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the-whumpening · 2 months

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The Freed Tiger | (Ash's Recovery Arc, Part 8)

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CW: Fantasy racism and hate crime, fantasy slurs (may still be triggering to some), semi-graphic violence, tw blood, fear of abandonment, intrusive thoughts, self-loathing, Big Feelings

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(Ash’s POV)

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Then

“Ash!” Kane called. “Where are ya, bud? I brought something for you!”

As silently as his gangly limbs could manage, Ash slipped down from the branch he’d been napping on and crept behind Kane.

Kane turned to face him with a knowing grin. “Oh, there you are! Here, hold this.” They thrusted a wicker basket full of supplies into Ash’s arms and continued deeper into the thicket of trees. Ash followed without question, though a bit disappointed Kane caught him so fast.

When they finally arrived at Ash’s makeshift camp, Kane took the basket back and sat down by the fire pit.

“We’ll definitely need to get this re-lit,” they mumbled to themself absently. Ash cocked an eyebrow as he sat beside them.

“Why? Not cold or nighttime—what fire for?” Ash stumbled through his limited Common. Kane usually had good reasons for things, and Ash liked that they always explained it to him. Kane was a good friend.

Kane held up a brick of wax paper-wrapped clay from the basket in explanation. “I’m gonna show you how I make my beads! The fire helps them dry out and harden faster.” Their lips pursed at the barren fire pit. “But we’re definitely gonna need some kindling to get that going. Can you go gather some while I set everything up?”

“Sure! Ash help.” Ash liked when Kane let him help. Kane always let Ash help, even if he messed up. It made him feel good. Useful. He’d never been useful with Mama Tiger—always in the way, underfoot, making mistakes. She was patient, but Ash knew he was frustrating sometimes. He just couldn’t help it; his strange human-like body wasn’t made for the same things tigers were.

But Ash was good at gathering kindling. He knew how to tell which sticks were the best, and where to find the driest leaves. He had big, strong hands for grasping and reaching, and he could carry the pile with ease in his arms. Yes, this was a task Ash was great at.

Ash was also great at listening. His tiger ears tuned in to all the sounds around him: the peeping of birds, the rustle of the underbrush, the chatter of conversation nearby. Conversation? Kane was he only one who should’ve been this deep in the forest. No one else knew about Ash or his camp.

Two voices. One high, one low. They spoke with the same bubbling rhythm Kane did—was that Common? Whatever it was, it was growing closer by the second, and Ash didn’t trust it.

He wound his way back towards his camp, skulking between the trees to hide himself from view. The voices were louder the closer he got; the deeper one seemed almost slurred. Who are these two?

“Nekane?” the deep voice laughed. “I figured you’d be out here. Weird little nature-freak.”

Ash’s blood turned to ice in his veins. These people know Kane?

“Go back to town, Ekhardt. You’re drunk. You too, Alicia.”

That was Kane’s voice—Ash was sure of it. But it didn’t have the same easy, relaxed tone Ash was used to hearing. No, Kane seemed . . . nervous.

“You don’t own the forest, halfer.” That must be Alicia, the higher-pitched voice. “What—we can’t go on a walk without your permission?”

Ash picked up his pace. He didn’t understand everything they were saying, but he could tell: these were not friends.

“Just-just get out of here, okay?” Kane’s voice was starting to wobble and rise in pitch. Ash’s heart began pounding louder in his chest. “It’s not safe this far out.”

The deep voice—Ekhardt?—scoffed. “Spare me; I’m the best hunter in town. I think I can handle myself. Or what—did you mean you’ll do something? You gonna call your faerie friends to beat me up?” He laughed; Ash could hear the stumbling of his drunken feet as his balance swayed. “Besides, I’ve been fol-low-ing y-ooo-uuu,” he teased in a sing-song tone.

“W-what?”

Alicia picked up, “You must not be as observant as you think, huh? We’ve been watching you. Nobody else comes out this way. No hunters, no foragers. Just you and Pietra—and she’s gone now, isn’t she?” She whines with faux sympathy. “Poor halfer. Now that your mommy’s dead, nobody in town cares if you live or die.”

Ash finally reached the edge of the clearing, stopping short to survey the scene. A thick-muscled blonde woman leaned heavily on Kane’s shoulders, hissing her venom into his pointed ears. A matching man dropped the bottle in his hand; instead, he reached into his pocket and withdrew a hefty pair of scissors.

