#or like gloat when they lose or whatevs

[sergeifyodorov]

say it on main with your chest

no :thumbsup:

[mushroomates]

the fellowship grocery shopping (modern au!):

frodo: has a list which he always loses halfway through shopping. tries to bring his own bags but they’re never enough, or he forgets them in the car and realizes mid checkout. does not like a lot of the name brand foods, goes for the knock offs- partly because he thinks they taste better and partly because he’s rooting for the underdog. (also they’re cheaper which means more money go towards buying treats for the neighborhood cats.) makes an exception for name brand strawberry poptarts, a pippin favorite. keeps his fridge stocked with snacks for his friends.

sam: grows a lot of his own produce and makes an effort to shop local. has his own chickens and a thriving herb garden. he often trades with neighbors-tomatoes for honey, basil for goats milk, etc. once a month he teams up with boromir and goes to costco for insane amounts of flour (he bakes his own bread) and a foot long hotdog. sam refuses to get his own membership.

merry: has a list of things to get that he has worked very hard to compile. this list stays on fridge, and whenever he runs out of something he adds it. this is always sabotaged by pippin who, in a port attempt to mimic merry’s handwriting, adds a copious amount of sweets and things only pippin likes. ends up buying them anyways only to not share with him- will gloat by snacking in front of pippin and not offering any to his cousin.

pippin: does not actually grocery shop. yes, he has food in his house but this is more because he just tags along whenever someone else is going. selectively copies whatever they get into his own basket. has eight jars of peanut butter because he loves peanut butter but does not consume it at the rate he believes he does. also for backup, incase he runs out mid sandwich and needs eight jars of the stuff. loves to ride in the shopping carts when no one’s watching. definitely scooters along isles. loves to hijack boromir’s shopping trips as boromir is the only one who will push him in the cart and give him a lil treat at the end.

gandalf: kind of just. wanders around the store. gets lost in the bakery. buys the most random things, causing the clerks to conspire about what he’s doing with two packs of rubber gloves, a rosterseie chicken, and a tub of mayonnaise. is he a murderer? a professor? a single mother? what is he doing with this stuff?

aragorn: does a lot of trading with neighbors, like sam. likes to accompany arwen on errands and do the little things. she points at an item and he puts it in the basket. he bags at checkout. drives her home. unloads the car and put it away. real quality time and acts of service. yes, arwen is capable of doing these things herself, but he likes to do it for her: hunts so be always has a surplus of jerky, does need to buy more salt then the typical person.

boromir: also hunts. has a thing about using every part of the animal, will eat bone marrow straight out of the femur with a spoon for breakfast. eats a lot of protein. is real big about no food waste and will use everything he can. has his own compost bin and a humble herb garden. likes hosting barbecues for everyone, and makes the burgers and hotdogs from scratch. every other tuesday is grocery day. he goes to costco and buys his things in bulk. he’s the only one in the fellowship with a costco card and everyone loves to take advantage of it.

legolas: mainly just happens upon farmers markets and grabs what appeals to him in the moment. does not have any seasonings or cooking oil as it’s not something that’s ever really occurred to him to buy. will forget he has food in his fridge for weeks and when he finally does it’s gone bad. this, however, does not stop him from eating it. makes a lot of smoothies.

gimli: has a lot of preserved foods and a cupboard dedicated to emergencies. owns a lot of canned beans, fruits and vegetables- anything that will keep well. has a freezer filled with food in his garage with backup stock. is a very good with coupons- pippin likes going with him just to see the total (and the clerks jaw) drop. eats a lot of trail mix and jerky. enjoys fresh fruit when he can but doesn’t like to buy it because it doesn’t last.

gollum: sneaky little man. he hides in the bottom part of the carts meant for heavy items and parties his way across the store with his hands, scooting along tile and grabbing anything with reach, tossing it back up to the cart and continuing on his journey. then he just rolls right out the door. no one can stop him.

[powderblueblood]

HELLFIRE & ICE — eddie munson x f!oc as enemies to star-crossed lovers

CHAPTER ONE — THE POISE, INTEGRITY and LUCK OF A KENNEDY

MASTERLIST | NEXT

summary: you go head-to-head with your new neighbor, eddie munson, and lose something precious to you in the process. content warnings: NSFW / MINORS DNI swearing, classic 80s classism, tommy hagan jumpscare, eddie munson jackin off word count: 3.4k

Dear reader, I wish I could tell you it ends well for you. 

I wish I could tell you that this is nothing but a bad dream, or a fugue state, or an extremely vivid hallucination brought on from that weed your friends buy from that burnout in the horrendous denim vest that is now your next door neighbor. 

I wish I could tell you that you’re not sitting on your designer suitcases in the weed-ridden lot of a trailer park, watching your mom (who is already it’s-five o’clock-somewhere drunk) charmlessly haggle about the rent. 

See, you used to have money, but now you don’t. 

You used to have a dad who wasn’t incarcerated, but now you don’t. 

You used to have integrity, but the IRS seized the last of that along with your childhood home in Loch Nora. 

I wish I could tell you that you weren’t totally fucked. But it seems that there’s no way this total shitheap of a situation could get worse–

“Need a little help with that?”

–except there is. There totally is.

You flex your hand, relieving it from it’s writing cramp. You’ve been hunched over your journal, perched on your ready-to-burst luggage for what seems like hours now– admittedly, you’re the kind of girl that’s used to valet service. Bellhops carrying your suitcases to your room when you used to join your dad on business trips. 

But valets never looked like this. Squinting at you from beneath his ratted-out waves, Eddie Munson gives you a once-over that makes your stomach lurch. You know him the same way everyone in Hawkins knows him– either barrelling through the hallways like a tweaked out autocrat whose only dominion is over his group of unwashed dorks or palming off baggies at parties. But there’s something about Munson that’s always rubbed you the wrong way. He’s so loud and defiant and achingly obvious, smug when he’s got no right to be. 

Especially now. 

“Excuse me?” you drawl, snapping closed the leatherbound journal. 

“Just wheeling out the welcome wagon. It’s not often we get new neighbors with so much…,” he pauses, gaze scanning over the boxes and bags and randomized ephemera being loaded out of the cheapest moving van Hawkins has to offer, “Shit.” 

“If I didn’t know any better, Munson, I’d say you were casing the joint.” In fact, you find yourself wondering where exactly your jewelry box is– y’know, the leftover shit your parents didn’t already pawn. The millieu of your grief made you forget about the high possibility of people in the trailer park stealing your stuff.

Munson grimaces. “Do I look like a thief to you?”

“You look like a drug dealer to me,” you snipe, smile all fake. “You might be looking to diversify your criminal skillset. How should I know?” 

From where you sit on your straining suitcase, you’re about eye-level with Eddie’s crotch. And call him a weirdo, call him whatever, he doesn’t mind the view. As much as he’d like to pretend he’s above the discordant buzz of Hawkins’ gossip scuttlebutt, news of your family’s downfall is hot shit. He can barely believe it’s really happening, and right in his front yard; Hawkins High’s stoniest, coldest fox and her equally foxy mom were packing their fur coats and shit into a double wide. Eddie couldn’t lie– he liked seeing people like you get knocked down a peg. So he’d come to gloat. A little. 

But you’re all snappy and full of venom– not like in school, where he’s almost positive you’ve never made eye contact with him.

He doesn’t mind that change in attitude either.

“C’mon. That luggage looks a little heavy for you, princess,” he says. “I don’t entirely trust you getting it inside the trailer without breaking a nail.” 

“I don’t need your help,” you say, shoving that tattered journal into your book bag. Eddie wonders what kind of bullshit you’re always writing in there– every time you’re not in the middle of some idiot milleu with your popular cohorts, you’re practicing your longhand. 

“You could use it, though,” he counters, and the condescension in his tone makes your cheeks flare up. You spring from your seat on the suitcase, making Munson take a shocked half-step back. His eyes blaze, rounding out as he takes you in at your full height. 

Still taller than you. He'll be okay. He thinks.

“I’m a goddamn cheerleader, you Neanderthal looking dipshit,” you spit, “I’ve got a core of steel.” 

You turn and dip, reaching for the thick leather handles of the case and discover–oof–that’s a little bit way heavier than you were expecting it to be. But spurned by sheer stubbornness and a need to get away from him as quickly as humanly possible, you brace yourself against the screaming muscles in your arms and wobble the baggage all the way to the trailer door. Your mom stands in your path, dress slipping off her shoulders, blearily looking toward the Munson kid as he retreats to his own trailer with a languid backwards tread. He can’t look away from this scene. 

“Mom. Mom, can I fucking–” you struggle through gritted teeth, “The bag, Mom. Get out of the way.” 

She moves out of your way at an aching half-speed as Munson’s eyes burn hot on your struggling frame–he’s loving this, he’s loving seeing you in the shit just like everyone’s loving seeing you in the shit–and you deposit your suitcase in your brand new matchbox-sized bedroom with a heaving gasp. Shit.

You cross the room in about three steps, heading to the window to close the blinds– shshk. Sshsk.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” 

The blinds begin to close, but stop dead not even halfway across the window. They’re stuck, leaving you without a particle of privacy. Which sucks, of course, because you were really banking on some scheduled crying time tonight. 

You had held it in for as long as you possibly could, all that hurt and frustration at the disaster your father had landed you in, promising yourself that you’d let it all out once you and your mom had a safe place. A place that wasn’t your estranged aunt’s basement couch, or a motel you could barely afford. A place that you could at least pretend was home. In your minds eye, you had envisioned something modest-if-shitty– the sunnier end of Cherry Lane, maybe. You hadn’t counted on a place that required a gas hookup. 

You tug on the beaded chain with a desperate force and no give– exasperated, you let your head slump against the filthy windowpane. The bedroom window stares directly into the window of the trailer opposite, where a warm yellow light flickers on and illuminates another bedroom. 

Peeling posters and a guitar on the wall. Of course. Of course you’ve got a bird’s eye view into Eddie Munson’s fetid cave. He spots you in the window and pouts a big ol’ pitiful pout– poor little rich girl. Missing your velvet blackout curtains? 

You can’t flip him the bird quick enough before he closes his fully functional blinds. 

–

You sleep like shit. Exhaustion couldn't even beat you into a slumber. You couldn’t be bothered to begin the unpacking process and instead fished out whatever closest resembled pyjamas from your luggage (an oversized t-shirt from a father-daughter trip to Columbia University), curling up on your bare mattress with your coat thrown over you, but the thing that was really keeping you awake? You couldn’t find your pen. 

Your prized possession pen, your fountain pen in the ruby-red casing. Your journaling pen. You refuse to write in your diary with an inferior instrument, alright, that’s just not how it’s done, but it’s nowhere to be found. It’s not rolling around the bottom of your book bag, though you’ve emptied the thing three times. It’s not anywhere.

You ask your mom if she’s spotted it anywhere, but she’s still in a Valium haze when you’re buzzing around, trying to get ready for school. 

That’s a whole other ordeal. Your acceptable school clothes are, again, buried in some suitcase that was hastily packed as agents waited for you to vacate the property. And by appropriate, you mean your carefully chosen pastel color palette– the very best of the very trendiest, the ra-ra skirts and the bomber jackets that sit so perfectly on your poised shoulders. The kind of clothes that make someone like Tina go, God, I wish we could trade dads. Just for the credit card. 

Now, all you’ve got to hand are the clothes that feel like your dirty little secret– thrift store suede and dark, rich knits, dresses of velvet and leather boots. The kind of things you collect just to collect, to dress up in when you know no one’s going to be looking at you and think someday. Someday you’ll be someplace where you don’t have to wear the exact right JCPenney piece of shit to fit in with a crowd. Because these are the kinds of clothes that feel right, but make people, important people, people like Carol go–

“Jesus, Lacy, dressed for a funeral much?” 

You hadn’t though the ensemble was too dark, but hey, in the harsh light of day. You bashfully shrug your jacket closer around you, faux fur collar tickling your ears. “I’m in mourning.” 

“Shit, I hate driving out here,” Tommy Hagan squawks from the driver’s seat, already agitated first thing in the morning, “I always feel like I’m gonna get carjacked.” 

Forget your shitty car; the only thing they’d be stripping for parts out here is you, Tommy, you want to quip, but you just fasten your seatbelt. Carol had managed to guilt him into giving you a ride this morning, an effort in pity and also because she wanted the gossip from the trailer park before anybody else. 

“Yeah, how was it, Lace? Did you like, deadbolt the doors and shit? Because you really gotta do that out here.”

“You should get a bat to leave by the door. Y’know, for intruders,” Tina blankly adds, staring into her compact mirror. 

“You should get a gun,” Hagan says, peeling out of the park with a quickness, “if that’s who you’re livin’ next to.”

“What? Who?”

“That Munson freak,” you sigh, resting your head against the windowpane again, “He like, basically threatened to rob me when I was trying to move in yesterday.”

A chorus of disgust rises up in the car that makes you feel good– warm, surrounded, accepted. Even though it blatantly wasn’t true, you’d do just about anything to win your friends’ approval these days. You noticed a certain waver in their stares when you revealed where you’d be moving to, after your dad was sentenced and everything.

A lot of the time, you didn’t feel like they wanted to be there for you, more that they wanted to be the first to hear the dirt on Hawkins’ most scandalous family. 

Usually you’re the one on the receiving end of their deep, dark secrets. 

It’s like they feel like they finally have something on you. 

Or, no! That’s crazy, you’re just being paranoid. These are your friends. As much as high schoolers can be friends. 

“I’ve got just the thing to take your mind off it, Lacy,” Tina says, pinching your arm, “Kegger at Harrington’s on Friday. He even asked about you–”

“--he said he could give you a discount at Family Video if you need it–” Hagan sniggers, earning a smack in the ear from Tina. 

“--shut up! So, you’re not a total social pariah yet, okay?”

