while you squirmed into a comfortable position on the bed, deciding to just enjoy the feeling of his thick semen filling you for now; especially since there was little else you could do.

 “Mm…full…” You hummed softly, closing your eyes while you lost yourself in the feeling of his warmth; his deep chuckle the only thing able to stir your mind back into thinking properly once more.

   “That’s right baby and you’re only going to get fuller from here. That was a single, quick round…I have so much more in store for you.”

[strawberrywritings]

 A/N: I received an ask asking for a part 2 to this, sooooo here it is, let me know if you want part 3. Enjoy! xx

Part 3 / Masterlist

Warnings: sexual intercourse, it’s long and messy buckle up

Summary: your relationship with Rio takes a turn for the best... or the worst?

The next time you saw Rio was in a club. He was there, enjoying a few drinks in a corner, and you were there with some friends. You spotted him first and excusing yourself from your friends, you made your way over to where he was sitting. “Beth’s not here”, you joked, knowing that sometimes Beth came to the club.

He looked up from his phone to see you standing before him, smirking down at him. “I’m not here for her”, he replied, still not knowing why you would approach him outside of “work”. You leaned against the table he was sitting at and pointed to the dance floor behind you. “In that case, people go to clubs to have a good time, not to sit at a table alone”, you still teased, testing the waters to see what kind of mood he was in. He smirked, “Maybe I’m waiting for someone”, he leaned back in the seat and watched you become embarrassed: you definitely hadn’t thought about that and you were sure that you had sounded stupid. Great. “I’m kidding, have a seat”, he said with a smile and you stood there looking at him before sitting down carefully. “I don’t bite... unless you ask me to”, he added and watched you giggle, back to your usual playful mood. As your giggle quieted down, you looked at him ad softly smiled. “I’m sorry for what I said, we just never see each other in... normal - you made quotation marks with your fingers - contexts, and you don’t really strike me as a very social person, no offense, really”, you leaned your cheek on your hand and watched him. “Don’t worry, it’s fine”, he said and nodded.

You didn’t even realize it, but you two talked for half an hour before one your friends came over and told you they were moving to the dance floor. “Sorry, I should probably head back there, I already bothered you too much”, you laughed, and he shook his head, “It’s alright, I enjoyed it”. His voice was deep and calm, and you almost didn’t want to leave him. “I’ll see you around, Rio. Have a good night”. “You too, mama”. You waved with your hand and started walking back to where your friends were, but Rio noticed how his eyes stayed glued to your body. He had watched you, as you talked, he was watching your lips, your eyes, your hands... he watched the way you talked so lively, your voice always happy, and he found himself thinking about you. And he didn’t like it. He already had his complicated relationship with Beth, he didn’t need another one.

In the next few days, he tried to think less about you, trying to view you only as an employee, but every time he saw Beth, he couldn’t help but think about you, she was your friend, after all. And that was another problem. The attraction Rio had towards you (he tried to convince himself there wasn’t any but he failed) could potentially harm your friendship with Beth, and consequently harm the business, and he cared about his business. Beth was a liability and it was clear, but he couldn’t just push her away all of a sudden: she had grown attached and it was his fault, he let her do that, and her being the “benefits” part of the deal made it twice as complicated to cut the ties with her. He had to understand how to get out of this mess without having a blow black from Beth and hurting the business.

The next time he saw you, he was the one who spotted you first, while you were in the grocery store, doing your weekly shopping. “Hey” he was standing beside you now, always in dark clothes, but with a beanie over his head. “Hi, everything alright?”, you smiled at him and he nodded. “Yeah, I was wondering if you had a minute to talk… but maybe not here”. You looked at him and the last part of his sentence made you understand that it was business-related. “Sure, we can meet at Annie’s later, she’s-”. he stopped you with a smile, “I would prefer going to my house, actually”. You smirked, “It’s all a ploy to get me in your bed, admit it”, you laughed, but told him that you’d be there, nonetheless. “I’m gonna call the girls and tell ‘em”. “I’ll handle it”. And with that, he left. No goodbye, nothing else. Your words were stuck in his head and now all he could think about was you in his bed. He was losing control over himself and he was mad about it. When you ringed the doorbell to his house, after dinner, and he answered the door instead of Mick, you were surprised and confused. “Ditched security, today?”, you smiled and looked around. The house had minimalistic furniture in plain colors, mostly black and white. It felt like him. You were still lost in your thoughts when he spoke, “Yep, it’s just me and you”. Your head snapped towards him, you and him? Where were the girls? “I figured this would be better kept between us”, he spoke as he made his way to the table, “Have a seat, please”. He was taking the chair out for you, always a gentleman, but you were frozen in place in the hall, a thousand scenarios running through your head as to why he wanted to speak to you alone. Did he want to kill you? Had he already killed the girls and he wanted to get rid of you, too? He was still waiting for you when you slowly approached the table. “I come in peace, but it’s still business I wanted to talk to you about”. “Then why aren’t the others here? Why is it just me and you?”. “Because I hoped you could help me with it, without making a fuss”. You were now a bit more comfortable, knowing that he (apparently) had no bad intentions. “If this is about your situation with Beth, I don’t wanna be involved, it’s you guys’ problem, not mine”.

He shook his head and licked his lips, your eyes following the movement for a split second before going back to his eyes. He noticed anyways, and smirked. “It is about me and Beth that I wanted to talk about… but it’s not what you think”, you stayed silent and he continued. “I want to reconsider our deal… and I’m talking about the benefits part. I can’t be around Beth anymore, it’s becoming a problem for the business”, you nodded, but still huffed. “I don’t know what you want me to do, Rio, we really can’t give you any more money, otherwise we can’t make end meets and we’ll be back at square one. You gotta understand… we’re no professionals in sneaking around and if we get caught, it’s gonna be bad. For everyone”, you were hoping you sounded reasonable enough and make him back down from wanting to change the deal. “I never said anything about the money, I was talking ‘bout the benefits”, he smirked at you and you frowned. “I’m not following, I’m sorry…”, you looked at him with a puzzled expression and he was unsure whether to voice his thoughts or not. Until it clicked in your head. “Oh, the benefits, okay. Well, in that case, Ruby’s married…”. “I’m talking about you, mama”, as much as he liked the chase, he wanted to make this short and get to the point. You seemed surprised, but still smiled at him. “And what makes you think I’d do that?”. “Because I know how you feel. This tension between us is hard to ignore, so how about we fix it, hm?”. You leaned back in the chair and crossed your arms over your chest; if he wanted to play games, you could do that, too. “Depends… are you good enough to fix it?”. “Careful, mama. You don’t wanna start something you can’t finish”. “Oh, but I can finish it. the real question is: can you?”.

What happened next was a blur, Rio was on your side of the table in less that a second, and you went from sitting to being bent over the kitchen table with his fingers inside you. Everything happened fast, but you were not complaining, especially when he was working you so well. The man knew what he was doing. “Is that good enough, mama? Or do you still doubt me?”, his voice was almost a whisper in your ear, and it gave you goose bumps. “Answer me”, his other hand knotted in your hair, pulling your head back a bit. “It’s so good, Rio, don’t stop”, you were already a mess and he hadn’t even made you cum yet. “Thought so”, he replied proudly, he knew he was good and he was going to show it to you. You whined when he removed his fingers and tried to push back your hips, he chuckled behind you kissed your shoulder lovingly. “What’s the matter, baby, d’ya need something?”, you nodded and decided to throw your dignity out the window and beg. “Please, Rio, make me cum, please, please”, your words were slurred, and you had no shame in being vocal. He led you to the couch and started to unbutton his pants. “How do you want it?”, he asked as he looked you over, your eyes hungry for more and you felt your heartbeat in your ears. You laid on your back and spread your legs, letting him settle between your thighs and line himself up with your opening. He looked you in the eyes as he slid inside you, giving you a moment to get used to him, before dragging his hips slowly back and forth. “Fuck, mama, you feel so fucking good”, your moans were the only verbal response you gave, and they increased in volume as his pace got faster. You squealed when he got on his knees on the sofa, his hands now on the back of your thighs, pushing your legs towards your body, his tip now hitting that exact spot. “Found it”, he smirked proudly and moved even faster, making you clutch at the cushions behind you. “Right there, don’t stop”, you moaned again and again. He wanted to stop the time and have you like this forever, your eyes closed in blissed as your walls were clamping down on his dick, his name leaving your lips like a prayer. “So good for me, so pretty. Can you cum for me?”, he put one of your legs on his shoulder, his cock slipping deeper inside you, making you cry out. He kept whispering how good you looked, while his thumb made contact with your clit, moving it in circles and applying pressure. You nodded frantically and one of your hands shot out to grab at his side, nails digging into his skin. His hand on your waist gripped you tighter, “Let go, mama, I got you. Cum for me”. His words sent you over the edge, your back arching and only his name coming out of your mouth. You still had your eyes closed when he sped up his pace a bit, and you opened them just in time to see him squeezing his eyes shut and throwing his head back; he emptied himself inside you with a few more thrusts, before slowly reaching down and giving a soft kiss on your neck. Once he pulled out and you both gained your breath, you made quick work of composing yourself, getting your clothes back on and grabbing your belongings. He came back into the leaving room to see you all dressed and ready to go. His heart sunk a bit, the thought of you not wanting anything to with him after sex was not a pleasant one, but he’d never admit it. He didn’t want to ask question, not sure if he wanted to know the answers. “I should go”, you told him and pointed to the door. He nodded. “I’ll see you”, you smiled politely at his words, nodding and wishing him goodnight.

It became a habit, you and Rio would meet, have sex and then spend some time together. Sometimes it was a pizza and a movie, or a coffee, other times you’d spend the night, too tired to move after multiple rounds with Rio. It was just part of the deal. And that’s also what you told yourself to help you sleep at night, knowing you were not only going behind the girls, but behind Beth and her feelings, too. She had started to notice how he’d never call her anymore, how he would avoid her and throw one smile more your way. You, or Rio, had to come clean about this, because it wasn’t just business for Beth, and you didn’t want to have problems with anyone. So, one night, while getting dressed, you found the courage to speak. “Have you seen Beth, lately? Alone, I mean”, you put your shirt back on as Rio looked at your back, your face hidden from him. “No, ‘told you I was done with her”. “The we should tell her about this, she’s not gonna be happy and it could cause problems”. “Well, that’s your problem, not mine”. You stopped your actions and turned back to look at him. “My problem? You were the one that started fucking her in the first place. This – you motioned between you and him – is just business. But with her? You two have a situation and you need to solve it. It’s not my problem”. “Well, she shouldn’t have had feelings for me, in the first place”, he mocked your words. “And how is that my problem?”, you retorted. He didn’t have an honest answer and he knew he was trying to take the easy way out. You didn’t wait for an answer, though. “Maybe you should’ve stuck to fucking her”, you shook you head, unbelievable, you thought. And then you left.