He stumbled towards Kane, brandishing the scissors in his clumsy hand. “Now nobody’s here to stop me doing what I should’ve done years ago. Grab ‘im, Licia.”

Alicia snatched Kane’s arms and locked him in place, allowing Ekhardt to slink closer. He raised the open blades to the point of Kane’s ear, and—

Ash shook with anger.

He was furious. He was in a frenzy.

He was enraged.

The scent of Kane’s blood hit the air, and Ash dropped his armful of kindling. His vision pulsed with his racing heartbeat; the forest around him condensed into a hazy blur. Before he could stop himself, his body was in motion: he sprinted from the treeline to collide with the shape attacking Kane, his hands and mouth ripping and tearing at anything and everything he could reach.

He could taste the iron on his tongue and feel the splash of blood on his chin. His knuckles connected with something—bone, judging by the satisfying crack—and came back wet.

Roars pounded in his ears from every direction; he soon lost track of which were his screams and which were outside of himself. Hard hands pummeled his body, his face; they clawed for freedom beneath him, but he refused to relent.

When the body beneath him ceased to fight, his focus shifted to the blur retreating back into the trees. He launched himself to it, slamming it over and over into a sturdy trunk until it, too, began to slump in his grasp.

“Ash!”

Wha—huh?

“Ash, stop!”

Why? His body vibrated with hate; why would he stop when it felt so right? They tried to hurt Kane—they hurt his friend!

They had to die.

“Stop! It’s okay, Ash! Everything’s okay.”

Kane. It’s just Kane.

Ash groans, his head aching and thudding. “P-protect Kane,” he spat through his bloody, busted lip. “Bad people . . . Hurt friend.”

The blurry fog over his vision began to slowly lift as he caught his breath. The shape he’d bashed into the tree sharpened in front of him: Alicia, the woman, her pale skin blooming with bruises and her limbs jutting out unnaturally. She glared up at him through half-lidded eyes, halfway between fear and fury.

Ash turned. Nearby, the body of Ekhardt laid strewn by the fire pit, torn and weak but—just like Alicia—somehow still breathing.

And Kane. Kane cupped their hand around their ear, trickles of dark blood spilling out between their fingers. With their other hand, they reached out to Ash. Slowly, slowly, they stepped closer.

“Ash. It’s okay. I’m alright.” Their voice was steady and calm. Just like always.

Kane was okay.

Ash stumbled closer to them, adrenaline still surging through his system. His muscles shook with the effort of each careful step.

Behind him, he could hear Alicia scrambling through the fallen leaves. She snatched up Ekhardt’s limp body and dragged it back the way they came.

“Fucking freaks,” she hissed under her breath as she made her escape.

Ignoring the comment, Kane closed the distance between them and Ash. As soon as Kane’s arm wrapped around his shoulders, Ash collapsed into their embrace. His knees wobbled and he gasped for air—his empty lungs screamed as sobs wracked his chest.

Kane was okay. Kane is okay. Kane’s not dead. He repeated the mantra over and over until he could breathe easily once more.

“You’re okay, Ash. You’re alright. But we . . . We can’t stay here anymore.”

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Now

I’m okay. I’m okay. Breathe, Ash coaches himself through the blinding rage. The forest around him is blurry and warped; the trees seem to envelop him in a nest of thistles he can’t escape. Breathe.

In. Out.

He’d had a handle on his rage for a time—before Ozmund trained him to stay raged for as long as possible. Now, he feels as out of control as his teenage self. Everything sets him off. Anger, fear, shame; it’s all the same to him now.

He scrubs at his face with the pads of his clawed hand. Stop it. Calm down.

Right. In. Out. In. Out.

The blurriness fades a little; the branches seem a little less menacing. Ash can make out the shape of a toad resting on a nearby log. He breathes in time with its bulging vocal sac.

In. Out. Croak. In. Out. Croak.

His claws slowly retract back into his hand. His senses dull to their normal strength, blissfully quieting the cacophony of the insects and birds all around him. Breathe.

In.

Out.

A sigh shudders out of his chest, and his exhausted legs crumple beneath him into the soft dirt. Soft and cool and damp . . . He could very nearly fall asleep right where he is. But where, exactly, is that?