You blink. You know Tina means well, but sometimes she is so fucking tactless. “Um. Didn’t think I was one, Tins, but thanks for the reassurance. I guess.”

–

He’s not a thief. He swears to God, or whatever the cooler alternative of God is, he’s not. 

But he’d be lying if he didn’t consider keeping the stupid red pen just to see if you’d miss it. It’s engraved, he noticed, while rolling it between his fingers as he lay in bed last night. And Eddie Munson is a man not unfamiliar with the value of a decent writing utensil. Those D&D campaigns don’t write themselves. You want something that’s going to be in it for the scribbling long haul and this thing’s not bad. Etched in teeny tiny letters on the pen cap are your initials– the letters of a name no one calls you anymore. 

Which is the part that makes it stupid, obviously. What is it with rich people and putting their monogram all over everything?

God, she’s obsessed with this fuckin’ thing, Eddie thinks. Wonder how much it’s worth. A lot, to you, obviously. You’re always etching with it in English, using it to push a lock of hair behind your ear in the library. Tapping it against your lips when you’re standing at your open locker, the tip settling right into your Cupid’s bow, the red casing bouncing off the plush pink of— woah. Pause. 

Eddie had to take a beat. 

He’d been tapping the pen against his lips too. Thinking about you. Thinking about your lips. That nasty little pout you gave him outside your trailer, the snarl it curled into when he goaded you on. 

Fuck, was that kinda… were you kinda…

It’s enough for him to jam the pen into his mouth and palm himself over his boxers, just to make sure. And— yep. He’d hummed, a kind of well whaddaya know! and slipped his hand under the worn elastic waistband. He even gave himself a couple of tugs, just to make sure. 

And the thing that made him really sure was the Technicolor vision he had of confronting you in the library’s restricted section.

Yanking that pen away from your mouth and grabbing a fistful of your hair.

Clamping his mouth onto yours and sinking his tongue so deep inside he could taste the cherry Tab lingering on your uvula.

Guiding your hand, your writing hand, past the undone clink of his belt and waistband of his jeans so you could stroke him to the head. 

Ink stains mixing with precum. 

Moaning into your mouth. 

Giving you something to write to dear diary about. 

So now, back in the harsh light of day, this stupid rich bitch pen is burning a hole in his pocket. 

Almost like payback, as if you’d embarrassed him by making him hard in the privacy of his own trailer, he approaches you in the most audacious setting imaginable— the cafeteria. 

You sit there, among your usual gaggle of Gap zombies, but you look— different. You’re dressed different. Cool jacket, Eddie involuntarily thinks before mentally slapping himself. Shut up! We’re here to humiliate her, remember?

“Lacy,” he says, but he draws it out all over his tongue so it sounds like laayyyy-ceeee, and you are visibly disgusted by this. He looms over the table, barely containing the twisted grin on his face. He's playing the part of fake bashful here, you see. “You, uh, dropped this outside my place last night.” Your shoulders go tense. Eyes of your space cadet friends snapping back and forth, from Eddie to you to Eddie to you. 

Because it’s true. Technically, you did drop it and technically, it was outside his place but the implication is what's killing you. 

Eddie can barely outstretch his hand before you snap the pen from him, icy fingers a shock to his skin. This sick thrill gathers like a twister in his stomach as you freeze in place, staring him down with a laser pointed glare. Fuck. Off. And. Die, it says. 

But he doesn’t! “Oh gosh, no need to thank me, Lace! Really, it was no trouble at all— what are neighbors for!”

Mocking giggles start bursting from the popular kid peanut gallery. But the flavor is… off.

Eddie scans the little in-crowd that are scoffing at your expense— which, okay, is totally what he came over here to do but… these are meant to be your buddies, right? Shouldn’t Hagan be threatening to beat Eddie’s ass right about now?

But instead they’re just… letting you stew. No one’s telling Eddie to back off, no one’s calling him their second favorite F slur (freak, naturally). 

Nicole Summers is laughing into her sleeve. That’s rich. Underclassman Carver is almost looking at him like, Yeah man, you got her good!

Which does not feel good. Feels kind of shitty, actually. 

Too easy of a win.

You didn’t even get a chance to fight back. You couldn’t. 

Fuck. 

Eddie turns heel and heads back to his table, a gaggle of befuddled Hellfire heads eager to know what the hell was that, man?! But even he can’t quite put his finger on it.

He feels… bad for you. 

—

“Anybody got bleach?” 

It’s the first thing you manage to choke out after a chorus of ooh, Lacy, what a good neighbor! and Hope that’s all you dropped outside his trailer, girl! All through lunch period, you’re the fucking laughing stock squared thanks to that long haired douchebag. 

“Bleach ain’t gonna cut it,” Carol smirks as you both exit the girls room and head toward your respective lockers, “That thing is totally contaminated with freak cooties. Better toss it— unless you don’t mind.”

See, that’s the thing. You do mind, because it’s your stupid goddamn special idiot sentimental pen and now he’s gone and— and— freaked it up somehow. Exploiting the fact you’ve had to make a major lifestyle downgrade because it makes him feel better. It makes you feel even more exposed than you’ve been getting used to feeling lately. 

Before you can get into it any more, Carol is clotheslined by Tommy to go, I don’t know, finger each other behind the basketball bleachers or whatever it is they do instead of going to study hall. You’ve lost track. 

You push past the gathering rush in the hallway to access your locker. Just as you slam the door closed, it appears again, like an insistent apparition. 

“What, Munson, are you here to tell me you put a bomb in my book bag? Because, if so, great. At least that’ll kill me.” 

Munson stands there, leaning against some poor bastard freshman’s locker, brow all tight. 

“Was I kind of a dick earlier?” 

You stare at him, incredulous. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

“I was. Shit, I knew it!”

“Why the fuck are you talking to me.”

“I didn’t mean it to come off like that— well, okay, I kinda did, but that was pretty cold. I mean, your dirty laundry’s already all over Hawkins, I probably shouldn’t have been like, waving your panties around—“

“Munson.” You gesture toward him, as if you’re going to clutch him by the forearms to shut him up, but halt at the last second. Fuck, you can’t stand him, you can’t stand the way he’s standing there with this earnest look in his eyes, on some hair metal Ferris Beuller protagonist of reality bullshit.

Your eyes flare white hot, jaw flexing.

“Listen to me. We may live in a regrettably closer orbit now, but that does not require us to acknowledge each other as human beings. In fact, if you try and pull some shit like that again— in fact, if you even so much as deign to look in my direction again, I will slash the tires on that fucking decommissioned World War II ambulance you call a van. You do not exist to me, and I better not exist to you. I am not your neighbor, I am a figment of your fucking rotted pothead imagination at best. Leave me the fuck alone or I will eat you. Capiche?”

You know for a fact that these are the highest volume of words you’ve ever spoken (or will ever speak) directly to Munson, and he knows it too. You don’t let loose like this— you don’t even talk to anyone outside your friend group unless extracurriculars or group projects call for it. Not because you’re shy, but because you’re discerning. 

Munson has managed to disarm you of all that with one stupid little pen. 

He’s staring at you with a deviously shiny-eyed gaze, one that makes you feel like you need to button the modesty button of a blouse you’re not even wearing. 

“M’kay, well, let me know if you need a ride after school!” he chirps and shrugs and takes off down the hallway to some class he’s certainly failing. 

And you’ve just earned the first big fat F of your life, by letting Eddie Munson get under your skin.

author's notes: hi! if you've read this far, i owe you my eternal thanks. been a hot sec since i wrote fic so i appreciate it. - thee perennial reference to lacy's nickname— best imagined sung to yourself in your bedroom mirror and having a classic 18 year old existential crisis, lol! - the journal and fountain pen motif is a not entirely subtle reference to veronica sawyer from heathers. please expect this trend to continue - as far as timelines go re: steve's working life and tommy and carol's high school careers, bear with me. all will be discussed or at least briefly mentioned but will there be inconsistencies? of course there will, babe. i'm here to fuck around, i'm not here for continuity - horndog eddie munson you WILL live forever! - please reblog, like & comment to show support! i've got some killer chapters planned for this fic and i live to entertain u

[animeyanderelover]

Could you write “Close your eyes so it’ll hurt less. for Satoru Gojoı with non-sorcerer reader.

It can be nsfw or punishment scenario <3

thanks in advance!

Tw: Yandere themes, toxic relationship, possessive behavior, obsession, delusional behavior, overprotective behavior, manipulation, clinginess, isolation, abduction, paranoia, Satoru breaks s/o's wrist

Words: 3.1 k

Prompt 192

'Beauty is deceiving. It hides who the true monster is.'

You couldn't quite recall when and where you had stumbled upon this phrase, if it had been spoken by someone or if you had read it in a book. Most likely because you had never given this analysis much thought when you had received it for the first time. In hindsight, you should have probably given those two sentences much more thought. Perhaps, but only perhaps, then you wouldn't have fallen so easily prey to a man whose powers and appearance resembled old folklore of ancient and powerful gods.

Satoru indeed, as you had learned the longer you had been with him, thought of himself as someone blessed and special. If anyone else would have said those words to you, you would have thought of them as delusional. Yet when Gojo Satoru said those words, they were no mere gloating fantasies. Instead those words were reality, a reality you had been exposed to ever since you had gotten involved with him.

A reality that frightened you and one that you still couldn't comprehend. Worst of all seemed to be that Satoru refused to expose his world to you. You had only pieces of the puzzle, an unfinished picture of the whole situation that left you with a strange mixture of fear and agitation.

"Even if I were to tell you, you wouldn't be able to do anything. I would only scare you unnecessarily."

Partially he had spoken the truth and you knew that. You wouldn't be able to do anything against whatever it was that his world held in store for you. Yet Satoru was mislead in his assumption that keeping the truth from you would spare you from unnecessary stress. It only amplified it as the fear of not knowing had become a familiar chain that restricted your mind. You had started viewing your surroundings with more caution and wariness, unaware what it was you had to look out for but on edge nevertheless. A feeling of constant alert had overcome you whenever you were conscious, one that had cost you.

No longer felt you able to relax or take joy in the simple things. What you didn't know was constantly on your mind, the nagging fear a festering tumor that spread inside your mind the more time you were forced to spend with him.

His constant presence did not do anything to soothe your growing anxiousness. On the contrary, it fueled those feelings inside of your chest only more. It was unclear to you whether he was oblivious to this fact or if he chose to ignore it and if you had to be truthful, you did not know which was worse.

There was only one thing he often felt the urgent need to remind you of.

That he was the good guy.

---

Your hold on the book tightened, your heart clenching in rapidly growing frustration as you tried your best to blend Satoru's presence out of your mind and focus.

"Don't ignore me, (y/n)!" He whined and his voice, one you used to perceive as a pleasant and delightful sound, made you cringe the same way the sound of nails against a chalkboard would have done. It was borderline agonising and you just wanted it to stop. Your jaw clenched, your head pounding as the anger piled on yet you tried to push everything down as you didn't want to lose your composure and, accompanying your composure, the grasp of control over your own emotions.

When you felt soft lips traveling down from your temple to your neck, you shut the book loudly before you stood abruptly up. Your fists were balled to fists as the pounding in your head seemed to intensify. You felt the urge to scream, to cry or to let your feelings vent out in any other way but you knew that you couldn't do that in front of him. Your feet stomped away from the scene in an attempt to get away from him. When you noticed that he stood up and followed you, you had to bite your tongue in your best attempt to not yell at him.

"Am I not even allowed to go to the bathroom alone?" You growled at him before locking the door to the only room where you could have at least a few minutes for yourself. You scowled at the hurt pout he gave you before his face disappeared from your sight. In the very same moment you locked the door, separating you from Satoru, it felt like someone had unlocked your ability to breathe properly again. The air tasted fresher and your chest felt lighter now that you were away from his smothering presence.

You drew water from the tap and splashed the cold liquid against your face in an attempt to soothe the burning pounding that had tormented you for the entire day already. You took those moments to let the silence and appreciated loneliness sink in, your face still buried in your head as you made no attempt to remove it from them.

As much as you would have wanted to stay like this for a while longer, you knew that you only had so much time before Satoru would grow impatient. You'd rather destroy this moment of peace due to your own will rather than to be thrown out of this tranquility by his own actions.

You turned the tap off and dried your face with the towel before you unlocked the door and turned the knob, expecting to hear his voice immediately calling for you or to even see him standing there.

Instead you heard his hushed voice from the living room and although you couldn't clearly hear all of his words, it sounded like he was talking to someone. For a split second you debated whether or not to use this chance to return to the bathroom or go somewhere else. On the other hand you knew too well that he would demand for you as soon as he was finished with this conversation so instead you opted to just head back to the living room as well.

When you peaked inside through the opened door, you could see that he was having a phone call with someone. Brilliant blue eyes darted up as soon as they saw you and a smile graced his lips for a few moments. You could clearly hear how his voice turned to a mere murmur as he suddenly turned his back on you and you knew instantly that the call must have been related to his job which is why he didn't want you to hear what he was hearing. You felt your curiosity urging you to step closer, so close that you would understand everything no matter how silent he might try to talk.

From previous experiences you knew that if you were to try that though, he would end the call instantly and merely tell the other person on the line to text him all the information before hanging up. So you just stood there and waited, feeling the frustration bubble up inside of you again.

As soon as he had ended the call, he turned around to you. A silly pout was on his face as he walked over to you before a dramatic sigh escaped him.

"Seems like I have to head out for a while. Something just came up."

Obviously he was clearly unhappy, you on the other mind felt like your soul was rejuvenating with the mere thought of having a few hours to yourself. Like everything else though, you also were smart enough to not gloat about those news so you gave him a curtly nod as your only response.

Large hands cradled your face as blue eyes looked at you.

"I'll be back as soon as possible. Just wait for me in the meantime, 'kay?"