It had been a week since Rio had seen you, and a week since your conversation about Beth. He found himself wanting to reach out, not just to have sex, that was just an addiction. He had come to enjoy your company, you were smart, funny, beautiful and never boring. And he was scared, because while he was there, itching to call you with the “benefits” excuse, you were living your life just fine, even without seeing him. Or so he thought.

Somewhere else around town, you were sitting in Annie’s house, eating dinner with the girls before starting to work again with the money. You were good at pretending, so you didn’t have a problem when it came to lie to the girls about what you were doing with their, your, boss. That was until Beth broke down on Annie’s sofa about Rio not wanting her, Rio ignoring her, her being hurt… and you felt guilty. Everyone tried to comfort her. “He’s got another woman”, Beth cried as Ruby rubbed her back soothingly. It wasn’t a question or a possibility, hers was a statement. “How do you know?”, Annie asked, curious at how she could be so sure about it. “I foll-owed him an-d he had som-eone over”, she spoke through hiccups and you felt worse with each passing second. Annie and Ruby looked at each other and the oldest shook her head, not knowing what to do or say. “He’s surely fucking a whore that only wants him for his money”, Beth kept crying and started to insult the girl that Rio was spending time with, ignoring that she was sitting in the same room as her.

After the fifth insult, you couldn’t just sit back and watch anymore. “Maybe he just doesn’t want you” you snapped. Now all eyes were on you, well shit. “What do you know about it?”, Annie inquired, squinting her eyes at you. “Nothing”, you expression was still hard, but your fists were clenched together. “You’re the one he’s fucking, aren’t you?”, Beth’s tears had stopped, realization hitting her, “That’s why you’re always busy and he always looks at you…”. The room fell silent as you hung your head. “He wanted to change the deal and-”, you couldn’t finish as Beth was on you in a second, Ruby and Annie holding her back from hurting you, and looking at you disapprovingly. Beth was still screaming when Annie grabbed your arm and lead you to the door. “Get out and don’t come back”. You had never seen her like this but did what you were told anyways. Even if Rio’s dick was good, it had cost you your friends and your job.

Deciding to think about everything in the morning, you went home and slept, way through the morning, too. When you opened your eyes, realization hit you: you were now alone. Without a job and you knew what that meant, business-wise: you were out, but as Rio once said to you, “The only way out is in a body bag”. You knew too much, about him, about what he did, about the money laundering that you couldn’t just go on with your life.

Another week passed and Rio decided that he had to see you, but without making it obvious, so he decided to pay a visit while the girls were working, expecting to find you there, but he was only met by Annie, Beth and Ruby. He decided not to say anything, but as soon as Beth made eye contact with him, her expression became full of anger and shook her head. “If you came here to find your girlfriend, this is the wrong place, sorry to disappoint”. He raised an eyebrow, “My girlfriend? Do I have a girlfriend that I don’t know about?”, he smirked at her but her expression stayed the same, Annie and Ruby staying silent. “She’s out, went behind our backs. She got what she deserved”, Beth spoke, proud of having you out of the group. Rio understood where her ‘being out’ led and furrowed his eyebrows. “Where is she?”. “I don’t know”, she now had a mischievous smile on her face. Rio’s hands balled into fists and almost flipped the table, the girls getting scared in the process. He left the house in a hurry, leaving Mick and a couple of his guys there in case you actually showed up. He broke the speed limit to get to your house, and when he picked the lock, he found it dark, the blinds shut, no dishes in the sink, no sign of your presence in the house. He was worried. Where were you? Were you okay? Were you safe? Why was he so worried? Was he in love with you? He didn’t have time to think about the possible answers because the sound of a gun being loaded brought him back to reality. “Rio?”.

He turned around, “Hey, mama”.

[lokitrashfan]

Benefits // part 3

A/N: It is long but I think that this fic will only hace two or three more parts. I don't want to make it longer. Leave a comment if yo like it and check my masterlist!!

Words: 2300

Warnings: NSFW , SEX, cursing, torture

After two days of tedious interrogation, they let you go. They let you return to your room, free from the handcuffs at last. - Shower; pijamas; food; food; water; sleep- That was your list. You had been two days in a chair. No water, no food and no sleep. That was their torture. And something worse was yet to come. They would be vigilant. 

Food won when you passed the kitchen and smelled something cooking in the oven. You almost run, as exhausted as you were, anything other than crawling was considered running. Vision was in the kitchen, but he said nothing as you started to eat anything edible you could find. 

“Hope you don’t choke on that” A too well known voice said behind you. Loki appeared with an emotionless expression and an empty cup. You cast a murderous look and continued eating. Vision put a glass of water in front of you and went on with his cooking. 

After you felt more or less full, you headed for your room. You were still hungry, but knew that if you stuffed yourself with food after starving the only thing that would happen is vomit. 

Shower; pijamas; bed.

A knock on the door. one that you knew too well. It wasn’t the middle of the night. It was not his way of doing things. You opened, he entered. 

“What are you doing? Someone could see you. And sorry, but the only thing I want now is sleep.”

“I’m not here for that. Just wanted to tell you that I am glad I don’t have to search for a replacement.” He fell silent, watching the purple below your eyes, how you were a little bit skinnier, your arms limp by your side. “Are you okay?” 

The words had escaped his mouth before he could stop them. He saw that the question had taken you by surprise. It was not something that he had ever asked before. You got defensive.

“Like you care” You said, opening the door for him to leave.

“I don’t” He said leaving “But, just to your knowledge, the other day… It hurt my pride that you left without saying a word. No even thank you. These are not good manners, dear. Even more after rejecting my invitation to a second round.”

“Loki….” You were too tired. “Just leave” 

He was already gone by the time you said it. 

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Loki tortured himself over those three stupid words that had escaped his mouth without warning. Are. You. Okay. Idiot. He did not care how you were. You were alive, no need to find someone else to satisfy his needs. That's it. But he had asked. Maybe because deep down he cared the slightest bit for you. No. He would not care about you. Just no. 

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Days passed and he did not come again to your door. You left your room as little as possible. Being alone was better than being surrounded by people that claimed to be your friends, but did nothing to help you. 

Also, the magnificent tracker on your ankle had been updated. Now it was more discreet and did not annoy you as much. And now it tracked every movement you made. Not only if you left the tower. It tracked your movements inside the tower. You would not risk that whoever controlled your movements saw you going to Loki’s door. So you just waited. If he wanted to come he would. 

After two weeks, things began to change around the tower, the avengers, the oficial Avengers, were preparing for a mission. That meant that you and Loki would have to stay at the tower. Alone in the floors where you lived. The lower floors would be full of people and agents going on with their lives and work as always. 

They did it before, leaving you and Loki alone, and you had enjoyed the time spent together. You two knew all the blind spots of the cameras. But this time, it was different, you could not be trusted. They still weren’t sure which side you were on, and SHIELD was watching you closely. 

The day the avengers left, Loki came to your door. He was eager. As you opened the door he kissed you with a new hunger. As if he was tired of waiting. He kissed you with so much rage and passion that left you breathless. His hands on your hair held your face to his. 

He finally broke the kiss just to start undressing you. His lips met the bare flesh of your neck. He kissed, sucked and bit all he wanted. You wanted this too. You wanted him to make you forget everything. To clear your mind of all worry. 

He unbuttoned your pants with impatience. Your hands went to his chest below the thin t-shirt. Something was different in the way he moved, but you did not care. You wanted everything to be as before the mission. You wanted to be fucked into oblivion.

His hands were fast. He was already touching you thought your underwear. He let you take off his shirt and his pants, but then he just tossed you to the bed. You tried to get up, you wanted to suck his dick, you wanted to play with him, but he was in no mood for games. 

His fingers were inside you, moving in ways that made you shiver. His other hand kept you from moving too much.

“Are you going to punish me?” You said teasingly. You knew that Loki had an exceptional libido. He liked sex a lot, and when he was denied and had to pleasure himself he grew angry. And now he was. In his eyes you could only see lust, rage and a hint of madness. 

“I’m not here to play games,” He said. Low voice. 

He put his dick into you with no warning. This time he did not play with you until you begged. He just wanted to fuck you. You had only seen him like this once, after a rough fight with his brother. He had came to you in the middle of the night to fuck his rage off. 

He fucked you with all he had. He was strong and hard. His hand left bruises everywhere they touched. He came quickly, a caged moan escaped his lips. And he stopped. You were on the verge of the orgasm and he stopped. He just let himself collapse in the bed next to you. 

“I’m not finished” you said annoyed. He had never stopped until he was sure you had finished. He always made sure of it.

“sorry” he said looking away “I just needed this” 

“But….” You were unsure how to say it. You needed it too. 

“Just let me rest, we can do something after” He mumbled. 

You felt the rage coming to you. How could he come, fuck you and leave you unsatisfied. YOu got up and got dressed, he was already drifting to sleep in your bed. He had never done this. You had to get out of here or you would kill him. 

On your way to the kitchen you tried to calm down. He had never acted like this, but after all, it was just sex.

That was what Loki was thinking when he came into your room earlier. Just sex. No feelings. No care. No relationships. 

It had been a couple of rough weeks for him. You were always in your room, never coming to him. Even if it was just a couple of weeks, he felt that something was not right. He had not seen you since that stupid question. Even when he went off his usual day just to see if you were around. He had found himself looking for you. 

That made his mood unbearable, he was restless and annoyed and angry all the time. That's why he came to your room the moment the Avengers left. To reassure himself that it was only sex. To fuck you only for his pleasure, even if he left you unsatisfaied. 

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Finishing your coffee you thought about what had just happened. Loki was still in your room sleeping. You had to talk to him. Say that he couldn’t treat you like this, just a toy when he wanted sex. But a part of you knew that those words carried more meaning. Your deal was just sex. Sometimes because you needed it, and sometimes because he needed it. 

If you started to think about it you would go down a scary spiral of thoughts. What was really bothering you? That he left you unsatisfied or that the way he looked and fucked you meant that you were nothing to him? 

Trying to clear your mind of Loki, you went to the living room to watch tv. It would be better if you just let it go. 

Someone was sitting on the couch. Someone new that wasn’t supposed to be there.

“Who are you?” you said with an edge to your voice, ready to kill. Even if all you had in your hands was a mug, you could turn it in something deadly.

“Agent Four, I’m here to keep an eye on you and Loki while the Avengers are gone”

“A babysitter? That’s new”

He just looked at you and let out a smile. You took a seat opposite him, to let him know that you weren’t friendly. But as time passed you found yourself looking at him more than you wanted. Something about his face made you wonder. 

He was the opposite of Loki, he was all the things that you never thought of finding attractive, but you were captivated by him. His soft lines, his curly hair…

“I’m sorry if it’s a little awkward, I don’t really think that I should be here, but I have no choice” He said with innocence in his eyes. AN innocent you were ready to believe. 