You didn't return the kiss when you felt warm lips meeting your own but you also knew that with his grip on your face, you couldn't pull away so you just endured the feeling as your body visibly tensed up. Only when you pulled away did you dare to unclench your jaw again, your lips slightly parted as you looked into those otherwordly eyes.

"Maybe I'll buy you something nice if I find something." He continued to speak as he pressed quick kisses against your face as if quickly tanking some affection before he had to leave.

"Would you like something specific."

You merely shook your head.

"Just surprise me."

Really, you couldn't have cared less.

---

Satoru had returned far too quickly for your own taste. On the other hand he might as well have been gone for weeks and you would still bemourn his absence as too short.

With him he had brought bags full with clothes he had bought for you, in high moods as he had asked you to wear some of them so he could see if they would look as good on you as he had hoped them to be when he had wasted his money on them.

In an attempt to delay this event and prevent him from getting handsy, you had insisted on cutting off all the price tags first as you had assured him that you would like to keep everything that he had brought.

So now here you were, searching for the price tags on every piece of clothing before cutting it off with scissors. It was a lot of work but less because it took much physical exertion and more because of the sheer amount the white-haired man had bought.

Really, you could have enjoyed this task though as it was rather nice to do something.

So why couldn't he have just sat back and remained silent instead of touching you and talking to you? You just wanted some time for yourself.

You knew that he was trying to get you to talk to him by annoying you with questions and touches as he simply longed to hear your voice and to force you to interact with him. This was precisely what you didn't want and so you had to silently chant a mandra to calm your nerves as you hung up all the clothes in the wardrobe. You were surprised that you even had any space left considering that you had so many clothes already.

It was tedious to ignore him but you were normally somehow able to pull through with it. However, on this evening Satoru seemed to have finally enough of your dismissive attitude which was why he exactly spoke something that he knew would get your attention.

"I met your friends whilst I was shopping."

You froze, unable to control your reaction as you heard his words. A strange flood of emotions came over you and you caught yourself swallowing audibly as you tried to maintain some sort of control. You had already failed though and you knew that Satoru would try to use it to his advantage.

You wanted to ask him more but you knew that you couldn't as it was exactly what he wanted you to do so with slightly shaky hands you tried to focus on the task at hand.

Obviously he wouldn't drop the subject that easily though.

You felt his warm breath fawning the side of your face as he leaned closer to you, his eyes taking in the way you had pursed your lips and how you had furrowed your eyebrows as you weren't able to hide your feelings. You were missing your friends and family after all and the bastard knew it.

His own feelings rose up as he saw your face but not because he felt pity for you. Instead he felt his jealousy stirring slowly awake as he saw how affected you appeared by merely hearing him mentioning one of your friends. He envied the feelings you reserved only for them without giving him anything at all.

Why was that?

"Satoru..."

Your voice resembled more of a guttural growl when one of his hands grabbed your shoulders, clearly feeling how tensed your muscles were as you slowly cut off more price tags from pieces of clothing, your mind barely held together as you were trying in a last effort to hold back.

His name was spoken as a warning from your side as he knew that you were at your limit and that only from hearing from him about one of your friends. If he would have been a better man, he would have acknowledged how petty and low he was acting right now. However, Gojo Satoru wasn't a good man as jealousy started getting a hold of him.

"They all seemed to have quite a good time without you. It didn't really look like they were bemourning your disappearance. Perhaps you are the only one in the belief that they are missing you as much as you miss them."

You paused for seconds that seemed to stretch more than they should have before you put the shirt you had held in your hand down. Your head turned around as your own eyes met his blue ones. You didn't say anything at first, there wasn't even a trace of anger on your face as if you couldn't believe his words.

Then your pupils started quivering though and he saw how your gaze suddenly got poisoned with anger you had kept buried deep inside of you for the last few weeks.

You acted before you could even think as the one hand that had previously held the scissors suddenly flew towards him, fully committed to stab at least one of those cured blue eyes so that his gaze could never torment you again.

Only that the scissor never reached his eye. No matter what you tried, you couldn't move your hand any further, the sharp edge of the scissor only lingering close to his blue orbs.

It was that inability that caused you to snap out of your spiraling anger as you realised what you had just tried to do. You instantly withdrew your hand, visible shock on your face from your unexpected outburst. You felt your blood pumping through your veins and felt shame and frustration heating up your entire face as you had just lost your temper completely.

You ran your other hand through your hair as you took some shaky breaths to regain your control. When you finally managed to look up again, an apology lingering on your tongue for your reckless action that could have seriously wounded him, you found the words quickly dying down before they could even leave your mouth.

Normally already quite intense blue eyes were staring through you and your soul with a new weight to them that had you breaking out in cold sweat as you felt a cold sensation going down your spine.

You felt no relief when briefly his eyes darted down to look at your other hand which was still clutching the scissors on your palm, although you quickly dropped the object when you noticed his stare.

You flinched when one of his palms wrapped around your wrist and lifted your hand up. At first his touch was soft but within only a few seconds he tightened his hold until it felt like he was squeezing your bones.

You let out a short hiss when you felt the pain as you started squirming uncomfortably, trying to get him to let go of your wrist.

"You were about to stab me."

You shuddered when you heard the icy tone that seemingly matched his hardened and cold stare that he gave you right now, vastly different from what you were used.

You wanted to defend yourself. He had taunted you first and he had been the one who had brought you into such a situation were you would lose your self-control in the first place as you hadn't consciously intended to potentially hurt him seriously.

Yet he didn't let you utter even a single word as he pulled you closer to his body, his other hand gripping your chin and forcing you to look right into those glowing eyes.

"You wouldn't hurt me, right? You care about me after all, even if you don't want to show it."

There was something in his tone that gave you the chills. It wasn't anger or anything similar to that emotion though. It was a tremble, a barely audible tremble of an emotion akin to denial that made him look dangerously much like he was about to break down in front of you. Whatever you had just done, it seemed to have triggered something dangerous inside of him.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do that. I just lost control of myself for a moment."

You swallowed as you uttered those words quickly, your honest tone only slightly tarnished by the pain you felt as he was still squeezing your wrist. You found your own breath stopping as you looked at his face, praying for whatever had possessed him to stop.

"I knew. You wouldn't want to harm me. It's alright, darling. I forgive you."

You felt no relief when he cooed those words at you as he pulled you closer, giving you a kiss on your forehead. Instead you foud your stomach churning as you felt the stress rising inside of you, warning you that something was about to happen.

"Close your eyes so it'll hurt less."

You knew what he had done when you heard the sound yet you didn't instantly feel the pain. Instead your widened eyes stared into his own blue ones with a mixture of shock and betrayal.

You stumbled back in shock, cradling your broken wrist against your chest as the pulsing and cutting pain finally began to settle in. Tears instantly started to gather in your eyes and cascaded down your cheeks and choked sobs started leaving your lips as you slid down to the ground.

"I know. I know. It must hurt quite a bit."

His voice was sweet and soothing as his arms embraced you, one of his hands wiping away your tears as you continued staring at him with unbridled shock and terror as you felt soft touches on your face from the same hand that had just moments ago broken your wrist as if it was a mere twig.

The fear grew and grew until you felt unable to look into his eyes again, turning your eyes elsewhere as your lips started to wobble.

He had never hurt you before. Perhaps that's why you had felt so entitled to ignore him as he had been only ever acted like a clingy and whiny man around you.

Clearly you had been wrong though.

[auspicioustidings]

Firewatch 11

Summary: You just want to sleep, but Price needs you to calm down first.

Words: 2.8k

CW: Kidnapping, light bdsm

When Johnny tried to touch you, you only buried yourself into Simon and glowered at him. He looked wounded, pulling his hand back from where it had been poised to stroke your hair. None of them understood why you were reacting like that. You seemed back to yourself, but then it would stand to reason that you would be most scared of Simon. And yet now you were only too happy to be held by him. Only him.

As far as you were concerned it was a survival tactic. If you were always by Simon, none of them could kill you without going through him. And you weren’t really sure anyone could go through him. He seemed happy enough to play protector, thumb rubbing firm circles into your waist and teeth nibbling at the tip of your ear every so often. You suspected he was probably looking at the others when he did it, gloating. Good. 

“You need to eat sweetheart” he purred into your ear.

“Mm, don’t tell me what to do Simon.”

“Bratty even when you’re half dead.”

“Bossy even when I’m being nice.”

He chuckled at that. If he were a better man perhaps he would feel bad that Price, Johnny and Gaz were at the kitchen island looking like grumpy little puppies. As he was not a better man he only shot them a lopsided grin. Why shouldn’t he be happy? You were safe, your temperature was back to normal, you were in his arms and letting his fingers sink into the fat of your waist, letting his teeth lazily graze the skin of your ear. The fear of losing you gave way to how you fit so fucking perfectly against him. He couldn’t help but imagine how else you might fit together, how perfectly warm and wet and tight you’d be around him. Fuck would you let him take you to his bed? He didn't even need to make love to you just yet if you were still stubborn about everything, just hold you, feel your heartbeat and the warmth of your skin proving you were alive. 

“Like you nice, should give it to me more often” he said with his hand testing the waters, squeezing the meat of your thigh dangerously close to your ass. 

“Don't get used to it, can't imagine it'll be a frequent occurrence.”

You felt the squeeze and your body gave a valiant attempt at arousal, but it was like molasses, sticky and slow moving in your exhaustion. You didn't mind it, if anything it was sort of nice. His chuckle betrayed his own exhaustion a little, the raspiness of it pointing to him having had a very stressful day. 

“Then let me enjoy it while it lasts hm? Eat something for me sweetheart.”

Stupid man being stupidly charming. You didn't really feel like eating, you had went past hungry at some point in the cold and now you just wanted to stay cuddled up to someone you were steadfastly believing was safe and go to sleep. He kept jostling you though, a nip to your ear, a squeeze of your thigh or a finger tracing your spine keeping you awake from how it caused little thrills through you. 

“You make it.”

“Hm?”

“I'm not eating whatever they made. You make it. Or give me something that's sealed.”

Well that was an alarming thing to hear you mumble softly against him. The smug happiness of having you favour him was rapidly turning into concern. What exactly did you think they were going to do to you? Did you think they would poison you or were you just refusing to eat anything from them out of pettiness?

“Why?”

“I'll make it myself then” you grumbled, pushing away from him even though every fibre of you hated it.

Oh he did not like that if the growl was anything to go by. Simon stood with little warning, an arm banding under your ass to keep you wrapped around him. You tensed, knowing he was going over to the others and not being sure you really wanted to be near them. Price maybe, he had been kind, he was asleep when Johnny and Kyle had been discussing your murder. Second murder you supposed. But you couldn't really be sure he wasn't in on it. Then again you couldn't be sure Simon wasn't, but you didn't have much choice but to believe him. 

You were placed lightly on the kitchen island and he took a small step back, forcing you out into the open. You had felt a lot less vulnerable wrapped up in him, face buried in his shoulder. Your skin prickled with the gazes you felt on you. 

“I was only gone a few days, what exactly happened in that time that's got you not willing to eat anything they've made?”

“What? That true little bird? You are not starving yourself, you're already in enough trouble for running off like that” Price said, trying to temper himself.

He was off balance with this whole situation. You had seemed on the edge of giving in before he went to sleep (which he now felt incredibly guilty about) and then he wakes up to you gone? And now after letting them rescue you, Simon shows up and you are suddenly only willing to speak to him. You hadn't been refusing to eat before. You had been a brat about it sure, but you hadn't refused. 

You looked at Price, not sure how to untangle your feelings towards him. He could not be in on it, surely not. If he had wanted to kill you he could have smothered you while you were in his bed. Johnny spoke and while you didn't mean to, you flinched. Everybody certainly noticed.

“We dinnae ken what's happening in that bonnie– I… baby what's wrong?”

“Back off Johnny.”

“I didnae dae anything!”

While you were glad Simon was telling him off you wished he'd just let you cling to him again. This wasn't a conversation you wanted to have right now, you just wanted to sleep for 16 hours in a warm bed. You'd probably take a warm body in it if it wasn't someone who had openly spoken about killing you. 

“Everything seemed fine the other night luv, you were getting along.”

You did glance at Kyle, seeing him look alarmed at how you froze up when he spoke the same way you had for Johnny. He was right, you were getting along. It had been almost peaceful, you had been almost calm. Maybe that had been what they had been waiting for. 

“Simon.”

You said his name as a soft plead, hoping you could get out of this conversation. You didn't want to say it out loud. You didn't want to make it real. Because goddamnit you kind of liked them. You liked teasing Johnny when Dosia was horrible to him, you liked watching Kyle cook. It was so stupid of you to fall for it, to find yourself liking them. Please let Price be outside of it, please let him want you alive. Heartbreak twice over was already enough. 

There was a stunned sort of silence at your little plea. It wasn't really like you at all, not the you they had been getting to know. These men knew one another well enough that they could each tell that nobody knew what was going on here. This wasn’t you being angry or scared that they were keeping you here. This was something else, and none of them knew why. Price moved into your eye line and you lowered your gaze stubbornly to the ground, but you didn’t seem the same level of upset as you were with Soap or Gaz. 

His brow furrowed and he crooked a finger under your chin, making you tilt your head up and look at him. He could feel how agitated Simon had gotten at you saying his name like that, but he also knew that he trusted him with you. He trusted he would make this right. So he stayed where he was, leaning against the kitchen counter and crossing his arms to ensure he wouldn’t reach out while Price tried to fix whatever had went so horribly wrong.

“What’s going on?”

“Failed escape attempt, obviously.”

“Try again little bird.”

Oh, he was using that voice again. That one that oozed authority and made you want to push and push and push until he snapped. Only now you didn’t know what that meant. Part of you hoped he would just backhand you, show you his true colours so you could get over whatever this ridiculous feeling was. Another part badly wanted him to take some sort of control, force your racing thoughts to calm. Fuck you were demented.

“You wanted me to stay put, you should have clipped my wings.”

“That what you want?”

Maybe. Maybe you just wanted them to stop fucking toying with you. You were exhausted, fear and misery had drained you and you just wanted to give in, but your already incredibly wounded pride would really rather he made you give in so you could pretend you had fought it.

“Does it matter what I want John?”

He considered you for a while, the world holding its breath in anticipation. You didn’t realise how tense you really were until he moved his hand to the nape of your neck, tugging you off of the counter, fingers and thumb gripping with enough pressure that it loosened you all at once. The others didn’t intervene as he marched you out of the kitchen and into his office, the click of the lock causing a full body shiver. He was behind you and you just let your eyes softly unfocus on the wall as he bent slightly to speak right into your ear.

“I didn’t want to do this right now. You need rest. But you’re too wound up for that aren’t you little bird? Won’t even eat if we can’t get you calmed down.”

His foot slid between yours, pushing gently to get your legs to widen as he pressed on your neck, bending you over the desk. You didn’t have resistance left to give as you settled on your elbows. His hand running down your spine made you sigh. 

“This… it doesn’t change anything” you said softly as tugged on your sweatpants, getting access to the bare swell of your ass.

“Course not. Bet’s still on, and I still intend to win.”

–

Gaz couldn’t sleep. He was half tempted to do what Soap had done and sneak into Ghost’s bed for some form of bloody comfort. He hadn’t seen you since Price had taken you into that office, although they all knew exactly what would have happened in there. He knew you were due punishment for running away like that, but it unsettled him that it had happened so soon. You weren’t right yet, you were still… well he didn’t know. That was the problem. Shock he could understand, but he thought they had warmed you up and got you lucid again. And then you had looked at him like you were scared of him. You had never looked at him like that before, not even when you had been spitting mad and screaming at Soap. 

He trusted Price, he knew that he’d figure out what was wrong, knew that he’d take care of you in whatever way you needed it. But it didn’t help him sleep. He wanted to take care of you. He wanted you to cosy into him like you had done with Ghost. It drove him wild watching how his fingers had sunk into you, how you had let them. Fuck it was so stupid, Kyle’s fingers had been inside you but he was getting jealous of the intimacy of another mans fingers even touching you.

He was driving himself a little crazy going over your last interaction with him, trying to figure out what he had done wrong. You had been fine, you had even laughed when he had made a cutesy little smiley face on your omelette with ketchup. He wasn’t about to pretend that you were happy being kept by them like this, but he was so sure you had been beginning to settle. Him and Soap were going to wait until Simon was back and then make their case to him and Price that they should talk to you about giving you some freedom. They couldn’t let you just run to the police, but what if they built you your own place? Just like your little cottage. They thought they could make you happy with that for the time being, work on it until maybe you’d like to move somewhere far away with them. Then they could take you out on dates without incriminating themselves. They just needed to convince you that you wanted to go on them. And somehow he had fucked it all up. 

The light knock on his door had him out of the bed in record time to answer. He knew how a knock sounded for people, and that was too light to be Ghost or Price (Soap never knocked, fucking git that he was). He should have tried to be more cool and collected but he wrenched open the door and just flustered for a moment at you standing there in pjs. Fuck you were pretty. You looked tired still, but calm, he suspected Price had probably given you what you needed. 

“I… um. Can I come in?”

He nodded rapidly and stood aside to let you wander into his room. You seemed maybe a little nervous, but at least not scared of him. He hated that you had been scared of him. He hated not being able to figure out why.

“Are you-”

“I wanted-”

You both paused and there was a moment of each of you trying to get the other to go first until Kyle sighed and very gently moved you to sit on his bed so he could crouch in front of you, taking both your hands in his.

“Are you ok luv?”

“Tired. John gave me the soup you made, it was nice.”

He had fed you after he had rewired your brain with the absolute leathering he had given your ass. You were pretty sure you had cried during, but it was all a little hazy. It was a stupid thing to do, but you found you trusted him. Hard not to when he had climbed into the bath with you, washed your hair and gently dried and moisturised you after without once trying to take advantage.

You had nearly choked spying on him when you were supposed to be undressing for the bath, watching through the crack in the bathroom door to his room as he leaned his forearm heavily against the wall and quickly jacked himself off. Fuck, you knew he had done it because he wanted to make sure he wouldn’t be getting hard with you naked in his arms and you had to throw cold water on your face to try and pretend you weren’t flushed with the thought that he wanted you that badly but wouldn’t do anything to you even in your vulnerable state. Made it hard not to trust him really. You had been suddenly glad for how utterly exhausted you were because while your body had made an attempt at getting you aroused it had been overpowered by bone tiredness.

Instead you had let him take care of you and pull you into his arms in bed. And you had finally talked. You told him what you had overheard and he told you that without a shadow of a doubt you had misunderstood. He’d even offered to knock their heads together for even accidentally frightening you like that. And you were so thoroughly out of emotions, so run through with the events of the day, that you couldn’t find it in you to not just believe him. He hadn't stopped you when you had mumbled that you wanted to see Kyle, he had just pressed his lips to your hair and let you go. 

“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

“I thought you and Johnny were going to kill me. I overheard you in the kitchen,” you answered, no energy for anything but blunt honesty.

Kyle took a moment to figure out what the fuck you were talking about and then groaned and hid his head in your joined hands. 

“Fuck. Oh fuck. I should have thought about how that would sound with you right in the next room, I’m sorry, it wasn’t anything like what you’re thinking, it- well we-”

You squeezed his hands to get him to look at you again.

“S’ok. I’d just like to sleep if that’s ok.”

He wasn’t going to argue with you when you were sat in his bed, when you wanted to share it. So he just smiled and let you crawl under the covers so he could slot in right behind you. 

He fit there. 

[sunny-mercya]

Hogging Attention

Trafalgar Law x Male Reader

Fandom -> One Piece

Requested by -> Anon

Masterlist

It's funny, muses Nami to herself—sipping her Tea next to Robin, ready to discuss with her about the current gossip—and watching from afar with amused curiosity, how three fearsome—publicly well known, wanted and from the 11 Supernovas none less—Pirate Captains were trying their utmost best to gain your attention.

Nami had bet to Robin, that it would be Luffy who you would devote all of your attention and last remaining energy—Robin disagreed and vote that it would be Law and Zoro, who had passed by, said it would be both; Luffy and Law.

Killer thought, how cruel they were—not rooting for his Captain—but then again, you and Kid wouldn't be such a good match in the first place.

Law hated it. He already had to share you with Luffy—who is your captain and liked to cling around you almost 24/7 throughout the year—and your crew—that's one tiring thing to manage.

Though now, in the aftermath of the grand fight—which they had won, of course—where everyone, especially you, was simply utterly exhausted, there comes Eustass (Useless) Captain Kid—who targets you in his scheming jabs against Law and hogs, besides Luffy, all your attention just to bait Law into a fit of jealousy.

Kid, unbothered by Law's scowling glare at him, demands you're the only one who should patch him up and treat his injuries—giving you more than just one snide comment and staring just a bit too long at your revealing outfit of exposed chest and legs.

Law in this moment would rather scoop you up and take you away to somewhere private—wanting to change you personally out of your current clothes, which you couldn't changed out—like they all had the chance to before—and reeked of old dried blood—a smell he couldn't stand at the moment—but he had to wait, patiently for his turn.

Although besides that, Law—sardonically speaking—watches with satisfying amusement, how you blatantly ignored Kid and in response to his crude remarks—tighten the bandages and adding just a bit too much pressure, earning a hiss from Kid.

»You know tiny, how about it?«

»How about what exactly, Eustass?«

Sighing in exhaustion, you packed up the first-aid kit. You weren't in the mood for Kids whatever nonsense—not when you're dead tired, probably low on sugar again and Luffy practically screaming in your ears, about something you truthfully had already forgotten.

All you wanted was to go to Law and snuggle with him in the darkest room you could find and sleep for the next few days.

»You and me both, one at one fight and when I win and I do win, I'll get you as the price.«

Kid liked to boast about his strength, knowing he could easily beat you, but he also knew you're an equally strong fighter as well. Your skills, almost Supernova level, he had witnessed first hand in a fight against Big Mom—he knows to what you're mostly capable of, though Kid certainly believes he would win anyway.

You pursed your lips at Kid, unimpressed and with raised eyebrow—annoyance you could feel itching through you. Never had you, in all your years, meet a person like Kid—who reeks so damn much of gloating self-confidence and arrogance.

»Aah. Sounds great, but I'm exhausted and in all honesty you surely would lose. I also need to decline as I'm already engaged.«

»Engaged?! To Whom?«

»To the Doctor.«

You causally pointed to Law, your boyfriend of two—almost three—years and now fiancé.

Now it was Laws turn to grin smugly at Kid, showing him the middle finger—like he had done before two years ago—again.

That's right, Law thought, you and him are engaged and there's no need to be riled up with jealousy by Kid—because in the end, Law has won.

»As if. Look tiny, there's no need to be afraid, I'll go easy on you and–«

Kid had stood up, slung his non-metal arm around your shoulders and before he could finish his sentence—you had grabbed his arm and flipped Kid with one swift motion onto the ground.