“It’s okay, I understand why you are here, I’m not trusted anymore” 

“Yeah… I suppose, it’s a shame that you are being treated that way” He scratched the back of his head. Maybe he was nervous. Everyone became nervous around you. 

“Well Agent Four, I will try to make this as easy as I can” You knew that you weren’t easy to be around. And it was something that you wore as an armor. But you didn’t want to make him nervous. You didn’t want to make his work difficult.

“You can call me Ravi, no need for formalities. I think we are going to spend a lot of time together” He smiled at you and his eyes lit up. 

“Just call me Ghost, it has become my name around here” Even if you felt that que was sincere in his words, your real name was something that belonged to you, just you. No one knew it. You had given names, but never the real name. Not even Loki knew it.

“Okay my new friend with a strange nickname that makes me kind of scared” he said laughing, genuine joy in his eyes. “You want to do something?”

“I’ll just finish my coffee and get a shower” You hadn’t cleaned after sex and now you felt too dirty, Loki’s scent still lingering in your skin.

“Okey. While you take a relaxing bath I will cook something for lunch. Believe me when I say that you will be blown away by my super delicious, not store bought spaghetti.”

He was sincere, maybe he thought that he was funnier than he really was, but you found yourself smiling at his suggestion. 

“A relaxing bath sounds really good” You said, in a voice more welcoming than you had intended. 

“Oh and… Could you tell Loki that I’m here? I know that he doesn't like strangers” His hand was scratching the back of his head again. You didn’t like strangers either, but you kind of liked this stranger. Also you knew that Loki was in your room, and that he would stab first, ask later.

“Yeah no problem. But don’t worry, he likes to be alone all the time reading, he won’t be much of a problem” 

You headed to your room with the feeling that you had just made a friend. It was difficult to accept but you had talked with Ravi more in five minutes than you had talked to some avengers in two years. It felt good.

You walked into Loki still naked and sleeping in your bed. Waking him up with a soft kick was always funny

“Get out of my room, I’m going to take a relaxing bath and I don’t want to see you around when I finish” Your voice was severe. You were still annoyed at him. 

“Maybe I could join you…” He said teasingly. Your low parts were screaming for a yes, seeing him naked made you lose your mind sometimes. 

“No,” you said looking away. “I want to have a pleasant bath” You weren’t going to forgive him so easily for leaving you wanting before. “And… just for your information, we had been assigned a babysitter, he is in the living room, try not to stab him. He’s nice”

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As you entered the bathroom Loki felt something move inside him. He could just enter behind you and make you lose your mind with his body. He knew that in a minute you would be begging to be fucked. But he left. He wanted you to scream his name again. To make you surrender. To make you his… 

But he left. 

The way that you had described the agent put him in a bad mood. Not your words but your face as you said it. -He’s nice - Your eyes trying to hide something. 

He went to his room and took a shower. A really long shower. Once he got his thoughts organised he could go to meet the excuse of a man that had been assigned to them. - He’s nice- Again your words resonated in his mind. Why did it affect him so much that your eyes said more? Maybe attraction. Maybe you liked that agent. 

he’s nice

[smallestclowninthecircus]

Season 3 notes popping off

due to my desire to not completely fail all my classes this year i made myself slow down significantly while listening to this season, and the fact that the other person i'm listening along with had to catch up. We've managed to convert several other people to start listening and its pretty great.

ep 81: what does it even mean to be chosen by one of them? And if he was chosen by the eye. we know Gertrude wasnt? Because she cut the eyes out of the magazines?

ep 82: elias lmao. I understand why people like him so much bahshdhdk i thought he was gonna snitch on Jon but he didnt so he's fine. Ok but how do we think he knew all that stuff. Idk probably just institute connections. I love the fact that the recorder just wants to record stuff randomly bjahsjdhd. Elias feels a lot like Michael in the sense that he knows more than he should and talks in a way that implies he just wants to wait and see how things play out for his own benefit. I understand him knowing the things that happened but his description of her emotions implies something paranormal. Maybe he's connected to one of the entities. Which one I cannot guess.

ep 83: did a file get delivered randomly to the place he's staying at? Probably elias lmao. He thinks the mannequin is related to the stranger. Idk I would believe it.

ep 84: worms? I know he says earth worms but idk. Again? Is she making gordon golems out of trash? Martin popping off. You can tell the statements get to him more that they get to Jon. How come martin is so mad about it? I want to assume he just doesnt want her to get stuck there but idk. Jude Perry. The calliope organ. Jon heard a circus in one of the last episodes

ep 89: he's talking to perry? Like jude Perry? He says ... God? Is that what it is? Lmao. The Desolation. Jon is tired of ppl being vague and not telling him stuff lmao. Oh God Jon is so confused. Compel her? Is she assuming he has some kind of power? Does he have powers? Hmm. im agreeing with jon here please jesus christ why does everyone have to be so cryptic. Just say what you mean. "maybe you get an itchy eye" bahasjkdfklsjdf girl what. Agnes saved her? Oh this is the girl from the cafe story? So theres the Cult of the Lightless Flame? They worship whatever entity this is? The Desolation? Why do they all seem like they sorta worship her then? Is Gretchen gonna die oh god. fuckin michael. a different michael aaah. i see. dont do it shes gonna burn you. sir. please. sir dont you dare do- WHAT DID I SAY what did you think was gonna happen hhh.

ep 90: try to make it less obvious you're trying to get fired big T. Elias that doesnt sound like the most healthy thing to do. oh dear is this gonna be triggering for me. uuuuuh. uuuuuuuuuh. doesnt seem like it ok gonna keep listening. Jared. hmmmmm. Ok we've seen Keay and hotner or whatever his name was.

ep 91: Michael Crew. Oh is this the lightning scar guy. Mister jon sir did you just die. No? God everyone is so fuckin cryptic. Say normal things please. They all just like to go on about pain and agony and j e s u s c h r i s t we get it you got hurted by whatever thing. So theyre avatars? question mark? Jude Perry is an avatar of The Desolation? hhhh fractals. thats a spiral thing innit. Yup. messing with your perceptions. God they all talk about feeding their god and feeding that which feeds them and. hh what does that meann. Leave big J. please. uh oh. is it daisy? how come he has the web lighter still? the tape recorder just turns on sometimes you know how it is. So he can compel people? not that he knows it obviously but. a bit wack. powers go brr i guess? If the eye just wants knowledge i guess he feeds it by getting the statements? b/c i doubt it wants him to murder ppl or whatever.

ep 92: elias you all knowing fuck what do you know. (i guess all given what i just said) Lukas. Heard of them before. Mordecai Lukas. Loneliness. The lonely even. Jonah Magnus. Elias ur sounding like a bit of a dickhead rn. lmao jon's just like "i dont care" elias what is ur deal. Why does he want to tie her in. ohh i see. lmao theyre all just like "elias why" The Unknowing lol seems very much like something the eye wouldnt like. lol elias is gettin all philosophical. what does it really mean to be human. this still doesnt answer why gertrude wanted to destroy the archives tho.

ep 93: bahsjdfh he seems so dead inside rip. awww admiral. i love him already. ghh breacon and hope. purple mold. doesnt sound like anything we've seen so far. I think the funniest explanation for breacon and hope is that they dont actually serve the stranger they just kinda happen to be a random neutral party that cart around random spooky entity related stuff. ooooh. when we hear the slight static of the tape recorder it's cuz he's compelling ppl.

ep 94: the end! listen man they were all just grayed up for 4/13.

ep 95: the end also? death but also savagery/ animalistic shit. aww martin. lmao becerra. she's just been chillin in the corner.

ep 96: return to sender. haha minecraft go brr. prediction: breacon and hope? yup there we go. jon why is there an echo. are you in a stairwell? is he gonna eat it- yup. how did i call it. unsure abt what theyre talking about but ok. they kidnapped someone? Sarah Baldwin. ooooh that guy.

ok im just putting this here so i have notes for when nicholas gets to this part. It seems like (from jon's conversation with jude perry) that the desolation and the eye are kinda at odds with eachother? like i guess not directly but it seems like they dont really vibe? so how could be with both. Cuz if he has the heat powers and shit then we know he's an avatar of the desolation. but then why does he have so much eye imagery. also he got burned intentionally? like jude did when she went on her monologue about the feeling of burning? but then why did he wear the eye pendant. it stops him from being burned all the way which seems like he's not fully accepting the fire or whatever.

Nooooo I lost like a bunch of my notes rip. I keep forgetting to save.

Ep 104: tim gives a coherent statement without jon even being there. Ugh. Fucking robert smirk. Dont like him. Joey. Dont recognize the name. The show must go on. Clown. The spooky circus?

ep 105: total war... shogun 2? jon is just understanding languages again. "if i understood mandarin or cantonese" are you sure you dont big man?

ep 106: havent we heard this one already? mans in space? oh no this is just another episode in space. fairchild... uuuh. cant remember. oh! this is related to that! this is one of the ppl from the other side. sounds like a Vast thing. oh he's the one that the dude saw? but that guy didnt have a face... she's sorta like jon. wanting to dismiss the statements. lmao i love the workplace gossip. ace jon for the win! oh cmon elias dont be a dick. sunny meadows or whatever. thats the place we heard about.

ep 107: oh great is it jude perry again. Third Degree. bahahsdkfj she was arrested. sorry but imagining this old british lady getting arrested is funny. she was trying to resurrect him. using the skin book. he's not feeling well. jon take a nap. i wonder if this is what happens when he uses his powers too much. He gets into The Zone when he reads statements lol. didn't we have a burning train car in anothre statement? is it julia fairchild? bahahahs "kidnapped. Again." poor jon honestly. julia... about her dad. daughter of the murder shed guy? hunting like your dad liked to hunt or normal people hunting. oh hunting vampires!

ep 108: melanie has been suffering. poor martin peter lukas why do you have to be like this. can he not just use the front door? does he have to bother the ppl doing statements?

ep 109: how come he cut her off? kinda rude tbh. its either jon's influence or there was smth he didnt want her saying. is it gerard on the table? this sounds kinda like smth from one of the university episodes. is it the closed eye on the hand? yup. he's like one of the students! if the thing listening in is elias then... he can do that without the tape recorder yknow. plus who's to say it wont just turn itself on again

110: who wants to bet its a leitner?

111: Lukas related to The Lonely. I used to not like Gerard that much but i like him more now. but i thought there were 15? ohhh thats right isnt flesh newer? gerry for the win honestly. finally telling jon things.

112: lol "again" no one ever tells any of these ppl anything. tim and basira are just out of the loop constantly. music, like the war episodes. The hunt or the slaughter? probably the hunt. so Daisy is related to the hunt right? basira likes the reading, she's doing fine at the institute. daisy's getting worried...