»Under the eye witness of everyone here, I won. Simple and truthfully.«

Kid would never admit it, he rather would eat Seastone than to say this aloud, but you just have gained his complete respect.

~~~

In the end, after finding you—changed into one of Laws old hoodies and shorts—and Law, all cuddled up in layers of blankets together, somewhere far away from the starting celebration party, Robin has won the bet and gained 50.000 Berries.

[crumbledcastle28]

Din Djarin: Watchdog 

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!reader (afab; she/her)

Excerpt: Mando had him by his neck, squeezing hard enough for the man to lose his breath and scratch Mando’s hands out of distress. Mando never faltered, even when the male scratched his nails into the leather of his gloves. The male whined and screeched for air, whispering “please, I’m sorry, please,” but Mando just...held him there. Staring into his eyes, squeezing his throat so tight his hand nearly became a fist. 

Your stomach sank and your brain went blank. You were so frozen your voice had completely escaped you. You could only watch. 

Finally, Mando said huskily, “That is enough.”

Warnings: Din gets a bit ✨violent✨, reader gets harassed, terribly written sexism, references to past sexual harassment, descriptions of bruises, swearing, reader self-deprecates and is scared of love (relatable much?)

A/N: Happy final days of Dincember everyone, especially to those that updated nearly every day for every prompt (@dindjarindiaries I’m looking at you you’re incredible). I cannot wait for new content in the new year. I love you all <3

If you’d like to leave a like, comment, ask, or reblog, it would be much appreciated <3

Pedro Masterlist

(GIF from Pinterest)

The last thing you needed from your partner—or whatever the hell he was to you—was the image of him nearly snapping a bounty’s neck.

What made it worse was that it was out of defense. For you.

You, of all people. A woman who had killed and tortured and maimed for a few lousy credits. You had killed in front of him, so many times you couldn’t keep count, and you barely felt remorse. You even went as far as to gloat.

You were a bounty hunter with a heart long-since hardened; at least, until you had teamed up with him. The infamous Mandalorian, wrapped in a reputation more ominous and intimidating than the impenetrable beskar he donned, yet the kindest being you had ever known.

The two of you didn’t talk much—if ever—but he still found a way to read you like a book. If you were squirmy, he offered you food. If you were achy, he offered you a quick stop at a hot spring. If you were anxious, he would press you gently with his words, curious as to what was bothering you. It was these little things, these seemingly insignificant actions, that made you begin to…care about him.

The worst, however, was when, once in a blue moon, you were filled with emotion so harsh that you revealed it in your body language. You had learned the hard way that emotion was weakness in your line of work, so you never showed it in front of him, but sometimes the heat of it burned you so badly it was impossible not to show it.

This was when the Mandalorian tended to lash out on whatever had caused you such pain or remorse. He would get…angry. Vengeful. These moments were so rare you would latch onto them, clutching them to your chest and using them to drift you off into sleep; however, in the moment, you would lash out as well. Usually at him. Pushing his…thoughtfulness away like it was a ticking time bomb.

The longer you remained partners, the worse he would lash out, and it all came to a head because of a fucking Twi’lek.

                                                           ~*~

Mando dragged the creature across the sand dunes of Tatooine, grunting and panting in the hot sun. You tried to get him to let you drag the male for at least half the walk, but he refused. It wasn’t like you were complaining. His infrequent grunts gave you a new set of audios for your mental soundbox. You were already eager to press the keys later that night as sleep carried you away. 

It was then that the dark green male remembered he had a voice box.

“Well would you look at that,” the male breathed, likely still aching from the blow you had politely bestowed upon his rib cage, “the only thing strong enough to drag me across the sandy hills of Tatooine is a man. Figures.”

You let it roll off you but could not help but let out a scoff. He sounded ridiculous, like a droid reading off of an old stormtrooper-recruitment brochure. 

“You find that funny, lass?” the male asked, turning to look at you while still being dragged. “I agree. Truth always seems to reveal itself even in the most subtle of ways.”

You didn’t laugh at that. You just kept one foot in front of the other. He was trying to piss you off on purpose, likely a last-ditch effort to regain his dignity. You were used to it; hell, you enjoyed it. It was bounties’ last grabs to their decency that always seemed to give you the most pleasure. 

The Crest finally came into sight, and if you didn’t know better, you would say that both you and Mando picked up your speed simultaneously, desperation for home present in both of your strides. He lowered the entrance ramp and you exhaled in relief, basking in the scent and feel of the one place in the galaxy you felt comfortable enough to take your shoes off. You started your march up the metal with Mando still hauling the man behind you. Of course, it was then that the bounty decided to perk up again. 

“Make that sound again,” the man said breathily. “I’ll say please if I have to. Plus, it sounds better from this view.”

Your jaw immediately clenched and blood flowed to your cheeks from embarrassment. It was one thing to be demeaned and lessened, but it was another to be viewed as a piece of meat. 

Despite it all, you took a deep breath, and carried on.

You set your belt and knives on their reserved spot in the cockpit, as well as your jacket and buff. You then made your way down the ladder to the bicarbonate chambers, or as you liked to call it, the trophy room. Mando had had a good scoff at that name once or twice.

Mando already had the bounty leaning his back against the metal wall next to his frozen fate as he prepared the chamber, and you took the opportunity to give the male a small smirk of victory. You wanted him to give you the best he had and, as expected, he began to overcompensate. 

“You really are much prettier when you smile,” the man said, looking up at Mando. “Wouldn’t you agree?” 

Mando ignored him, facing forward and keeping his focus on preparing the bower, but you noticed the tips of the fingers of his left-hand inch that much closer to his gun holster. Your heart quickened. You didn’t know why. 

“I bet you smile nice and pretty for this big guy,” the Twi’lek said with a laugh. “I bet he’s seen your smile in this very room, on this very floor. Describe to me, Mando, in my final moments of consciousness, just how hard she grips you and screams for you when you get a taste of that perfect—”

You felt yourself flinch at his words, cursing yourself internally, but you didn’t hear the rest over the sound of his skull smashing against the tank door. 

Mando had him by his neck, squeezing hard enough for the man to lose his breath and scratch Mando’s hands out of distress. Mando never faltered, even when the male scratched his nails into the leather of his gloves. The male whined and screeched for air, whispering “please, I’m sorry, please,” but Mando just...held him there. Staring into his eyes, squeezing his throat so tight his hand nearly became a fist. 

Your stomach sank and your brain went blank. You were so frozen your voice had completely escaped you. You could only watch. 

Finally, Mando said huskily, “That is enough.”

The male in his palm nodded profusely, still climbing for air, and Mando lowered him torturously slow to the floor as he said, “If you speak about her again, you will not leave this ship with your life, and I will make it agonizing. Understood?”

The Twi’lek was inches away from losing consciousness, making it nearly impossible for him to reply, but Mando knew it was only nearly. He slammed his skull against the tank again, repeating, “Understood?”

The male nodded once and Mando dropped his body to the floor. His green body convulsed as he coughed and sucked in his breaths, but you weren’t watching him. You were staring at your Mandalorian, mouth agape, and stomach coiling with feelings you had obviously not pushed down deep enough. Mando calmly opened the tank and picked up the male on the floor, still gasping and clutching his throat in pain, and practically threw him in the bicarbonate. His body froze over immediately with his hand still pressed against his already bruising throat. 

Mando stared at the frozen body, and you stared at him. As you let your mind process what just happened, a wave of anger began to rise in your body. He had defended you before, but never like that, and something about it finally struck down the wall around your feelings for him. You had no other way to cope with that vulnerability than anger. A volcanic fire of rage enveloped you at your own stupidity and weakness when it came to the warrior in front of you, and who better to take it out on than the man himself.

So, you spun him around and slammed him against the tank, hard enough for him to exhale a huff. His hands went up in the air, refusing to go anywhere near you, and his chest heaved against your own. Your foreheads were practically touching as you hissed at him. 

“How many times have I told you,” you whispered menacingly, “I don’t need a fucking watchdog.”

Mando replied quickly, quicker than he had ever before and in a tone laced with anger similar to your own. “Do you think I can fucking help it?”

You stared at him, feeling the murder in your face beginning to soften.

“Do you think I don’t try to stop myself Y/N? Have you not realized that I cannot stop it. I cannot fucking stop it.” Your body remained pressed to his but your grip on him softened enough for him to drop his hands lower and lower. He practically dropped his forehead against yours in defeat as he whispered, “I don’t know why, but I just can’t stop myself. Not when it comes to you.”

He was a ruthless bounty hunter, but a terrible liar.

You remained pressed together for a few more moments, breathing hard, waiting for the other to move first. Mando’s hands made it down to his sides, clenched so tense the leather squeaked, before the tiniest brush of his right hand gazed against your hip. 

“Not when it comes to you,” he whispered, and slipped out from under your grip.

You didn’t watch him climb the ladder: you didn’t notice him look back for you, waiting for you to follow; you didn’t hear his sigh before he made it to the top of his climb; you didn’t register the ship rocking into hyperspace. 

All you could feel was that brush of his leather against your hip, so tender, so...loving. Your body was unable to move and your mind was unable to work. All they could latch onto was the feeling of that adoring touch...

...and how much you fucking loved it. 

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[rvspecter]

top ten favorite things about harvey?

MY FAVOURITESTESTEST TOPIC EVER 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

in no particular order but we should get the superficial out of the way

look at him

ahahaha he's perfect dahsdhadjhsakhd

to quote this embarrassing creature

2. secret softie

look at this dumb boy acting like he doesn't give a shit about mike ross "TOO MUCH WORK TO FIRE HIM" <- PLEASE

meanwhile behind the scenes he's leveraging his entire career for him

3. the lengths he'll go to protect those he loves (while being a dick)

he was willing to lose his licence, go to jail, break a billion laws WHATEVER IT TOOK to keep the people he loves safe but that doesn't stop him from being an asshole to them

4. his eyes ahahsdhkjsahdkhskdhak

i mean aside from being extremely expressive and emotive he just does the WHO HURT YOU face so well ok

5. HE'S JUST SO FUN AND FRUITY

6. arrogant but pulls it off

7. he doesn't impose his moral code on others (also doesn't want u to think he has a moral code)

8. he respects women

i'm gonna paraphrase u to u but not once do we see him gloat about the women he's slept with or objectify them. u don't see him flirt with his insubordinates (HE NEVER FLIRTED WITH RACHEL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! or noticed her existence prior to her involvement with mike ross)

he sells himself as a womanizer and commitment phobe BUT in 9 seasons we see him a) have 3 one night stands b) try to have actual relationships

9. HE'S A WOUNDED BIRD!!!!!

10. HIS ABANDONEMENT ISSUES

he thinks if he employs ppl and pays them well that he can make them stay SWEET BB!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

OH AND BECAUSE I DO WHAT I WANT

11. he's the most sentimental character i've ever seen

i made a post

he sobbed a million tears over his mom's painting. HE KEPT MIKE'S ENTIRE APARTMENT WHEN HE FUCKED OFF TO SEATLE!?!?!?!?

[nouearth]

Keep up the good work, on behalf of the all the male readers on the app WE APPRECIATE YOU💖💖💖

angst with bruce wayne x malereader, where reader and bruce end up fighting cause reader kills the target on a mission their on. And bruce ended up injuring reader badly and putting them in the hospital. Days later when reader is finally able recover bruce apologizes and they have make up sex.TOPBruce wayne x BOTTOMmale reader.

If you wanna add any kinks that's up to you...

hi, anon! even though i just started, i appreciate you for even taking interest in my blog! it means a lot!

as for you request, i finished! i did have to change a few things, like bruce injuring the other. it just felt too toxic, in my opinion, but i hope this satisfies you!

you're here.

pairing ; bruce wayne / batman x m!reader. fandom: ; dc, batman. word count ; 3694. genre; angst & smut. rating ; m. warnings ; arguing, blood, description of wounds, fighting, head trauma, mention and depiction of death and trauma, pwp, rimming (reader receiving), fingering (reader receiving), spitting, unprotected sex, top!brucewayne, bottom!reader.

one—THWACK! two—THUMP! three—CRACK! four— CRUNCH. five—THUD. six—SPLAT.

you repeat the sounds in your head. there’s still a small chance that the culprit is still alive; a lie of hope that you convinced yourself of as you lie on the pavement exhausted, catching up to your staggered breath before moving again.

when you crawl back towards the man, the adrenaline wears off and a groan of pain draws from your dry throat. you hiss when the wet pavement bites back at the open wound in your hand, and again when it scrapes against your limp leg as you drag your body closer to the criminal. your body sustains even more unfound injuries, but the ringing in your ears cloud your thoughts—your curiosity.

sluggish in movement, you take the man’s pulse.

nothing.

you’re desperate and you attempt again.

no pulse.

again.

you repeat this cycle about five more times and you want to cry. as much as you despised the wanted criminal for taking the life of your parents in the past, the night wasn’t supposed to end with a death. if anything, you expected to be that very body that was devoid of life, anticipated it even. but the longer you stared into those eyes—eyes that gloated over your parent’s death, over the loss of many more lives—you realized they no longer haunted you.

nothing. those eyes hold nothing.

he’s nothing now.

two sprawled figures bask in the thundering rainstorm, yet only one can see, hear, touch, and feel.

you remember losing the fight, your head was clubbed with a bat. your arm and hand were slashed. your ankle was twisted over a clumsy mistake. and then you fell, calling for help multiple times through your earpiece. he climbed on top of you and large, calloused hands wrapped and squeezed around your throat, cutting the airflow between you and life. you did your best to fight him off, but it only fueled his strength as he devilishly laughed at your suffering—laughed at the likely possibility of escaping into hiding again, into killing again. you didn’t think it would happen, but it did.

you saw your entire life flash before your eyes as you struggled for air.

memories—great memories of your parents appeared in quick flashes as you had remembered them, treasuring you with all their love within those short ten years before their violent deaths. you even saw your boyfriend. for the little amount of times he smiled as the caped crusader, he made up for it as bruce wayne. you’ve doubted his love before and maybe he was a great liar, but those memories proved otherwise. you were loved. and now, you are still loved, and you didn’t want that taken away from you again. before you knew it, your hand desperately searched for whatever you could find around the surrounding area. a brick, you presumed.

and the rest was history.

you crawl away from the body and lie in the alleyway as you wait for bruce’s arrival, repeating your location through the earpiece. he grunts in response, gunshots echoing in the background. you assume he’s still fighting off the gang that interrupted the three of you earlier. it was the perfect distraction that led to the criminal’s escape—a chase that you’d quickly catch up to when bruce told you to go.

it’s not long after until your solitude is joined by the shadow of the night. a draft blows into the air when the caped crusader jumps from the ledge and into the alleyway, his black cape dragging along wet pavement as bruce heavily makes his way towards you. “you’re hurt.” he says with calmness, but your tearing eyes induce worry.

“where is he?” he bombards you with similar questions about the man and your condition, slight frustration in his tone when you’re unresponsive, but he scans your body of wounds out of worry—necessity, and communicates through his earpiece. “base, sending you my location. make sure a doctor is on standby at the medical center.”

the detective in him naturally has him study the surrounding area, walking in puddles of water, searching every corner, and treading farther away from you until he stops in his tracks.

a body, one that sported a familiar face. at least, what bruce could make of a face.

“he’s dead…” you weakly declare, watching him with guilt and a heavy heart. even with the cowl on, you can see bruce’s expression. you knew you had broken his rule—a key element of his moral code: no killing. that was all he asked. he trusted you as you had trusted him.

“what do you mean he’s dead?!” bruce’s voice is harsher upon your revelation, a disbelieving hoarseness crescendos. he squats, examining the body at a closer view, hoping to find a fault in your assessment. after testing his pulse numerous times, he turns his head to you like a predator in the night. “i told you from the beginning that-“

“listen, i can explain-“ you stared motionlessly straight ahead, shutting your eyes when you can hear his trust being broken.

“i told you from the very beginning that this was a bad idea.” bruce restarts, making a point to not interrupt him. he breathes out his words slowly, an obvious attempt to remain calm, and marches towards you. “this was why. if you would’ve just let me handled it-“

“it was in self de-“

“i get that you want justice—for your parents, for the victims, for people like you who had to suffer the consequence of his own sick pleasures.” his cape swallows his large body whole when he squats down, leveling eyes with you. a gaze pierces your own with bitter coldness and disappointment, and you smolder with indignation.

cowering your gaze, you watch his hands—shielded by gauntlets—expertly scout the medical kit hidden in his utility belt. “but no matter how heinous the crime is, no matter how much it keeps you up at night, you control yourself. “ he sprays his diluted mixture of alcohol onto your hand wound, sparing use for the other open injuries you’ve sustained. “you let the legal system—the public—handle bringing criminals to justice. we simply help them.”

a tear breaks free when the alcohol bites at your skin, and the rest followed in an unbroken stream. he’s right. you should’ve controlled yourself. the first two hits were sure to knock him out, but you kept going, and going, until the criminal stained your conscience with his final breath. “if… if i hadn’t, i would’ve died, bruce.” you whisper weakly, lips bitten back to hold in emerging hiccups. you knew you weren’t supposed to use his real name, but this was no longer a conversation between you and the creature of the night—but you and the light of your life.

“i-i couldn’t walk. i couldn’t escape. and i couldn’t breathe.” you swallow, catching your breath. “he had his hands around my neck and…i called for you, but i-I guess it never picked up and…” tears burn in your sinuses and your throat goes dry again, coughing out sobs as you recalled the persona of death itself looming over your suffering body.

he’s silent, occupying the loss of words by patching your remaining injuries up. in the absolute stillness of the world, bruce conjures up alternative scenarios where death wasn’t the ending to this dreadful night. even if he had come, your injuries were more severe than he thought, and you would’ve lost blood­—too much blood.

the world moves again as silence is shattered by a siren blaring proud. its flashing lights welcome your tears with comfort and when you turn back to look at bruce for the second time, he’s gone.

it’s hasn’t been long since you’ve returned to your apartment. after a month or so of recovering in the hospital, it was nice to return to your daily life. instead of rehabilitating your leg first thing in the morning, you’d cook yourself breakfast and watch the news, taking it easy for the next few weeks.

bruce would visit the hospital as much as he could, but you were too drugged out to have a proper conversation. since you came home, he’s been distant. you’ve spent more time with alfred and while you didn’t mind having the older gentleman around in the morning (and occasionally scold you for having such a disorganized place), you missed bruce. he would text and call in place of his absence but it wasn’t the same. you needed him.

“and right on cue…” you amuse yourself as a phone call from bruce rings, bringing you back to reality. “y’ello?”

“i’m coming over.” he bluntly states, an elevator dinging in the back. he must still be in his meeting this late at night.

“okay- should i order delivery or something?” you get up to quickly change out of your sweatpants and make yourself look presentable, but before you could, there’s a knock at your door and you beeline towards the entrance instead. “we haven’t tried that ethiopian place that just opened up yet.“

you swing the door open, anticipating your neighbor as they often shared dinner with you at this hour. “hey- oh.”

“hi.” bruce surprises you with a half-smile, raising up takeout of the place you were just describing. he enters tall in his form-fitting suit, tailored perfectly to the broad form of his body. for most of your relationship, you’ve mainly seen him dressed in leisure or as the masked vigilante. you were always taken aback by how extra handsome he would become when he was ‘bruce wayne, proud owner of wayne enterprises.’ today was no different.

you shoved your phone into your pocket and closed the door behind him. “y’know, usually when people say they’re coming over… they’re not already over.” you keep your spirits high as if your relationship hadn’t been affected by something as significant as death, taking the bag, you guide bruce to the dinner table.

a hug would’ve been a nice ‘welcome home’ gift. you think to yourself as you unpack the contents of the takeout boxes into separate bowls.

there’s an awkward silence as you do so. other than a few questions regarding your condition, bruce is quiet, eyeing you like a hawk, and you could feel his gaze from the corner of your eye. “did… you poison the food or something? why are you looking at me like that?” you humor the two of you to the best of your ability, but the only laugh that follows is your own.

“no. never. i would never do that.” though he knew you meant it in good fun, the thought of you in the hospital again—dying—awakens a sense of guilt inside of him again. “i’m sorry.”

puzzled, you look at him confused, brows furrowed in concentration of his words as you set utensils in front of him.

“for… not being there with you—for you.” guilt weighs his head down and he’s now staring into his lap, hands clasped together over the dining table. you watch silently in your chair, reaching out to blanket his hands with the warmth that you missed giving him. “i shouldn’t have told you to go after him. i could’ve escaped from the gang and gotten to you in time. i could’ve-“

“bruce, i don’t blame you. i never did.” a sigh escapes from your lips, your hand leaving his in favor of pulling your chair next to his. eventually you had to have this conversation and you wished it happened sooner. in an ideal scenario, it would’ve been in the hospital as you were recovering. “you know that, right? what’s happened, happened. i-i know you didn’t want me to, but i had no choice-”

“i could’ve lost you too.”

too, you repeat to yourself—his parents. a flash of remembrance is exchanged between the two of you when he looks up, eyes burned with red as he does his best to console his tears. it’s painful to see him like this, but all you can do is embrace him, suffocating your tears into his shoulder—his onto yours. “bruce…”

“but you didn’t.” pulling back, you place a gentle kiss on his lips and you both close your eyes after taking his hands into yours. “you didn’t.” you assure him, solacing the imagination of you gone from his destructive world with another kiss—harder—to remind him that you’re still here. “i’m here.”

“i didn’t,” he murmurs in between your lips before returning the kiss, continuing for longer. the positive affirmation possesses bruce to guide your body further into his in between switching locations to your bedroom, stumbling from the passionate exchange. “you’re here.” he holds you tighter as if the draft in your bedroom could take you away, only briefly pulling apart to undress in a hurry. the taller man kisses at your neck. bruce inhaling deeply into the scent of your skin that he long feared he’d forgotten while large deft hands roam your body, memorizing every hickey that he had left months prior. faded now, but he plans to renew them.

“careful.” bruce is observant, kicking the bag behind your feet to the side before he could lay you back onto the bed and press his bare body into yours again. “look at what you do to me.” he alludes to his hard cock, flushed against your own. you respond with eager hips, thrusting into the warmth that your bodies would share every time your cocks touched. you knew you could come right there if you looked, so you don’t. instead, you’re gazing into his eyes, pleasured by the way they would roll back as you two would connect thrusts in a desperate exchange. “one moment i’m crying over you, and the next…”

“i want to be fucking into you so bad.” his confession garners a genuine laugh out of you, and you lightly tug at bruce’s slicked-back hair, pulling only harder when his lips don’t detach from suckling on your neck the first time. the skin on your face and body is hot and you could feel your cock pulsate when he looks at you, lustful and desperate.

“then why aren’t you?” you tease in a whisper, your thumb gliding across his swollen lips before a lick stops your lone digit in its stride. bruce torments you with desire, maintaining eye contact as he sucks on the pad of your thumb, repeating the same process until he’s done the same for the rest of your fingers. “come on… slowpoke.”

satisfied that you’re now just as needy as him, he spreads you wide in midst of re-adjusting his position to kneel before you. his torso hunches over yours to leave wet and sloppy kisses over your pecs, staining your skin with additional licks as he works his way down. at times, his hand would leave your waist to stroke himself to the sound of your whimpers, but you’d stop him with a gentle squeeze to his wrist, reaching down to replace his hand with yours.

with your hand, you encircle his large cock with a loose wrist, sloppily spreading his pre-cum over your palm and you find yourself doing the same to your own erection. bruce watches you for a moment before pleasure possesses him to roll his head and shoulders back, basking in your skin-crawling touch and the sound of your moans. your mouth waters at the erotic view that towers over your body. the strong muscles in bruce’s thighs flex—harden—to maintain balance as he briefly bends over you to fetch the lube from your drawer. fuck. and his cock throbs—grows harder with your every stroke.

you’re brought closer when he rolls you onto your stomach, pulling you onto all fours and with a sweaty palm to your back, pushing your torso flat to the mattress and leaving your hips raised. large palms massage at your ass cheeks, spreading them open multiple times to admire the way you automatically tighten your ass when the cold draft clouds over your heated flesh. within seconds, your thighs tense when the air is replaced by a slow lick over your hole, drawing another soft moan out of you. “bruce, please… i need you. right now. stop-” you desperately plea, impatient for his sex. you’re unbearably hard right now, thick pre-cum leaking onto the sheets, but bruce didn’t care. he wants to admire you for as long as he can—admire every part of you with the wet muscle.

raw and intense noises of pleasure are driven out of you as he plunders you with his tongue. one hand leaves your ass cheeks to jerk himself off to your most glorious sounds, savoring the taste of your flesh with loud slurps and spitting inside of you once more, seemingly to mark you. he explores your insides with the intent to set off another heavenly moan that is music to his ears, practically drooling inside of you when he reaches from under to feel how hard you are—how much you’re dripping because of him. wrapping his hand around your erection, bruce strokes to the pace of his needy licks, diving nose-deep into your ass, inhaling and exhaling your delicious musk. “shit- bruce…“  you breathe into your pillow, sweat collecting at your headline as you’re embarrassingly writhing under his control. soon after, he replaces his tongue with his lubed finger, twisting into you with slow ease as he continues to lick at the ring of muscle, impressed by the firm grasp you have on him.

“god, i wish you could look at yourself right now.” he makes sure you’re used to his finger before suddenly pulling out, amusing himself with how your hole desperately clings to the loss of intrusion as you whine, tormented by his teasing. bruce returns inside of you with another finger, slowly working you in until he feels comfortable enough to twist and spread the two digits, repeating the taunting motion again that left your hole clenching and unclenching earlier. your eyes roll into the back of your head, rocking back into the steady rhythm of his thrusting fingers. “i can’t believe i have you all to myself…”

“fuck me, please…i need you.” the battle for your pleasure raged as you beg into the bedsheets, your body coiling tighter as your hole grasps at his fingers despite rolling your hips forward. “i need your cock, bruce. fuck.”

“since you were so patient with me…” butterflies flutter in the pit of your stomach as you feel a loss of fingers, anticipating it to be replaced with something bigger, thicker. he leans over with gratitude and tenderness, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, and your body spirals when it does. you ball the loose fabric of your bedsheets into your palms when bruce’s thick cock slides right into you in one, long delicious move, and letting go to sprawl your fingers out when he pulls his hips back, his grunts ghosting your ear when he drives his cock back in.

bruce’s pair of hands sit at your hips as he slowly rocks you into his thrusts. each movement has you taking more and more of him until your ass is pressed against his pelvis, enveloping him, drawing him in, and at the same time, pushing him out. you feel full, filled when he burrows his cock deep inside of you, and you imagine he does too, his erection growing larger and harder as he fucks your heat with a steady rhythm. he kept on, slowing himself when he draws you back into him, onto a kneeling position, and quickening once again when you find balance within his strong embrace. your head lolls back on his shoulder as you stroke yourself to his franticness, driving himself into you harder to gut another delicious moan out of you—another animalistic groan out of him. your moans are caught in your throat when he slots his lips in between yours, only exhaling when bruce separates the tender flesh with his tongue to absorb that heavenly sound of yours like an addict.

when bruce is close to coming, he pulls out and lets himself cool, utilizing the brief cooldown period to minister your cock with quick strokes, lubing the throbbing muscle with his spit in between pumps.

then he starts again, guiding his cock with one hand and deliberately feeding your pucker with his pre-cum before pushing back inside of you again. falling forward from the force, you roll your hips back into him, crying out his name as you’re desperate for his cock. bruce fucks into you faster, harder, with no intention of stopping, palming at your cock at the most sensitive glans because he can feel you’re close. his grip on your hip is strong, bruising, as he uses all his strength to make you come. your stomach sinks and coils in anticipation of familiar feeling coming to a boil at the pit of your stomach, fucking yourself back into bruce’s cock and then into his palm as you’re hopeless under his touch. you can feel droplets of his sweat drip onto your back, the smell of your musk and his thickening the air with breath-taking fervor, and the taste of heaven and stars when you cry out again, coming undone within his fist.

“oh, fuck..!” bruce doesn’t stop jerking you off. he continues to milk you with a forceful grip, beating you off to rhythm of his thrusts—to the sound of sticky sweat-stained skin slapping into each other—until he finally feels himself come inside of you in long, trembling runs. one last thrust, and the head of his dick hits that sweet spot of yours.

he shudders into you, exhausted, collapsing forward and calling your name in tremulous breaths. you exhaustedly turn your head to catch his voice in between your lips, moaning and kissing into his parted mouth as warm cum leaks out of you in slow drips, streams rolling down your thighs and onto its way to stain your bedsheets.

“you’re here.”

“i’m here.”

© nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. and if you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

[jankwritten]

Jasico Bingo Challenge: Cuddles

“I wouldn’t call that cuddling,” Nico says, arms crossed defensively over his chest. “I would call it sitting near one another.” 

Across the infirmary, awaiting medical attention from the busy Apollo kids, Annabeth rolls her eyes. “He had his arm around you.” 

“You put your arm around me all the time,” Nico rebuts. 

“You were leaning on him!” 

“I was tired!” 

Annabeth slumps sideways in her cot and stares at him, unimpressed. 