113: it just turned on randomly. what is it lol. explossives! oh boy. why do they always assume he turned it on intentionally. melanie youre not making me like you that much. which entity is this about i cant tell. lol he was disappointed it was just the end. The title Breathing Room made me think it was gonna be about the buried but i guess not. So many of these entities deal with death but the end is one that deals in just death. it has no need for fancy deaths, just death is enough

114: more hilltop road statements? the tree. oh boy. ok the tree has 8 arms obviously theres the spider parallels. was she taken into an alternate universe? oh no. jon tries to phrase things so he's not asking questions. thats honestly good. "sometimes i was kidnapped" oh dear. they got gertrude. daisy ur so odd lmao. who wants to bet they dont know the tape recorder's running?

115: silaca? or whatever? antique man? meat grinder... related to the meat is meat episode? oh wow. they buy antiques from him. maybe dont antagonize this creature which can kill you?

116: lol theyre all just so done with elias. music? is it like the one band that if you hear them you die or wtvr. oh its chess? i am very much confused. mmm stranger go brr. gorilla skin? oh shit the dance. woah. this is so good. this is so gender. the words are wonderful. "you can just say tim" lmao trying to fool elias never feels like a good idea.

117: except elias lmaoo. oh shit. leitner getting some use for once idk. bruuh poor melanie she has been thru so much shit. martin you can just say youre worried about jon. lol he's so accurate in his jon impression. lol who was that. was that daisy? lmaoo. oop hi tim. oh god i hope tim doesnt die. i feel like i wouldve heard about that? but im not sure. destroying the source of knowledge is gonna be hard for jon. yay jon! you did a good thing. let him rest.

118: go off martin lmao. awww poor martin. oh god the tape gets that squealy quality and its awful.

119: woah. lots of things happening. uhh. POP OFF TIM!!

120: lmao elias giving a statement about jon's dreams lol. damn jon doesnt even get his own dreams? has to stay Watching even when he's asleep? f in the chat this man goes thru so much shit. oh boy its peter. lol martin my beloved. idk i dont trust peter.

[burnedbyshoto]

Ready Player One

Kinktober Day 5 ~ kink: thigh-ridding

pairing: shigaraki tomura x fem!reader

warnings: smut, cussing

word count: 2,475

a/n: day five omgggg.....so.....remember when I said someone should write about thigh riding shiggy....I caved

✩✶✩❇✩✶✩

Being friends with benefits was one of the best things in life, and also the worst things in life. You knew that men were always attached through physical intimacy. Ride their dick, suck their dick, let them pound you with their dick? You had them for as long as you needed.

So it was always wonderful being able to have a dick with no relationship. Somedays the hormones were undeniable and insatiable and you needed that extra help. That’s when friends with benefits seemed the best! You didn’t have the time and energy to invest in a loving relationship, not with your career. So the occasional ‘are you up’ text was the best thing you could have.

But it also had its downsides. It wasn’t the cliche issue, you weren’t in love with the guy who was giving you dick! As you said before, there is no time for a loving relationship, so there was no time to fall for anyone. The downside was that your stupid friends with benefits refused to cave to your needs. You had an agreement, if someone was horny out of their goddamn minds, you had to help out! No questions; it didn’t matter when or where; you had to!

What you couldn’t understand is why your friend-with-benefits was ignoring you. Nothing you did was getting his attention. No matter how much you begged did he look. His eyes focused in on his stupid fucking game while you begged to get dicked down.

“Shiggy,” You snap again, your upper lip pulled into a snarl. “I. Am. Horny.”

Shigaraki has the audacity to ignore you. Speaking into his mic to some other gaming nerd somewhere in this goddamn country.

Sure it didn’t fucking matter when you were in the middle of the damn store buying groceries! He fucked you behind a stack of boxes that day! But now that you needed some fucking dick, nope, the rules didn’t apply.

“Stupid, spoiled, son of a bitch,” You mutter taking a seat on his mattress. Why did you even agree to be Shigaraki’s fuck buddy? Well, Dabi was too lazy half the time and m.i.a. and a girl has needs. Toga would attempt to kill you in her passionate love affair, and you valued your life. Sako was a hard no. Spinner felt like a baby brother to you. Twice was too old.

It could only be Shigaraki.

Unsure of what you could do, your eyes roamed his body in -attempt to find that ‘aha’ moment. You could suck his dick underneath the table, but that would be helping him. Not you. Right now you could give two fewer shits about if he got off, you only wanted yourself to get off.

You also knew taking his pants off and using him for penetration alone was not a good move. You may be a villain, but you sure as hell weren’t a rapist. Also again, it would be beneficial to him, and right now you could give a rat’s ass about what he wanted.

You could also masturbate on his bed, but what was the fun in that? With that stupid headset on, he would most likely not hear you unless you were moaning like some porn star! Better yet if he didn’t hear you, you couldn’t make him feel stupid for ignoring your demand to get fucked. You needed to get him back for not wanting to dick you down when you wanted.

His thigh was bouncing in its typical manner whenever he played video games. He was always bouncing it to calm himself down. It was the stupidest thing, you thought. Why would he need to calm himself down over a video game that lets you respawn as many times as you needed? Ridiculous.

It hit you.

Oh yeah. That seemed like the perfect way to get yourself off and also make him pay for putting you through this garbage.

Really all you needed was a fucking quickie, but boys and their video games were the worst.

Standing up off his bed, you slipped off your shorts revealing a modest black thong you had been wearing. There was never really any need to dress up nice for Shigaraki. But you did enjoy not wearing your ugly panties when you needed to get fucked. You pulled off your shirt, leaving you only in a white sports bra.

You heard Shigaraki curse, and your eyes snapped over. You were hopeful that he had noticed you changing and was now going to join you. But your eye twitched at the sight of his red screen, the words ‘You Died” illuminating across the screen. Shigaraki raked his fingers through his hair.

Sighing you walked over, making sure to keep your current wardrobe choice hidden. “Shiggy, please?” You whisper into his ear, the one not connected to his mic so as to not get picked up by any other nerd listening in to him.

Shigaraki shoves you away with his shoulder, his fingers jabbing towards the screen. “I’m busy.”

You just about snarl as the screen illuminates the start-up page. Giving him a thirty-second waiting period before respawning him.

“Yeah, I’m still here.” Shigaraki snaps into his headset, “They got me at the Old Tower… yeah, I didn’t see them at all. No, we got them next time.”

Your nostrils flare as the waiting time is now less than ten seconds, and in two smooth movements. You shove Shigaraki’s chair slightly backward and straddle his thigh. His eyes snap over to you, his red irises dark with irritation.

You cock your eyebrow up as you can hear the sounds from his headset. “Better not die again,” You quip, a sarcastic grin on your face.

“Ready Player One!” The game announcer calls, and Shigaraki’s attention gets snapped back to the game.

“I am ready.” You sigh as your hips roll against the rough fabric of his jeans. The shivers the shoot through your body as you do so causes you to bite on your tongue to keep from being too loud. You were horny as hell before you started this, so you had no idea how long you were truly going to be able to last.

You smile realizing that Shigaraki’s legs have quit bouncing. You also note that he’s silent as the muffled voices of his teammates hit your ears. Your hips fall into a slow rhythm of sliding up and down his thigh. Your fingers trailing from your hipbone all the way to your breasts.

A muffled moan escaping your mouth as your fingers squeeze your aroused nipples. Even if it was through the fabric of your sports bra, it's enough to make your body shudder.

The heated pressure of your cunt is raising quite fast. In response to that, you drop a single hand towards Shigaraki’s inner thigh. You do this to stabilize yourself. You do it so that you can grind your dripping cunt up and down his pant leg at a faster face. Shigaraki, however, didn’t see it in that way as he hisses softly at the touch.

A gasping laugh escapes your mouth as his leg tenses underneath you. “Your leg feels soo fucking good,” You gasp as you finger roams up your neck, tangling in your hair.

“Stop.” Shigaraki snaps at you, his eyes shifting from you and back to the screen.

Muffled voices fill your ears again as his teammates try figuring out what he’s saying stop to.

Your hips jut out, now circling themselves into the same spot at your silently chant Shigaraki’s name. Your head tilts backward as you moan. The continuous pressure of rubbing your clit on his pant leg catching up to you. Your pussy feels like its soaked through your thong as you cry out his name.

Clear as day, Shigaraki lets out a low groan.

“Dude, what was that?!” You hear someone yell in his headset, and you laugh as you drag your sports bra above your breasts.

“Nothing, keep fucking playing!” Shigaraki seethes, and you quirk your eyebrow. Oh, you were definitely going to get him to snap in front of these friends of his.

Shigaraki’s eyes now flashing from his screen to your perky breasts like he was playing on two screens. Your hands roll both your nipples within your thumb and forefinger. Your hips start creating figure-eights on his thigh.

You grind your hips even further into his thigh. Gasps escaping your lips as your pert nipples feel overstimulated. Your tugging fingers never stopping once. His name is a hopeless cry in your mouth as you were slowly increasing in sound. “I’m so fucking close,” You whine as you drop your right hand to press against your throbbing clit.

An entirely too provocative moan escapes your lips. You gasp as Shigaraki’s thighs begin bouncing again, further increasing your stimulation. The overall motion becoming way too much as you curse over, and over, again. You’re eyes trained on Shigaraki who is now staring at you. Breathless pants escaping his mouth as his screen turns red.

He was dead.

“DUDE--”

Shigaraki crumbles his headset into dust and shuts off his computer. Throwing his controller to the side as your body convulses on top of his leg. The pressure built higher and higher, and his hands forcefully ground you deeper into his lap.

“Oh my--fucK!” You shriek as you come hard on his lap, pants continuously pouring out of both of your mouths as your hips still. Your face flushed and warm from coming off of your high.

Smacking his hands off of your hips, you stand up, grinning at the wet patch on the fabric of his jeans. Your legs were wobbly, but you felt like you were on top of the world.

“Thank you for that,” You sigh as you press your lips against his chapped ones. “I’ll see you later?”

You only bother to fix your sports bra as you pick up your shirt and shimmy on your shorts. You walk to the front door, opening it as you grin.

The door slams before you can get out, his pale hand keeping it in place as his raging boner ground into your ass.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”Shigaraki sneers as you roll your ass into his crotch, a smirk on your face.

“Going to bed now,” You state with no issue. “Did you need anything?”

“Well because you can’t seem to fucking listen to me, I’m horny now too.”

A grin overcomes your features as you turn around in his arms. Your leg hooking around his hips to draw him nearer as your lips press against his.

It’s a passionate kiss, bodies grinding into one another. The feeling of his hands tracing the sides of your torso. You pant into his mouth as his tongue dances with yours.

Your pull away suddenly, opening the door and slipping out. “Sorry! I’m super tired!” You apologize as you turn around and bound down the hallway, a giggle in your step.

You can feel him stalking after you down the hallways, but you don’t care. He started this, and you sure as hell were not going to be the bigger person in this scenario.

Slipping into your room, you let him in with a smile. “How may I help you?” You ask as you throw your clothes on the floor. Stripping off your shorts as you move to your dresser to pick out some pajamas.

As you bend down, his hips are on your ass immediately, and you moan softly at the sensation.

“I’m going to fuck you just like this, and don’t you dare try fucking moving.” Shigaraki snarls as his fingers crumple your thong into ashes, and you smack his legs.

“Don’t fucking ruin my clOTHES!!!” You shriek as he unexpectedly rams his full length into you. A mewl rips from your throat as your hands grip the handles of your drawers.

“You’re such a fucking whore,” He snarls, his hips slamming into you without you being ready. “I bet you wanted to get noticed by those fucking idiots.”

“M-Maybe if they heard me they would’ve fucked me instead of you!” You gasp as your face pressed against the cool wood.

His hand reaches around your shaking thighs to press firmly against your aching clit. Your body tensing at the pressure. “You’re fucking mine,” Shigaraki insists, the tip of his finger curling on your sensitive clit. “Do you understand?”

Your pussy clenches at those words. His body ramming into your at such a delicious force your arms quivered. You were desperate as they tried to keep you from falling completely into the dresser. He grabbed your hair, tugging it harshly as you cried out his name. Your spasming cunt was once again building in pressure.

“You better be quiet,” Shigaraki hisses. His opposite hand moving to grasp your breast in his four finger hold. “I don’t want anyone walking in on you taking my cock like the fucking slut you are.”

You gasp as your hips continue to rock back into his, the rhythm of your fucking making you almost delirious. Shigaraki growls out curses as he moves his hands back to your waist. Slamming your body at a higher ferocity into his hard cock. Your hands slamming against the wood for greater support.

“God, you’re such a disobedient slut, trying to get me to fuck you like this? Was this your plan all along?” Your head nods vigorously, your unsteady pants filling the room. Your hips are no longer able to keep up with his insane speed. “I want you to come around my cock, can you do that for me?”

A pained mewl escapes your mouth as you nod your head again, “Yes! OH my god!!”

Your pussy clamps around his cock, unable to hold back your orgasm as you come hard around his moving dick. You moan out loudly as pleasure-filled waves shoot down every ligament in your body.

Shigaraki grunts, his hips never slowing down as he chases after your orgasm. His hips are merciless in his own quest for release. He chuckles at your staggered groans. Your hips weakly shifting back into his until he moans loudly. His cock releasing his hot load into your pulsating cunt.

He stills, leaning against your dresser for support until he removes himself from you.

Your breathing heightens, you’re barely able to stand back up to stare into his lust-filled eyes. A satisfied groan leaving your lips as you can feel his cum seeping out of your pussy. Dripping down your legs.

“Don’t ever do that again,” Shigaraki mutters as he presses a kiss against your lips. “Next time, I won’t be as kind.”

A smirk endows your face as he leaves, his jeans unbuckled still. You lick your lips softly, you were definitely doing that again.

[headoverhiddles]

You and Me and The Devil Makes 3 - Marilyn Manson x Brian Warner x Reader [Smut]

Synopsis: Your boyfriend Brian is horny for you all class, but the substitute teacher, Mr. Manson, is onto you two.   

Notes: Hear me out-- it was a teacher/student au request that got out of hand in my ask box and turned into Manscest. That is all. Enjoy the shameless filthy threesome with... two of them.

Part Two

You had promised yourself you were going to be a good girl, and focus in class today. 

You're less than a model student, and sitting right in front of your boyfriend doesn't help that fact. So today, since there was a test coming up in three days, you had made the productive decision to sit across the room from him. As you all wait for the teacher to arrive, Jeordie plunks down next to you wearing a Bauhaus shirt, hair wild as usual and English books all crumpled and doodled to hell.

"Have you ever seen a turtle take a shit?" he whispers to you. You sigh. So, you wouldn't be getting anything done today either. 

Brian glances over at you from the other side of the classroom, pouting. He likes putting on a tough act, but the truth is, he's a needy motherfucker. Pogo's sitting next to him, along with Scott, or Daisy as you all call him, who's probably the only one in your friend group who actually cares about being here. You stick your tongue out at Bri in response, and he gives you the finger. Smiling, you turn back to your blank page, then look at the time. It's 5 minutes after class should have started, and Mrs. Nordman is never late.

Over on the other side of the room, Brian doodles a couple hearts with spirals in them on his page. Pogo looks over his shoulder. 

“You gonna start writing out “Brian (y/l/n) beside those hearts, dude?” he grins. Brian glares at him. 

“Yeah, right next to you deepthroating a knife.” Defiantly, the eighteen year old draws even bigger hearts, then starts sketching a mutilated corpse. 

The door opens, and an unfamiliar face walks in. Everyone keeps chattering loudly as the man walks toward the desk, and still while he writes and underlines his name on the board. He then turns around, and you get a better look at him. He's very tall, just like Brian, but has more of a fuller figure than Brian's own stick thin frame. He must be at least 20 years yours and his senior. He's dressed in a black suit, has closely cropped black hair, painted fingernails, and sunglasses on. 

Different than most substitute teachers, you note right off the bat. 

"Who does this guy think he is?" Jeordie murmurs. The song Sunglasses At Night fills your head as you watch him in amusement. He's attractive. He's got a subtle purse of his lips (which are filled in with plum colored lipstick) and fingers that are tattooed with alchemical symbols. Definitely not a run of the mill sub. You wonder what your boyfriend thinks of him.

Brian inspects the teacher, admiring his makeup. He looks great-- confident, sexy, and ready to fuck up anyone who disagrees. Everything Brian himself aspires to be. 

"What's with the makeup, man?" someone from the back of the class asks the teacher. "You into dudes?" 

The new teacher finally speaks, looking out around the class and zeroing in on his target. "Why? Do you wanna fuck me?” You smile, and hear Brian choke out a laugh. The teacher turns to him, and despite the playfulness in his eyes, asks the question. "Something funny?"

"No," Brian says calmly with a smile, "That was just a, uh. A good comeback."

The teacher's lips turn up ever so slightly as he takes in the younger man’s goth, slightly extravagant appearance. "I live to entertain." 

He turns away to the board, tapping it. "Mr. Manson. That's what you can call me. I'm filling in for Mrs. Nordman, she had a little too much fun last night and needs a day off to vomit and cry."

"You’re name’s Manson?" Pogo pipes up, "Like the serial killer?" The class laughs.

"Very good, Mr..." he checks the list, "Bier. You know your American history.”

“I’m more partial to John Wayne Gacy,” Pogo responds.

“Gacy was an interesting man. Interesting inclinations. Manson used to be my stage name."

"Stage name?" Brian is suddenly interested, setting his sketching aside. He's started a band of his own with the guys, and is interested in everything to do with music and art.

"Yeah. I used to perform.”

“Were you a stripper?” one kid snickers. Mr. Manson doesn’t seem bothered by the question at all.

“You could say that. Now and then when I'm in between gigs, I do some work on the side, which is why I teach.”

“Can you teach me how to work a pole?” a girl laughs. Mr. Manson rolls his eyes lazily over to her.

“You look like you know how, sweetheart.” This shuts her up, and a blanket of awe falls over the class.

"You can't even take your sunglasses off indoors, how can we expect you to teach us anything good?" another girl scoffs.

"A night of drugs and vodka would prevent you from taking these off too, believe me."

This gets some genuine laughs from the class, and people start to warm up to him. He’s sarcastic, witty, and seems to not really give a fuck what he says and if he’ll get in trouble for saying it. You like that. You look Mr. Manson up and down, smirking, and turn to see your boyfriend chewing on his lip ring thoughtfully. Jeordie leans in.

“Alrighty. He’s kinda awesome.”

Class starts as usual, Mr. Manson adapting to the textbook and teaching what he needs to. About an hour in, a crumpled up note hits you in the head.

I miss you.

You roll your eyes. It’s only been sixty minutes. 

Another note comes your way.  This one bounces off Jeordie's head, waking him up before it hits your desk. He reads it and snorts, tossing it to you.

Come over here and give me a blow job baby?

Bri's also drawn a little doodle of you two in the cartoon style he’s used on all his Spooky Kids band flyers, you with your mouth around his very large penis while cartoon-him leans back and smiles. It's your turn to give him the finger, though it makes you smile when you see him pouting pleadingly. 

Before you realize it, Mr. Manson comes by and plucks the note off your desk. He smirks over at Brian. 

“You sure this is proportionate, Mr. Warner?” 

Brian ducks his head shyly. “I’d like to think so.” 

“Mm. So it’s open to interpretation? All good art is.” Manson tosses the note back onto the table, and gives you a look. 

“Sorry,” you whisper to him, biting your lip.

“Nah, it’s fine. I’d be drawing pictures of my dick too, if it was that big.” You giggle.

"So you're not mad?"

"I’m never mad. Just get back to work. If I turn around and see an empty seat..." he gestures to the note, "I'll know where to look."

You spread your legs a little-- just a little. "I hope you like what you see, sir."

He just turns back to the front of the class, clearing his throat. “Remember, if anybody needs any help with anything, just come up to me. I can’t guarantee I’ll know the answer, but I’ll pretend like I do and... let you all think I’m a good teacher.”

More laughter-- a good cover-up for your comment apparently. When Mr. Manson turns his back, Brian tosses another note to you, this one missing Jeordie's head thankfully, and in exasperation, you open it. More drawings of you two in various sexual positions? You read the note.

Turn him on.

You look up at him, frowning. What? Is he actually giving you permission to get the teacher hard? Brian nods at you, and you look back to the teacher. He'd better not be planning some kind of prank. This seems different though. Brian seems to like Mr. Manson.

Well, you can't exactly deny you want to do this. There are benefits to having the same taste in men as your boyfriend, and both of you get to enjoy those.  Mr. Manson seems pretty level headed. Maybe you'd have to work for it... and the best way was to be a bad, bad girl. You look back to your boyfriend, nodding.

"Sir?" you put your hand up, waving. Manson looks up.

"Mhmm?"

"I've got a question."

You toss a note to Brian. He opens it, and reads your request. He nudges Daisy, and whispers something. Daisy reluctantly agrees, and passes one of his cigarettes and lighter to the guy next to him, who passes it over, over, over, until it reaches Jeordie.

"Thanks, but I don't smoke," he tells the girl who passed it to him, and you whack him in the thigh.

"It's for me!"

"You don't smoke."

"Just fucking go with it, Jeordie!"

He shrugs, and gives it to you. You clear your throat, and hold it between your fingers as Manson finally looks up from his papers expectantly.

"Can I go out for a smoke?"

Mr. Manson hesitates, obviously put off by the question. "You're a respectable young lady, you shouldn't be smoking." It's obvious he's being sarcastic.

"At least I’m not doing lines off my textbook.” You quirk an eyebrow in challenge, a dig at him and his assumed lifestyle outside of teaching. He sighs.

"No."

You feign offense. "No?"

"You heard me, sweetheart," he drawls, "I think it's time someone told a little brat like you no."