Nico refuses to budge. Cuddling is not resting your head on someone when they offer to let you nap on them! Cuddling is, like, prolonged, sideways hugging, or something. He and Jason do not cuddle, and even if they did (which they do not!) they wouldn’t do it at the campfire, for Hera’s sake. 

“Fine,” Annabeth concedes without averting her intimidating gaze. “What about when you two took a nap under Thalia’s Pine? That was definitely cuddling.” 

Heat rises up to Nico’s ears. He turns around to face the countertop, littered with empty bandaid packaging and unportioned nectar. “It was not, and you’re weird for remembering that.” 

“You’re weird for refusing to admit you like cuddling with Jason,” Annabeth says. She’s long since perfected that I’m right, you’re wrong, shut up tone, the one that makes Nico bristle. 

“How does that make me weird?” he grumbles, slicing even squares into the pan of nectar. “I spent the last, like, four years of my life doing everything I could to avoid human contact. How is it weird that I wouldn’t want to admit to something like that.” 

For a few moments, Nico almost mistakes Annabeth’s silence for a victory. He finishes with the nectar and turns back around, ready to gloat and everything, and is instead met with the worst possible thing: Annabeth Chase wearing her planning face. 

“No,” he says immediately, putting a hand out, as if he can physically ward off whatever bullshit he’s about to get dragged into. “No.” 

“I think we need an outside opinion.” 

“I think you’re concussed, do not go spreading my personal business to camp!” 

“Not camp,” Annabeth flaps her hand at him, and does not refute the concussed accusation. “But definitely some trusted individuals, who have insight into your cuddling habits.” 

“I’m not above getting on my knees and begging you to drop this,” Nico says. He’s fully serious. He will do it. Anything to stop this from going any further, anything. 

Annabeth glances him up and down, like she’s sizing up how serious he might be. 

He clasps his hands together. 

She flops back in the cot. “Nope. I’m too invested now. I think I’ll ask Hazel, first-” 

“Dude-” 

“-and then Connor, he knew you when you were a baby, he’ll have some good insight.” 

Nico buries his face in his hands and groans. 

Annabeth Chase gets her concussion treated, then turns around and runs back to her cabin to draft an honest to the gods survey to hand out to what she deems as a trusted, reputable group. 

Any group with Connor Stoll and Percy Jackson in it is anything but reputable, in Nico’s mind. As soon as he hears that Annabeth’s really gone off the freaking deep end about this, he finds the darkest corner of camp and hunkers down to hide. 

The best thing to do when Annabeth’s got an idea? Weather it. She’ll either find her own solution, or she’ll lose interest. Nico hopes, for his reputation's sake, she doesn’t get any further than the distribution. 

Upside to this shitshow: Nico has time to clean his cabin, finally. A valid reason to tell Will that he genuinely cannot come do archery practice today, a valid reason to kick any and everyone off his porch, lock his doors, and play CDs on his radio as loud as he can tolerate. 

It is, unfortunately, one of his most productive days as of late, and as Nico lays on his newly-swept floor, sweaty but satisfied, he almost forgets the whole situation occurring at the hands of one stubborn daughter of Athena. 

Almost. 

“Nico?” 

Three knocks on the cabin door. 

“I can hear your music, I know you’re in there. If you want me to go away, that’s totally fine, I just- y’know, want to make sure you’re okay. I’ll leave you alone in a minute.” 

Nico rolls over, squishing his face into the hardwood for one deeply satisfying moment. Then, with all the reluctance of a man who is going to face embarrassment head on, he pulls himself up and trudges to the door. 

Jason, at the very least, has the decency to look worried rather than amused. He’s got his hands in the pockets of his shorts, his head tilted off to the side, his glasses off-center like they always are. He’s frowning, kind of. He looks like Mrs. O’Leary when Nico tricks her into thinking he’s got a treat for her. 

“I’m alive,” he says, as dry as he can manage. The CD skips. 

“That’s good,” Jason says. “I, uh, hear Annabeth’s keeping herself occupied.” 

Nico’s temple pulses with something not-quite-achey, but nearly there. 

“Just- come in,” he huffs, stepping aside. Dammit. “If anyone’s going to explain it, I would really rather rip the stupid bandaid off.” 

“Laughing at me feels kind of insulting, going to be honest,” Nico mutters while Jason hunches over himself, cradling his stomach, downright howling. 

“She’s- She’s up in arms- about cuddling!?” 

“I don’t know! I don’t know, Percy’s stupid bullshit is rubbing off on her and she’s losing braincells, Jason, she’s losing her mind. We need to find something new for her to build so she stops trying to instigate shit in my private life!” 

Jason slumps sideways onto the floor, half-laughing, half-panting. His leg presses solidly to Nico’s like this, sitting side by side against his bed. 

Nico turns his head up and away and forces himself not to notice. 

“She just cares about you,” Jason says. He stays down. Nico can practically feel how hard Jason’s heart is pumping from all that laughter. 

Jerk. 

“She cares about drama,” Nico says, though he knows it’s not totally true. Piper has gotten her more involved in the social life of camp, which is a good thing, really. Nico thinks it’s really cool that Annabeth has been able to come out of her own shell, after spending her whole life trying to prove herself, trying to be above everything, better than, the best. 

But does she have to do it at his expense? 

He rubs his hands over his face and sighs. 

Jason sits back up. 

“Are you really that upset about this?” he asks, his voice softened into a tone Nico got used to hearing in the days post-Cupid, the tone of a hero. “I know it’s still hard for you, to be comfortable and everything-” 

“I’m not upset about it,” Nico says. Admitting it makes his cheeks flush, but it’s the truth, and Jason has more than earned that with him. “I’m just…embarrassed.” 

“Awe, why’s it embarrassing? I mean, I get from your perspective, y’know, why you might find that embarrassing, but even if taking naps and stuff is cuddling, it’s not like it’s hurting anything,” Jason says. Then, softer, maybe hesitant, he adds, “right?” 

Nico’s heart tugs annoyingly into his ribs. “It’s not hurting anything, Jason, I’m not…I don’t know. I just feel a lot of things, I guess? And it’s a lot of, like, I-I don’t know how to react, when people poke fun at something I’m still- still getting comfortable with. I like being comfortable with you.” He pokes at the rips in his jeans and continues to ignore how much of Jason is pressed up against his side, how natural it feels to just sit with him like this. 

“I like that you like being comfortable with me,” Jason says, his own version of teasing, though one that Nico knows and understands and likes. He knows that Jason’s reassuring him by prodding at him like that. 

The next track on his CD starts to play—Jason turned the volume down, but didn’t shut it all the way off. They’re both too awkward in pure silence, but sitting together when there’s other background noise that means they don’t necessarily have to talk has become a staple of their hang-outs. There’ve been many an afternoon where Nico sets up on the floor of the Zeus cabin with his new, growing Mythomagic collection, while Jason sketches out temples at his desk. 

They’re so comfortable around one another, nowadays. 

Nico brings his knees up and nestles his chin on them, frowning at the opposite wall. 

Are they maybe too comfortable? If other people are starting to look at them interacting and put weird labels like cuddling on it? Isn’t cuddling something people who like each other do, anyway? Friends don’t cuddle. 

Nico feels his ears burn hot at the implication. Is that what Annabeth was trying to say? Does she think Nico likes Jason? 

He brings his arms up to cover his mouth. He chews on his lip. 

…does, Nico like Jason? 

 (to be continued) 

[elegantauthor]

Saving Grace Chapter 17

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Aurora Stark

Summary: She was the Winter Soldier’s wife… wasn’t she?

Warnings: brief suicidal and bulimic ideation

Series Masterlist

As the last five minutes ticked by, Aurora wasn’t sure if she wanted them to pass agonizingly slow or for Zemo’s thirty-minute window to arrive, so she could just get dinner over with. Either way, he was not going to grant her the mercy of eating alone. She promised to make captivity miserable for him, and yet she couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that if she pressed her luck, he might actually snap and hurt her.

She knew him to be calculating, perceptive, intelligent, and that was putting it mildly. He was able to destroy the Avengers. To quote Zemo, that was no small feat. She couldn’t make him feel anything, because he was inundated by grief, the walls around his heart too solid to penetrate.

Briefly, she empathized with him. She was no stranger to loss and grief. She’d lost Bucky during the Snap, only to lose her father in sacrificing himself to bring the former back. It was an unfair bargain, and she told her mother so, not once, but twice. Anger burned like a furnace, equivalent to the heat that emanated from Bucky’s body due to the serum, except hers didn’t emit a physical sensation—it had taken hold from within, subduing her powers. Because, what was a demigoddess of beauty to do with anger?

It interlaced her heart like thorns, prickly and tangled. It seeped in, slowly poisoning her, until one day she discovered she’d been cut off completely. From Aphrodite, from the full extent of her powers. She could make anyone do whatever she wanted with one alluring word, except she couldn’t. Not now, not ever again.

At the five-minute mark, Aurora sighed and dragged herself out of the room, downstairs, and into the dining room. Ostentatious. That was the only word to describe it. Granite and marble blended together to form a pattern of stone-like texture across every surface. Artwork adorned the walls, including Da Vinci. Polished utensils engraved with H.Z. decorated the countertops and the large, rectangular table.

Seated at one end, Zemo gestured for her to sit down. Reluctantly, she did—at the opposite end, far away from him. His glower did not go amiss, but Aurora was past caring. He’d kidnapped her, planned to exploit her powers for his benefit; he didn’t deserve her compliance.

Oeznik, Zemo’s kindly old butler, set down a plate in front of her. Roast, fingerling potatoes, and peas. It looked appetizing and smelled tantalizing, causing her empty stomach to revolt against her protest. Gods, she hated this. Without having to glance up, she felt Zemo gloating at her.

“You could starve yourself,” he acquiesced, wiping the corner of his mouth with a napkin, “but I do not believe you of all people would.”

He was right, of course. While she possessed a lot of pride and stubbornness, given she was raised by Tony, she was equally her mother’s daughter. She wasn’t about to let him win, not when there withstood a chance. She was a demigoddess, for crying out loud.

Stabbing the roast with her fork, she took a bite. The meat melted in her mouth like butter, and she couldn’t resist any longer. Eighteen hours was a long time to go without food and drink. As if he read her mind, Oeznik put a glass containing dark-purple-almost-black liquid in front of her. She picked it up and sniffed, recognizing the familiar scent at once. Elderberry.

Zemo shrugged nonchalantly. “You seemed to enjoy it in Riga.”

As she ate and drank her fill, Aurora couldn’t help but think she was somehow betraying Bucky. Would he want her to put up more of a fight, or would he rather her take care of herself, despite the circumstances?

“I have no intention of giving you back to the Soldat.” Zemo’s words from earlier distorted her thoughts.

There was a third option. She could eat and vomit it all up later, her own secret revenge plot.

Abruptly, Aurora stood from the table and sprinted from the dining room, up the stairs two at a time, flinging open the bathroom door. She knelt in front of the lavatory, exhaling shakily. Her heart pounded in her chest something fierce, as the tears clinging to her eyelashes splashed down her face.

Bucky and Sam were resourceful. The last remnants of the Avengers. Their mission to stop the Flag Smashers took precedence, but she was the Winter Soldier’s wife… wasn’t she?

Yes.

And she had to be strong… for Bucky, who had endured far worse from HYDRA, and survived.

Aurora picked herself up off the floor, knees threatening to give out beneath her slender frame. She clutched the doorknob, pushed herself to walk a little farther, before plopping down on the bed. The mattress dipped, and suddenly, she felt exhausted. She had no choice but to give in. Hunger and thirst quenched, she welcomed the blackness.

[draw-ren-draw]

Avantris Comic Scripts #2

Often when I get ideas for comics, I break my panels into scripts first. These are less prose-y than fics but still contain dialogue and basic interactions. You seem to have enjoyed my first one, so have a few more, this one featuring my initial thoughts on "Gorebek"

Confrontation with 'the Duke' (spoilers up to ep: 56!) [A script I wrote to explore my personal headcanon about Torbek's situation; I think this would be a delightful twist that suits what Nikki and Andy might be plotting for us. Please be sure you are caught up to episode 56 to avoid any spoilers! These ideas are not confirmed just my personal favorite take~] * * * * [After another grueling battle, 'The Duke' has made himself known by taking control of Torbek's body once again. Dripping with the blood of his latest conquest, the party stands at odds with the most sane and yet somehow scariest version of their friend yet. This time, the Witchlighted to hell and back bugbear has no interest in further bloodshed and seems more inclined to take his leave. Weapons drawn, Carnivale Lecroux debate whether to fight or allow this unexpected threat to flee, knowing they could risk losing Torbek too.]

Kremy: "You're outnumbered so KINDLY get the hell out of Torbek already!" Gideon: "Ya can't just show up after somebody's been experimented on and claim that bodies your own!" "Not my own?" The Duke pauses, considering something while facing away. "Let me get this straight. Your friend. Who speaks in grunts and the third person. Can barely write his name. And you think he's the original personality?"

A hush falls over the crowd Gricko: "… In hindsight…" Frost: "…it does make a disturbing amount of sense.."

'The Duke' smirks and misty steps closer to Kremy, taunting the lizardfolk. 'The Duke': "You never could remember me, could you?" Kremy: "Now that's not true, the herri--" 'The Duke': "You just believed whatever it was I told you, it was easy enough to picture." The Alligator squints, fae magic clouding his mind. Something about what this not-Torbek is saying does make an insidious amount of sense. He grits his teeth, unable to find the lie. Kremy: "… Think I'm beginning to remember why I didn't like remembering you."

Gideon is not falling for it and he's even more incensed after seeing someone make Kremy of all people unsure about something.

Gideon: "So what. This is just 'YOU' now? You're just gonna leave and take Torbek along, just like that? He's not coming back this time?" 'The Duke' steps back again, testing how far he can push his retreat without being suspect. He stretches his arms in a gloating manner. 'The Duke': "I assure you, I have lived more in this body than 'HE' has ever forgotten." The Duke smiles cruelly, all teeth, eerily wide and full of malice. 'The Duke': "But that's right. You're the chosen heroes of the faewild, aren't you? Then ask yourselves this: are you really okay with erasing someone from existence just because you like another side of them better?"

Twig: "We are if he's a little BITCH!" Gideon gives the brownie a supportive pat with a laugh Gideon: "Well said Twig."

'The Duke': "But is that JUST?" He continues to raise his arms in a taunting manner, but it is clear he is starting to look and sound a little more harried (as anyone with sense usually is after prolonged exposure to these idiots) 'The Duke': "You think you can get him to override me? ME? The Duke of the Twilight Court??!"

Kremy sidebars with Gideon. Kremy: "We could if we got him to fall off the Herris wheel couple more times." Gideon: "Hehe yeah! Couple a hits and he'd be back to full form no problem!" Kremy: "Can't hit him too hard though, have a repeat of Chuckles." Gideon: "Nah, He ain't a clown, I don't think he'd laugh to death if we punched him in the body like Chuckles did."

'The Duke' interrupts, flustered at being ignored. 'The Duke': "ENOUGH!" 'The Duke:' THIS is the faewild; MAGIC country! Anything is possible. We'll see who the land's deem most worthy of sticking around. A distinguished aristocrat-- or a blubbering waste of flesh." Bonus panel: Internal Torbek dialogue represented in a sad thought bubble 'Gottttta say, the odddds aren't in Torbeksss favorrrrrr'

[Some details have slightly shifted as I developed this idea more, but I thought there was still a lot to like in these character interactions in this original draft.]

[mugentakeda]

iroh azula antagonism is sooo important to me guys i cant ever read azula redemption fics cus none of them include their insane beef. its such a lonely world out here. can u even imagine how nuts it wouldve been if she found out abt the white lotus. i need to talk ab them dude