Ignoring the throb in your pussy you got from that statement, you keep the act going.

"Fine. If you won't let me..." You snatch the lighter, and before you can really think about what you’re doing, light your lined booklet on fire. Jeordie stares at you in shocked excitement, starting to wonder why the fire alarm hasn’t gone off yet. Stupid broken down old school’s gonna kill you all one day, probably from a prank he initiated with Bri and the guys. 

Mr. Manson's jaw clenches, but you just let the book burn, holding it up. The class is transfixed, unable to look away as you let all the paper burn. Manson isn't about to stop you, the two of you in a staring match. Finally having burned it down to ash, you drop the remains of the book right on the desk, and cross your arms, the action plumping up your breasts over your tank top. 

Manson stares at you, and takes his sunglasses off to reveal smokey, black lined eyes. "You think you're clever, huh?"

"Yeah, I do."

"Test me one more time, honey." 

That sends shivers through you, and over at his desk, Brian feels warmth travel down to his groin. He shouldn't be getting aroused watching his girlfriend talk back and flirt outright with the teacher, but both of you are so sexy. He starts imagining what it would be like fucking you while sucking Mr. Manson off.

More blood rushes down to his cock, and he looks down with a hot blush to see a growing bulge in his black jeans shorts. At least he has the leggings underneath to restrict him, but currently, it's not a great situation. He looks around, biting his lip as he takes the heel of his pencil and forces it against the base of his dick.

Then he looks over again, sees you sitting there, brows furrowed as you say something argumentative, from those soft pink lips. And fuck, Mr. Manson looks so angry, his jaw clenched. What you two could do to him... what he could do to you.

Brian suppresses a whine, trying his best to slouch even further under the desk so that he can hide his boner. He gives himself a quick rub for relief that could easily be passed off as a typical scratch, but his position is making things weird.

"Geez, man," Daisy whispers, nudging him, "At least try to stay awake in class." Brian sighs, staring at the clock and willing the hands to move. One wrong move here and he'd cum in his pants.

"Mr. Warner."

Brian's gaze shoots up. Oh no. "Yeah?" he tries to seem careless and calm in replying. Mr. Manson looks at him.

"You seem upset. You need to see a nurse?"

"A psychiatrist, more like," Pogo interjects, and any other time, Brian would tell his friend to shut the hell up, but right now he's glad for the distraction. Manson abandons the subject as a result, and turns back to his work.

You wiggle in your seat, throbbing and soaked through your panties. You want to get him mad again like that, make him really wanna punish you.

You try to think up what your grand finale should be. You can’t think, however, due to your arousal, so you get up from your desk instead. 

“Mr. Manson?”

“What?”

“Can I use the washroom?”

“You’re not gonna smoke in there and get me in trouble for letting you, are you?”

You smirk, adjusting your hair. “I don’t smoke.” As you head toward the door, you motion inconspicuously for Brian to follow. You hadn’t had him for a few days now, and after all that flirting with the teacher, you're more than a little wet. 

Once you leave, Brian shoots a spitball through a straw at Jeordie, who wakes up again, looking around. He sees Brian motion to him, and through their unspoken best friend code, Jeordie knows what to do.

“Uh, sir?” Jeordie puts his hand up, and Mr. Manson walks over. “Yes, how do you, uhh… know the difference between thee, thy, and thine in Macbeth speak?”

 While Manson is distracted, Brian makes his escape. He darts out the door, and grins to himself, sticking his hands in his pockets as he walks briskly toward the boy’s washroom. He lets his hair cover his face and fall over his Route 666 T-Shirt as he enters, hunched over, just in case there are others who could identify him. It’s thankfully empty… save for you. 

“Baby,” you smile.

"God, I wanted to get my hands on you all morning," he murmurs, hurrying over. "All I could think of was what this pussy feels like, got a fucking erection in class."

"Did you wanna jack off under the desk?" you ask, nipping at his bottom lip. He groans.

"Yeah. Need you, need to fuck you so good."

"Fuck me so we can get back quick," you giggle. He unzips his shorts, pulling down his leggings as well, and he kicks your legs apart, you facing the wall. He tugs your panties down, licking his lips, and teases your folds a little with the tip of his dick. 

“So wet, huh? All wet for me?” 

“Mhmmm...”

"What about Mr. Manson?" He leans into your ear, warm breath tingling your skin. "You really sold it back there. You wanna see his big cock, don’t you? Wanna suck on it?"

"No more than you do," you tease, and he chuckles, lining himself up.

He buries himself inside of you. "Oh, fuck yeah, baby," he groans, "Fuck, I love this tight little pussy." 

"Fuck me hard Bri, I wanna feel you for days," you moan, bracing your palms against the wall. He starts to go harder, desperate to get you both off with enough time to get back into class, but the door swings open. Brian looks back, his dick halfway back inside you, and he makes a little noise.

"What? Who is it?" you moan.

"I don't recall giving you permission to leave the class, Mr. Warner," Mr. Manson’s low, growling voice says, as the teacher crosses his arms.

"Sir," Brian swallows, "We--"

"No." The teacher stands in front of the door, keeping it shut. "Continue." You feel yourself get even wetter at the thought of the sexy teacher watching you get fucked.

“Y-you... want me to keep going?” Brian asks, voice small. Manson takes his sunglasses off once again, folding them up and tucking them in his suit pocket. His voice is calm and level, but his arousal is evident.

“That’s what I said.”

Brian slowly draws out, and pounds back in as you gasp. You hear Mr. Manson unzip his pants, the sound of clothes rustling alongside Brian's pale, slender hips slapping your ass with every thrust filling the men's washroom.

"You like watching, daddy?" you ask, grinning.

"Mmm," Manson hums, starting to stroke himself at the name. "You think it's appropriate to call me that, Miss (y/l/n)?"

"To be brutally honest sir, I don't give much of a fuck."

Manson smirks. "Good. Cause neither do I."

Brian is working up a sweat behind you, biting his lip as he pounds you as hard as he can.

"Yeah, baby," you whine, "Right there." 

Brian kisses your shoulder as he keeps going. Then he gets an idea. At first he’s a little nervous... but he knows you’ve always encouraged any fantasy he's ever had. He's sure you won't mind-- you may even like it too. "Mr. Manson?"

"Mhm?"

"C-Come and touch me?"

The professor raises his non existent eyebrows. "I could get in lots of trouble for that, Mr. Warner."

"So could we," you laugh. Manson finally saunters over with that confident swagger, and feels a hand down to Brian's ass.

"That what you want? Mm?"

"Oh god..." He presses back into the teacher, eyelids fluttering from the stimulation of his cock inside you while being fawned over by the older man.

"You want to feel daddy touch you? So pretty... such a dirty little thing... dirty little pretty boy."

“Yeah.”

“You could barely hide your hard on in class. Thought I couldn’t see.”

“Oh,” Brian moans.

“I saw your hand on your cock. You needed (y/n) bad.” Brian literally purrs, and Manson shifts his focus. "What about you, sweetheart, how you doing over there?"

"Fuck!" is all you can manage out, and Manson smirks.

"Your boy here really knows how to do the work. He's giving it his all."

"Daddy, please," Brian whines, and you don't think you've heard anything so hot in your life.

"Daddy's here," Mr. Manson growls, feeling down Brian's ass and between his legs. When he grazes your boyfriend's balls, you feel Brian go even harder, and you very nearly sob as he hits your g-spot perfectly.

"Shhh, shhh, babygirl," Manson whispers, coming over to you, "Can't have anyone come, stumble in and find us, hm?" 

"Like you?" you retort, turning your head to the side to face him, and he grins, stroking your chin.

"Like me." He presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth, then to your lips. You open up for him, and he swipes his tongue along your lower lip, his lipstick rubbing against your skin. He lets up the kiss, and you pause to turn around, wrapping your legs around Brian as he sloppily pushes back in. You move forward to kiss your boyfriend now, all messy tongue and hot gasps. You tilt your head back in ecstasy on a particularly good thrust, and Manson takes this opportunity to kiss Brian, the two starting to make out as Brian rocks you against the wall. They finally part. “That lip ring makes it hard to kiss.”

Brian gives him a dark smile, getting off on being just as bratty as you. “I don’t live my life to please older guys like you.” Manson looks at him in amusement. 

“You in a punk rock band or something? You seem like you’d be perfect for one.” 

“I am, actually,” Brian says, running his tongue along his bottom lip, over his piercing just to make a point. 

“They’re magnificent,” you moan, rocking down on your boyfriend. “They go all out on stage.” 

“Mmm. I bet Brian fucks you nice and rough after his shows, (y/n),” Manson says. 

“Oh, he does,” you grin, “Nice and rough.” You look down and smile at Manson's hand in his pants, moving in quick, deliberate jerks. "You like what you see, sir?" you grin, and Mr. Manson growls.

"Little fuckin' troublemaker."

"I wanna see it," you moan out. Manson lifts his chin, and lifts his top up just above his belly button, revealing more tattoos on his deliciously soft stomach, and his cock underneath, the head weeping into his hand. "Keep touching it," you breathe. He doesn't break eye contact with you as he drags his fist up his hard cock, up and over the swollen head, and back down as he picks up his pace again.

It's your turn for another request, and you ask it properly, biting your pinky. "I want you both to fuck my mouth."

"Filthy," Manson murmurs, "You've got a girl who fuckin' knows what she wants."

Brian lets you down, and you get on your knees in between them. You're used to sucking Brian off, but having Mr. Manson's cock in front of you as well makes you flush.

Brian reaches for you first, grabbing your hair and shoving you down over him. You deepthroat him immediately, choking a little, and Brian keeps jerking your head back and forth by your hair, making sure you're good and used. You can taste yourself on him as you suck around the head, absolutely getting off on how rough he’s being. 

"Take it," he hisses, sneering, and you moan. Eventually, you switch to give Manson some attention. He's waiting patiently, and you're the one who holds him at the base as you slide your lips down over him.

"Mmmm. Perfect," he grumbles, "Good girl." You work him, taking him all the way down and back up, and you reach back to jerk Brian off as well. You pop off Manson, and alternate between the two. After a moment, Brian takes initiative, and takes Manson’s cock in hand with his, pumping them together as you kitten lick them both. Brian bats his eyes up at the teacher, and Manson takes over, jacking the two of them off. Brian lets out a choked out cry as he finishes over your lips and in Manson's hand, but the teacher doesn't stop. He continues to stroke your boyfriend as he encourages you to get up.

"Not outta the game yet, angel." The teacher shoots you a smirk. Brian's half hard again in minutes, and he picks you up, sensitive from his first orgasm but just as feral and desperate, long black hair plastered to his face and neck. He pushes back into you, and you bury your face in his neck, craving your building release.

"I'm... fucking close," Brian breathes. Manson saunters close again.

"C'mon, baby. That's it. Give her your load, you know you want to," he whispers in Brian's ear, grinding his own cock against the young man's ass, against the material of the black denim, "She wants you to." Mr. Manson traces your lips with his fingers, and slips them into your mouth for you to suck on. You do so gratefully, moaning. "She's a little cumslut, you know it. Aren't you, baby girl? Sweetheart's a whore, wanna get filled up like a little whore?"

"Mhm," you moan desperately. 

"Fuck, fuck!" Brian gasps, and cums deep inside you again. Manson gives a small groan, rubbing himself to completion with his free hand, and you're hit with your own powerful orgasm, riding it out on your boyfriend's throbbing cock. 

When the three of you finally stumble away from the wall, you start to realize what just happened.

"Well. That was better than study hall," you smile, taking Brian’s arm. He's still catching his breath as Manson looks at the two of you, fixing his suit jacket. He tucks himself back up into his boxers, zips his fly, and looks in the mirror. He uses a finger to clean up his lipstick a little, and puts his sunglasses back on.

"Okay, would it be too cliche of me to say I'm giving you both As?"

"Yeah," Brian grins, shoving his hand in your back pocket affectionately, "But we earned that shit."

As Manson turns back to keep fixing his makeup, he notices the twisted heart he had been doodling earlier, tattooed on the older man's wrist. Huh. Some kinda serendipitous coincidence.

[plus-size-reader]

The Quarry

Bowers Gang x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 1877 words

Warnings: none 

Summary: Reader is terrified to swim with the boys in the quarry. She is worried about what they’ll think about her body, which she’s hidden from them up until now. 

———————————————————————————————————

Objectively, you should have assumed that going to the quarry with the gang would involve you all getting undressed but for some reason, that simple fact that slipped your mind.

You didn't think about it until the Trans Am pulled into the dirt parking area atop the mountain that you would actually have to jump off in order to get into the water below. 

Water that you couldn't get into in your jeans and hoodie.

No one in their right mind would jump into the water fully clothed, but that didn't change the fact that you didn't want to do it. None of the guys had ever seen you that bare before and it made you nervous.

It was easy to hang out with them when you could cover up with your over-sized clothes and be comfortable...but there would be no hiding as soon as you shed that safety net. All of your friends were going to see you, and that air of comfort would melt away forever. There would be no going back once they saw you.

"What are you doing?" Henry asked, pulling his own shirt over his head as the other guys all did the same. The five of you had been planning to go swimming for quite some time but now that you were all here, you were hesitating.

It didn't make sense to Henry, who had been waiting for this day to come all week long. It was the only escape he got from his shitty life, and you didn't seem even a little excited.

"I just don't know if I feel like swimming today" you lied, shrugging your shoulders as if nothing could be done to change your mind. Anything was better than telling him, or the other boys, the truth.

Patrick, for one, would never let you live it down if he knew that you were scared to let them see you.

And of course he wouldn't understand, he'd never had to feel that way about his own body. It wasn't something he'd ever even thought about, and you weren't about to explain it to him, or Henry, or Vic, or Belch.

It wasn't going to happen.

All you had to do was just stay strong and not let them see everything you'd worked so hard to keep hidden. How hard could it be?

"What do you mean? I couldn't get you to shut up about this place earlier" Belch piped up, his frame emerging from the other side of the car, now only covered by his Back to the Future boxers.

He had a point.

You had been looking forward to this, but that was before you realized what it would mean.

By now, all four boys were stripped down and ready to go, but before anything, they had to figure out what was going on with you. With nothing else to focus on but why they weren't currently in the water, all their attention fell solely on you.

"Come on Princess, you can swim...we aren't gonna let anything get ya" Patrick teased, assuming that your hesitance came from a fear of the height or the jump into the deep water.

If only it could be so simple.

You smiled slightly, turning your attention away from Henry, to the much taller Patrick. He had his eyes locked on you already but didn't shift away from you. 

That was one of the most impressive things about Pat, he couldn't be intimidated.

Perhaps it had something to do with his slight insanity, but whatever it was...you needed some of it about now.

"I believe you Patrick, but it's not about that" you huffed, getting more and more frustrated as you kept going. There just weren't the right words to explain what you were dealing with.

Especially not in a way that any of the boys would understand.

He hummed, trying to get you to continue but you couldn't do it. It wasn't until Victor joined in the powwow that you were actually able to catch your breath. He had always been the most in touch with himself, and his emotions...it made you feel better.

It made it easier to get your words out, without feeling so afraid of their judgement. The worst that would happen was Patrick laughing, and Henry joking about it for years afterword.

You could always just put your clothes back on and go home, if it went that badly.

"I'm scared" you started, taking a deep breath again before continuing. All four boys were standing around you now, so close that you could hit each of them with your knees if you moved the right way.

They were worried about you, but each showed it in their own way.

Patrick was more distant, but still kept that calculated gaze on your face. He would have killed to keep you happy, but wasn't too outward with his expression of that.

Henry kept it calm, though you could tell from the rigid way that he was standing that he was just as prepared to obliterate what had upset you.

That left Vic, who was more focused on your words than any of the others. He was committing ever single syllable to memory, so he could talk you down. He had always been the best with his words.

Not to mention Belch, who by this point was holding your hand tightly in his own, letting you know in his own way that he was there.

"Scared of what?" Henry asked, his arms folded across his chest. 

His voice wasn’t angry or aggressive toward you, he just wanted to know. If there was something that was bothering you, he and the guys would do whatever it took to make it better. 

But before that could happen, you had to tell them what was up. There was no way they could take care of it if you didn’t open up. 

“I don’t wanna get undressed in front of you guys, I don’t want you to see me” you huffed, giving up. You were tired of having to justify yourself to the guys, knowing that they’d never understand. 

As soon as the words left your lips, you closed your eyes, expecting the boys to ridicule you. However, the jokes never came. 

Instead, when you opened your eyes, they were all looking at you. They had curious looks in their eyes. 

More than anything, they were just confused at what you meant. 

As far as they could tell, there was nothing wrong with you. Sure, they’d never really paid too much attention toward what your body looked like under your clothes...with the exception of Patrick. 

However, the idea that you were actually scared to show them was something else entirely. They could all be dicks in their own right, and they knew that but not to you. 

The worst you had to deal with from them was a little bit of teasing and moodiness. Never would they actually make you feel bad about yourself. “Come on Y/N, We aren’t gonna say anything” Henry groaned, gesturing toward the lake below, that was just waiting for you to jump in. 

You wanted nothing more than to just dive off the side of the cliff into the crystal waters below but you could hardly breathe. What they were asking you to do was nearly enough to make your heart stop. 

“What if we don’t look?” Belch suggested, holding his hands up to cover his eyes. It was a childish suggestion, but might just be what you needed...strangely enough. 

You nodded, waiting for the four of them to cover their wandering eyes before slowly stripping down right there in the open. If they had been anyone else, you would have just went home and given up but you had no reason to be scared of the guys. 

They cared about you, no matter how cagey some of the members of the Bowers gang may have been about showing it. Hell, even Patrick was being a gentleman about this, holding his hands in front of his face as much as he didn’t want to.

You were giving him a chance to finally check out that rocking bod you had and you weren’t even going to let him...it was cruel. However, he understood that if you needed the privacy, he needed to give you that. 

Maybe you’d show him later if he asked nicely, to reward him for his respect and patience in this instance. 

A guy could only hope.  

“Okay, I’m ready” you allowed, taking a deep breath. You kept your eyes closed, not wanting to see any of their reactions when they dropped their hands, though no one said anything. 

Silence was a good sign, wasn’t it?

No one was laughing, so that was a plus. 

When you opened your eyes, you half expected them to be gone, but that wasn’t the case. Instead, you found four teenage boys, all standing in their underwear, staring at you with wide eyes. 

“What?” you wondered, not liking the silence the longer it persisted. The Bowers gang were known for being a group of loud mouth thugs and it wasn’t like them to be at a loss for words. 

But there weren’t words for how each boy was feeling in turn. 

They had been your closest friends since middle school but the idea of seeing you as anything more than one of the guys was never an option for them...until now. 

You were very clearly, not one of the guys. 

“How have you been keeping this from us for so long, sweetness?” Patrick asked, that sly grin finding its way onto his face the longer he admired every inch of your exposed flesh. 

You shouldn’t have been shocked by that, with Patrick being the pervy, creep that you knew and loved but you were. Never in your life had you thought that they would actually be anything other than disgusted by you. 

After having a look around however, you realized that they were very much not disgusted. 

Henry looked as if his eyes may actually pop out of his skull, Vic was red in the face, and Belch couldn’t even look at you without feeling all flustered. It was almost funny. 

“Don’t tease Pat, it isn’t funny” you pouted, folding your arms across your chest, which earned a slight groan from Henry, who was more or less drooling at this point. 

The idea that he’d been driving around with you this whole time, with you looking like that, was killing him. 

“Trust me, we know” he winked, adjusting himself in his shorts in a comical, and frankly cringey manner. 

The only thing that saved it was the fact that he knew he was playing up the creep factor for your benefit, so you laughed.  

“Alright, enough...Can we please go swimming now?” you begged, heading over to the edge of the cliff, getting ready for the best dive of your life. 

When you hit the water, you knew that you’d never have to worry about your body around those boys ever again. 

If you got that reaction every time you stripped down, perhaps you’d have to do it more often.

[grell-writes-stuff]

A Self Indulgent First Chapter

Enjoy...something

Words: 2,549

Genre: Young Adult / Paranormal

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

Slam!

Gasp!

And then the apathetic yell of “Walk it off, Willow!” from Coach Martin. No stopping the game or running over to make sure I’m not deprived of air or dying or something. Just “Walk it off, Willow!”

I suffer for a second with the wind knocked out of my body. My inhaler finds its way from my pocket to my hand, and while I hold the one breath I force myself into and wait for my crap lungs to jump-start again, I contemplate the most-likely-illegal play that landed me flat on my back in the middle of the field. Quarterback Tom Styles’ outstretched elbow connecting with my neck at full speed in his chase for the checkered ball and high school sports glory, clearly confusing his claim-to-fame varsity moves with a pickup game of soccer since I doubt he has the brain cells to remember the rules to two sports at once. And probably a little bit on purpose. Because he’s a dick.

My chest wheezes a little, but at least it’s something, and the weak inhales finally start to catch as a sun-freckled face appears above me and blocks out the light. Ivy offers me her hand.

“Did th-that look a-as bad as it f-felt?” I sputter.

Ivy tilts her head from side-to-side like it’s the scale measuring how uncool I am. “Worse. Very pathetic. You will die alone.” She yanks me to my feet and acts like a support in spite of the height difference.

“P-Please stop making m-me take gym with y-you.”

“Nah. It’s too funny.” She ignores my scowl. “Come on. Let’s get you some water and wait for those shitty lungs to work again.”