i like to imagine the trip back to the fn after ba sing se zuko didnt talk to iroh at all while he was in the brig because he was so in shock and still reeling that iroh outright betrayed him and his family and nation for the avatar. those three years iroh spent with zuko on the ship encouraging him meant what now? "why would he banish you if he didnt care" meant what now that you helped what would undo the banishment evade me?

and azula has never been above gloating, even over the most pathetic scum. so she makes sure to head to the brig the night they depart, her exhausted brother conked out in his quarters none the wiser, mai and ty lee flanking her. and even though the mission had been to capture the avatar dead or alive, theres something about looking down at her restrained uncle whod been working the whole time to get zuko (who has an unending list of faults but is loyal above all else and had been trying his hardest to fulfill the terms of his banishment even while being a wanted criminal to their nation- something she will not overlook) to betray their nation is somehow more satisfying by tenfold than looking down at a restrained avatar.

she knows just how hard iroh takes losing. he lost ba sing se and a son years ago, and here he has lost ba sing se and a son once more. or a boy his senile, trauma-riddled mind has convinced him is his son. her uncle bet against her father by trying to turn his son against him for whatever traitorous and foolish reasons he has and frankly shes just overjoyed to have him out of the way once and for all, because azula is a dragon just as much as iroh and she will always strive to protect her blood, because irohs the one who let zuko into that war room in the first place, because what right does he have to allow her foolish brother that couldnt keep his trap shut to save his life in a situation like that and then have the audacity to try and turn him against them when zuko even being in ba sing se (instead of working under azula along with mai and ty lee like he shouldve been) was all his fault in the first place? she hopes freeing zuko of him stings unlike anything else. she hopes if that sting manifested in reality it would take the shape of an ugly stamp right across his face and haunt him for the rest of his days in his self made prison.

and then iroh can say that zuko had no choice BUT to be loyal above all else because if he wasnt thats a death sentence from ozai. and then azula can say that thats wise of her father then because if that wasnt how it was then their whole family would be an infested nest of lying cowards like iroh. mustve been something her dad learned from his dear old brother. and what can iroh even say to that

[luxury-nightmare]

mom says it’s my turn on the writing

They were suffocating inside this room, four walls boxing them into a cramped area too small for them. Chains locked them into place for whenever he wanted to gloat to them.

They hadn’t seen the sky in ages. They didn’t know how long, it had to have been years at least. He wouldn’t let them hibernate, needing them awake for whatever experiment he wanted to do next.

They missed their partner, it’s stupid antics and whenever they would go hunting together. They missed the night wind, the trees, the world outside these four concrete walls.

They missed the stars.

————————————————

Someone had found their way into the room.

It wasn’t him this time.

They held a camcorder in shaky hands, red goggles hanging around their neck. They were petrified in fear, but they didn’t move.

They could sense Clyde on them, memories of orange stripes and crooked grins clung to them. They were a velidgun, they could sense it, but not in the way Clyde and them were velidgun. They had a human soul that was uniquely theirs drowning under the void, not the mismatched cacophony of voices and memories that made up their being.

Did velidgun have souls? They would rather not find out

He was gloating to them, completely brushing them off. His ego needed to be fed constantly, a trait they found endearing in their partner but grating with him. They didn’t know what was happening to the person with the camcorder. They didn’t know how a human could transform into a velidgun, or if this was an experiment it was doing.

There are alway Six

They didn’t question it. They knew better than to question their god.

————————————————

The doors opened again, and the caretakers threw someone in. They rolled their eyes. They knew the song and dance by now. They wanted them to absorb this patients soul, like so many before them.

There were so many voices they needed to keep down.

The figure shifted, clutching their side, clearly hurt. They turned to the door, pressing their ear to the cold steel. A distinctly not human growl emerged from their throat.

They took another look at the figure. They were too tall for a human, with a barbed tail, uneven horns, and long striped limbs that clued them into what was happening. This was a velidgun, the foundation had captured another one. They shifted against their chains, alerting the velidgun to their presence.

In the low light, they saw the velidgun’s arms, lined with orange stripes.

Orange stripes.

It couldn’t be.

“Clyde?”

The figure turned around, familiar crooked eyes meeting theirs

“Winfrey?”

Winfrey turned to embrace their partner, but Clyde was faster, racing towards its partner and throwing its arms around them. Winfrey wrapped their arms around Clyde as well, tears welling up in their eyes.

“How did he, are you ok?” Winfey asked, not daring to release their partner least it slip away from them again. “It’s a long story” Clyde chuckled sadly.

Winfrey nuzzled closer “I have time”

All I have is time

————————————————

“Wait, a human? You got attached to a human?”

The two had been talking for hours, and Winfey had not moved a muscle since Clyde had started their story.

“Well, they won’t be for long” Clyde said sheepishly, cuddling closer to its partner.

“No I understand that” Winfrey replied “they were a human when you first met, right?”

“Yeah” Clyde sighed, nuzzling into the crook of Winfrey’s arm “Why in Six’s name would you let them live?” Winfrey asked.

A nervous grin spread across Clyde’s face “they made me a sandwich?” It said sheepishly

Winfrey’s face went deadpan “a sandwich”

“It was a good sandwich!” Clyde protested. Winfrey rolled their eyes fondly.

But before Winfrey could reply, the creaking of the doors sent alarm bells through Winfrey’s mind. That couldn’t be anything good. They growled and stood at full height. They had just gotten their partner back, and they would not lose it again.

The doors slide open, wider than usual. Wide enough for Winfrey to actually leave.

Like whoever was opening them wanted to leave.

A person emerged from behind the door, waving awkwardly. “Hey so, you’re Winfrey right-Jesus Christ you’re tall, so Alex and Simon are here to get you out and all that so…..” the man trailed off, looking up at Winfrey in awe.

Winfrey looked down at Clyde in confusion “Is this the human?” They asked. Clyde shook its head. “This is Mortimer,” Clyde gestured to the person across from them, “He’s Alex’s friend”

“Alex is your human?” Winfrey asked. Clyde nodded, and Winfrey turned back the the doors. Mortimer was looking to the side, fidgeting awkwardly.

“So yeah, we’re getting you out of here, I’ve gotta go do somethi- JACK THAT IS A PATIENT YOU CAN’T EAT HIM”

Mortimer ran off, leaving the doors wide open. Winfrey looked down at Clyde. It nodded, and turned to guide them out.

Winfrey looked down at their chains, and started to pull. The cold sounds of the metal links snapping filled them with hope.

Crunch

The chains snapped

For the first time in ages, Winfrey was free

————————————————

It had been a couple days since they had been freed from the asylum and been reunited with their partner. A couple days since the nightmare ended. A couple days since the asylum was gutted by the veldigun, freeing the patients and Winfey.

A couple days since he had been killed.

It had been Alex, from what Clyde had told them. Cornered the bastard in a long hallway and beat him to death with a crowbar. Clyde’s human had been the one to free them, albeit unintentionally. Ironically, they were also the human that had found their way into the room before.

Although they weren’t human anymore.

Winfrey didn’t know how they transformed into a velidgun, and frankly it wasn’t very important to them. They knew better than to question it’s decisions, and the only effect is that they now had a new hunting partner.

What was important to them, though, was Alex being passed out in the front of the cave.

The trio had returned to Clyde and Winfrey’s old nest inside of a large cave. Alex had been keeping watch outside on their own insistence. They hadn’t been adjusting very well, but Winfey didn’t think the switch from a diurnal to nocturnal sleep schedule would be the easiest. Still, it couldn’t be comfortable laying on the cold stone.

They had always been a bit of an early bird, at least by veldigun standards. They looked over at Alex, and scooped them up in their hand, pulling them close before nuzzling back into the cuddle.

They looked up at the sky through the cracks in the cave’s ceiling, moonlight making strange patterns across the rock.

The stars were so beautiful.

It had almost forgotten.

[leadergorilla]

Yes liberals, you can demand better.

A lot of liberals in the following months will lash out wildly at everything and you will see leftists such as myself stand on a high ground for being proven right yet again. I don't want to act like a gloating camp sitter and I think anyone who has repeated the inevitable out come of this election that wants to take this time to say "I told you so!" Needs to reevaluate what it is they're actually doing.

I want every woman who had their abortion rights stolen from them to look past the blatant misogyny from the reactionary right or whatever excuse the democrats come up with to move the narrative along to something else and remember the reality. Kamala Harris ran a terrible campaign and said all along the way that "Democracy is on the line" "Your rights are on the line." and now i'm writing this as trump is not only being confirmed the predicted winner but has also WON THE POPULAR VOTE. How could a party lose both the electoral college and popular vote and tell themselves and their base that they gave it their all, that they ran like your rights were on the line and they really did care to save them? The Last time the popular vote was won by a republican was Bush after 9/11 and spending 3 years revving up the reactionary hatred towards muslims as a result.

Kamala Harris is a failure. The democratic party is a failure. Because of their incompetency, you still don't have your rights. You didn't need to settle for "harm reduction" and you still don't. You can demand a candidate who wont spend your money glazing Liz Cheney and seriously thinking that will win them the election. Incompetent failures don't deserve your vote just because they've become comfortable you'll give it to them regardless. Kamala Harris targeted a voter who doesn't exist for 6 months and lost you your chance at getting your fundamental rights back because of it. She doesn't deserve a pat on the back or a "it was close", she deserves to be remembered as running one of the worst campaigns in US history and you don't need to find an excuse for the democratic party incompetence. Get mad at them because they failed you.

If you want to point your anger at anyone, point it at the incompetent, lazy, party of people who have gotten comfortable for 15 years now with just needing to say "harm reduction" and expect you to settle for whatever they give you.

It wasn't the "tankies" or the rampant misogyny of the patriarchal structures we're under currently that dropped the ball against an 80 year old convicted felon running simply to avoid a prison sentence. It was the party that expects you to settle for even worse in 4 years because they've never been pressured to purge the failures they share a table with and give you a candidate that tries to secure your rights.

Please remember these 6 months for the rest of your life. Please remember them whenever the democratic party are calling leftist protestors "spoilers" or someone is demanding you vote for harm reduction. Please remember when this party demands your vote for the person they want to be in charge next no matter how out of touch their campaign is, Donald Trump won the popular vote in 2024.

[herearedragons]

micro story for dragon age (i'm hoping for some solaqun hehe), 8 and/or 16 <3

that is NOT a micro-fic but I did get 16. in dreams in there

micro-story prompts

"You are distracted, my friend."

There is no judgement or annoyance in Solas' voice; he's simply making a statement, and a correct one, in that.

Aqun runs back the last few points of their conversation in his mind, trying to understand what gave him away — and comes up empty.

"What did I miss?"

"I have just presented you with a glaring contradiction, expecting you to point it out. Imagine my surprise when you readily accepted that the Anchor does not expel energy, when we both know this to be untrue."

He says it with the light triumph of delivering a clever punchline, smiling briefly; a little too much gloating for just noticing that he wasn't listening, in Aqun's opinion.

The mistake is dumb, though.

"Damn it. Well, can you say it one more time?"

"Certainly; but I know study to be ineffective when forced upon the mind. Perhaps I can be of help with your trouble?"

He's right about that first part. Maybe about the second one, too.

Aqun thinks about the large, empty space of the rotunda echoing their voices up into the library; about the people walking past the desk they're both sitting at, headed to the upper levels.

"If we can speak somewhere private," he says.

*

"...Your meetings with the Ambassador?"

"She's doing her best, and so am I. But with the time we have, I'm starting to think my best won't be enough."

Skyhold's garden is empty at this time of day; even Mother Giselle and the apothecary, who frequent it often, have duties elsewhere. The open air and the rustling of leaves mean that the sound of conversation doesn't carry as far.

It's a good place to talk.

They sit down by the elfroot patch.

"I don't think I can understand the Game, Solas," Aqun says. "And I can't fake it convincingly, either."

There's a heavy feeling in his chest as he admits it, but that's nothing new; it's been there for the last week or so, growing worse each time he caught himself losing track of Josephine's explanations, or growing helplessly irritated with the complication of it all when he did manage to follow.

Fighting is fine. Giving speeches is fine. Keeping people in check is fine. Whatever "The Game" is, it's none of those things; learning about it is staring into an endless abyss, where every explanation of why only dredges up more questions.

"It is simpler than you believe," Solas says. "Every game is constructed from rules and props; the Great Game is no different, or they wouldn't have named it so. You have mastered much more complicated topics during our conversations."

Aqun stares at the swaying elfroot stalks in front of him.

"If that was true, I would have been at least half-decent at it by now."

"Perhaps the fault lies not with the game, then, but with the player."

"Maybe," Aqun says grimly. "I've spent most of my life away from people, you know. Kind of like you, but without the part about learning in your dreams what the rest of the world is like. I've traveled around since then, figured some things out, but I don't know if I'm equipped to handle high society."

To his surprise, Solas chuckles.

"You hold too much esteem for the nobility. It is the oldest con, perhaps: to build an air of mystery, mythology to lend one airs of grandeur. But I have followed them in dreams, through countless lies and bargains struck, and know that underneath they are no different."

Something about his tone is... fond, almost.

Aqun turns to look at him.

"Well, give me your opinion, then," he says. "If you were in my place, how would you handle the Winter Palace?"

"I would allow them to underestimate me; play the demure elf, let others speak, and listen to what they say when they believe their company is not intelligent enough to understand. But to you, my friend, I would advise a different course of action."

"...I'm listening."

"Act as you would in the field," Solas says. "Scout for danger. Tread carefully on unfamiliar terrain. When you come across something you do not understand, study it. Ask questions. Your instincts of survival will serve you just as well in the Orlesian court as they would anywhere else."

Aqun thinks about it for a moment.

"Wouldn't I appear ignorant?"

"You would appear careful. Besides," Solas adds with a tinge of amusement, "One can hardly blame the Inquisitor for being inquisitive."

That gets a laugh out of him.

"I should write that down."

"Now you sound like Varric."

"Well, Varric has a point about writing things down," Aqun says.

The heavy feeling, he notes, has lessened. It's not gone completely, but it's... easier, somehow.

Solas has given him a different perspective, something to think about, but, strangely, that's not even the most important part.

He actually believes that Aqun can figure this out.

And, well... If a wandering apostate can get a decent impression of The Game by watching it in his dreams, why wouldn't there be hope for him, too?

"Thank you, Solas," he says.

"I'm glad to have been of assistance," Solas replies with a slight smile. "That being said, perhaps we should return to our discussion of the Anchor later, once your duties allow it."

Aqun nods.

"I'll be looking forward to it."

"So will I."