She escorts me – hobbling like some eighty-year-old man with spine problems and not just what will soon be a terrible, ugly bruise – toward the bleachers, empty except for the water bottles of our classmates. I’m happy enough to sit on the sidelines, not just while recovering from having all of the air robbed from my chest, but for the rest of gym class, and also forever. Ivy is equally as happy, but only because it prompts the girls’ teacher, Coach Caruthers, to scream in her booming voice:

“Hammond! Back on the field!”

Without missing a beat, Ivy responds, “In the event of moderate injury, students are allowed to have a friend or fellow student for mental, emotional, or physical support. It’s in the code of conduct.”

I don’t know if that’s actually something in our school’s rule book, but Ivy has read the whole thing cover-to-cover for the sole purpose of seeing how many provisions she can disregard without getting into trouble through malicious acts of over-compliance or sheer dumb luck. So, she’s either following the rules to the letter or lying about them. As I sit, I see that Caruthers does not look impressed when Ivy plops onto the bench next to me. The whole reason our gender-segregated phys. ed classes collaborate so often is because they’re full of athletes – and me, the outlier – so more often than not, it’s just an extra practice for the varsity players. Even though Ivy was born with the “good at physical stuff” gene, and talented enough to be a forward on our girls’ soccer team, she prefers to rely on the natural part of her ability and not the practice part to the vexation of literally everyone.

“Hammond!” Caruthers screams. “On the field, or off the team!”

Ivy squirts a stream of water into her mouth and quickly swallows before passing the bottle on to me. “Cool. Who’s replacing me?” she retorts.

I focus on downing some water and breathing evenly again and not on the vein beginning to pop out of Caruthers’ angry-red neck. She can’t say anything back because, well, Kinross High School isn’t huge. Pretty much everyone who can play sports is already playing sports, and as far as Ivy’s tendency to disrespect anyone of authority can go, she’s also crucial to securing victory over visiting teams. Caruthers just grits her teeth and returns to refereeing the game where Tom Styles has once again stolen the ball that got away from him, this time without incapacitating anybody since the one guy with asthma has left the field. (Asshole.) I watch as Abby Jefferson starts to gain on him, and Tom makes the choice to skillfully send the ball flying across the grass to the next open player, Drew Young, the only person in our gym class who does even less than I do.

That’s not for lack of talent either. I’ve seen Drew actually try on the rare occasion, and he could absolutely score a spot on a boys’ sports team. But most games, like today, he receives the pass and kicks the ball along to the next open player – it’s intercepted by one of the girls – and continues pacing the field leisurely. Coach Martin yells at him to get his head in the game, but Drew doesn’t bother. If the activity doesn’t involve selling the pens that he stole from the cheerleaders to the football team, the little weasel has no interest.

The game continues on.

Ivy reclines until her shoulders are touching the bench behind us, tilting her head back and staring at the sky. I have to wonder how comfortable it is.

“My dear Sid,” she theatrically addresses me. She likes to be dramatic sometimes. She thinks it’s funny. “I have a proposal for you.”

“I told you I’m not training a messenger pigeon with you. We only live three houses apart.”

“I’ll wear you down eventually, but no, that’s not what I wanted to talk about.” She looks over at me without breaking her questionable position. “I know what we’re doing tonight. I’ve concocted a perfect plan, you see, for this most All-Hallowed of Eves.”

“You can say ‘Halloween’ like a normal person. It’s okay.”

“Let me bring you back in time,” she continues, ignoring me, “to the Kinross of yore. Just decades after its founding, the Salem Witch Trials came about and our town was no exception to the noose–”

“Salem is two hours away, Ivy,” I interrupt with the fact.

“Shut up. The Salem Witch Trials swept across the state of Massachusetts, migrated into Kinross, and thus the most famous trial of Kinross history was set in motion when one Ann Kelly was accused of being a creature of the occult!”

“Can I get the abridged version of this plan please?” I ask her. “Like, the part that takes place in this century?”

Finally fed up with my interjections, Ivy sighs exaggeratedly and rolls her eyes at me. “Blah, blah, blah, she was hanged, she’s buried in the historical section of Riverview, and we’re going there tonight during the witching hour to see” – she switches to her best spooky voice with elongated, trembling vowels – “her haunted grave.”

“Hard pass.”

That makes her sit upright again with a slouch to her posture. She’s wearing a fabricated pout. “Sid,” she whines.

“Ivy, I’m not sneaking out with you at three in the morning on Halloween to go see a ‘haunted grave.’” She opens her mouth, but I follow up with, “Our parents would kill us. Besides, what’s-her-name probably just angered a bunch of Puritans and got executed because of religious prejudice. That doesn’t mean she was a witch.”

“Well, of course. I think angering Puritans was a mandatory activity back then. But come on, Sid! The legend says she’s a witch, and it’s the perfect Halloween thing! I think we are obligated – if not encouraged by the spirit of Halloween herself – to go see a ghost witch.”

“Does the spirit of Halloween have a gender?”

Ivy pushes past that and waits to catch my eye dead-on. “Bet you a hundred bucks we actually see Ann Kelly’s phantom.”

My lips part to say no just a split second before I register the number. “Wait – a hundred?”

Something cocky has taken up her face, and she recites with inflated confidence, “Ten A-Hams. A Franklin. A thousand Roosevelts.”

“You know what? Fine. I’ll take your money,” I tell her. “You’re on.”

Her grin is smug as we fist-bump on it and close the deal, but I decide that I don’t care so much with the promise of an easy hundred dollars coming my way. Ivy ingests another stream of water, and swallows while her eyes quickly scan the grass to catch up with the game again. Suddenly, a yell flies from her mouth:

“Box him out, Julia! Come on!”

Then she’s up off the bleachers and jogging back out onto the field. As unwilling as Ivy is to make an effort and practice, she’s also equally as competitive, even if this is just a gym class where victory doesn’t really matter. I, on the other hand, take my time on the bench. Struggling to breathe isn’t my idea of fun. I need to stop letting Ivy manipulate me into taking phys. ed. If she keeps it up, she might kill me.

 ***

I can nearly be qualified as a mess by the time Ivy and I reach our lockers after final period, and she’s humming like she’s got live wires for veins despite just spending an hour burning off energy. Meanwhile, I’m still recovering from my last bout of airlessness after I returned to the field and ran for maybe ten minutes. And I feel gross. The benefit of having P.E. last period is that I don’t have to shower here and can wait until I get home or to Ivy’s. The con is the window of time in between. I usually try to keep the gap as short as possible, and therefore, my time at my locker brief. I think Ivy and I took enough time getting changed after gym to avoid most people – at least the non-athletes.

“Hi, Sidney! Hi, Ivy!”

A mixture of feelings suddenly rockets through me and don’t add up in the end. While my chest is beginning to slowly overclock, and the hallway seems a few degrees warmer and rising steadily, I’m ready to play dead as Naomi Park opens the locker right next to mine on the opposite side of Ivy’s. Her shoulder is a fraction of an inch from touching my arm which is probably too close when I’m still drenched in gym sweat. Ivy greets her politely with ease while my brain is trying to catch up with the mundane situation and not think about how she smells like some kind of flowery perfume and I smell like crap.

“Hey, Naomi,” leaves my mouth and sounds too drawn-out and weirdly cheesy, so I just try to smile to make up for it. That feels awkward too, but she thankfully doesn’t seem to react to that, and her glossy pink lips tilt up without much effort into a perfect grin.

She puts some books on the shelf in her locker. “Any exciting Halloween plans?”

“Nope,” Ivy says immediately, likely because our actual idea involves a wager and might not be entirely legal – it’s a misdemeanor at the least. I just take the hint and don’t add anything to refute her answer.

“You? Any plans? For tonight – Halloween?” I wish that had come out differently. It could have at least sounded coherent.

“Nothing tonight,” Naomi responds. “But Heather’s having a ‘Belated Halloween Bash’ on Saturday while her parents are out of town so I’m ‘required’ to be there.”

“Oh, cool. That’s…cool.”

“I guess so. Heather’s parties get a little boring after a while though. I bet your plans for Saturday are much more fun.”

“Yep. Pints of ice cream, horror movies, and making bets on how long it takes Sid to hurl when the blood starts gushing,” Ivy interjects.

“Ivy.” I mutter the snap of her name so it doesn’t sound as harsh as I want it to. The temperature in the hallway rises astronomically.

Naomi giggles, which hurts. Well, it would if her laugh wasn’t so musical and twinkly. It’s like a damn harp quartet. “Sounds like a good time,” she comments. Her locker door shuts. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

“Yeah, totally – tomorrow. See ya’, Naomi!” She’s nearly out of earshot down the hall, and I wait until I know she definitely can’t hear anything before I say to Ivy without daring a look at her, with the heat of embarrassment and shame boiling me alive from the inside, “Please say nothing.”

I can hear the grin on her face when she speaks. “You realize she’s just another human being, right?”

“Are you kidding? She’s at the right hand of Heather Loch. She’s popular. I’m shocked she still knows my name.”

Ivy shuts her own locker with a characteristic slam. “Dude, you’re ridiculous. She likes you back. If you just talked to her, and told her that you like her, you would have a girlfriend.”

“Ivy, she thinks I’m a loser.”

“I think you’re a loser and I still like you sometimes.”

I roll my eyes and can’t say anything to that. I don’t care if Ivy thinks I’m lame. It’s not the same. We’ve been together for as long as I can remember, so at this point, she’s locked into this friendship, no matter how easy it would be for her to hang out with the people at Kinross High who are actually popular and liked.

I close my locker and we start walking to the main exit of the building and eventually across the school’s student parking lot. Some groups linger, but most people seem to be dispersing and heading home for the day. Ivy and I walk straight through the lot as always, avoiding the cars pulling out.

I want to avoid the Styles’ Ford Everest – which is so bright red that it’s an assault on the eyes – but we have to walk past it and the clump of popular kids loitering next to it: blonde, perfect, popular Heather Loch, Asshole Quarterback Tom and his not-as-terrible twin, Ed, and my locker neighbour and secret crush, Naomi. The girls are under the guys’ arms like they belong there, popular with popular. There’s usually not much interaction between our pair and their group because I’m pretty sure most of the popular kids either don’t know who I am or just hate me for no reason, but today Tom decides to rub in his full-contact plays on the soccer field.

“Nice moves out there, Pussy Willow!” he shouts clear across the lot. It makes me feel the bruise on my back, still fresh, but I’m past the point of being mad about it. Really, Tom’s just an annoying jerk, and that’s all he’ll ever be.

I try to tap into Ivy-like sarcasm and passiveness. “I get it. Because my last name is Willow, and you’re insulting me. That’s really funny. It’s original.”

He yells something back that includes one of Ivy’s favourite swear words, but we disregard it and turn out of the parking lot in the direction of our houses. Ivy states that we’re going to my place because, in her mind, it’s easier to sneak out of a single-parent household. I don’t try to refute it because arguing with Ivy when she has her mind made up is like talking to a brick wall.