In Ash’s travels, he’d developed a talent for navigating even the densest woods; it was rare he ever got lost somewhere he’d been before. By all rights, he should be able to find his way home, but . . . Nothing looks familiar here.

How long has he been walking? He can’t remember what direction he even started from. It was early when he left, he’s sure of that. Then, how is it nearly nightfall now? Has he lost an entire day? He can’t recall anything after his conversation with Evius that morning.

Evius . . . He’s probably worried, right? Or . . .

Insidious thoughts creep into Ash’s mind. They hadn’t come for him last time. Not for a whole year.

They didn’t know, though, he argues with himself. It was only a few weeks for them.

Even so—they should’ve known. Maybe they didn’t mind you gone . . .

No, that’s not true! Stop it!

They’ll be better off without you. You won’t be a burden on them anymore. Just a worthless source of stress.

Shut up! That’s not—that’s not true . . . Is it?

They’re not coming this time. They learned their lesson. Just make your peace with it.

Maybe . . . Maybe I should . . .

Ash eyes his surroundings. He’s well and truly lost, and it’s rapidly getting dark. He must have wandered for hours—there’s no telling how far away he is. Even if his friends do come looking for him, it’s not likely they’ll find him tonight.

Just stay alive, he bargains. Stay alive till the morning.

His mind finally quiet, he builds a makeshift nest of dry grass beneath the hollow of a tree. If only he had a nice, warm little cave like he used to; dry and brightened by the fire Kane would’ve built outside. Now it’s just him, cold and alone in the dark. No fires to be found.

#whumpblr #whump writing #whump #writeblr #dnd whump #the freed tiger #tigerverse #tw blood #tw violence #recovery whump #environmental whump #flashback chapter #rublewriting

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doomandgloomfromthetomb · 1 year

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Pavement - Glad I'm Not Dead

Pavement recently wrapped up a tour of Japan/Australia/New Zealand — and the reunion rolls on, with some festival dates coming up and a residency in Iceland. Not sure if they'll make it out to my neck of the woods in 2023 (who wants to pay for me to go to Iceland though???), but I'd love to catch them again — the Denver show was incredibly fun.

In the meantime, let's dig into this fantastic Anazgnos compilation "personally selected from favorite performances via fan-sourced, freely shared audience recordings." The entire repertoire — 59 songs! — is represented here. What didn't they play this time around? I feel like "Rattled By The Rush" is one of the major missing tunes, but you gotta appreciate that Pavement really dug deep into the catalog this time around.

And hey, as I mentioned last year, I was honored/privileged/shocked to be asked to contribute a little essay to Pavement's official tour program. Since that piece of merch appears to be sold out, here's that little essay ...

“What does it mean, a mistake or two?” Stephen Malkmus asked in the dead center of Slanted and Enchanted, Pavement’s 1992 debut LP. Thirty years later, it still feels like the defining question of the band’s career. From their scratchy early singles to the more polished surfaces of Terror Twilight, Pavement’s albums and live performances were filled with what, for other groups, might be called mistakes. Think of how 1994’s Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain kicks off: a cacophony of jumbled notes, off-kilter rhythms and room noise — all before launching into the majestic preamble of “Silence Kid,” the pieces magically falling into place. Think of how that same LP ends, cutting off abruptly mid-verse, incomplete but somehow completely satisfying. Pavement famously called one of their first EPs Perfect Sound Forever, but perfection was never the point. A mistake (or two) could be just as beautiful.

“Honor thy error as a hidden intention” was one of those semi-mystical koans found in Brian Eno’s legendary Oblique Strategies way back in the 1970s. In some ways, it’s an artist’s “Get Out Of Jail Free” card, saying that an accident can be framed in any he or she likes. But over the course of a decade, intentionally or not, Pavement went even further, building an entire aesthetic identity around finding the meaning in mistakes, in seemingly random lyrical connections, in opposing impulses. After all, this is a band whose breakthrough hit — “Cut Your Hair” — was a song that dealt honestly (and humorously) with the fear of having a breakthrough hit. Contradiction and complexity are the hallmarks of our age — why shouldn’t they be reflected in our music? It might be this tension that keeps Pavement relevant after all these years, with new audiences falling in love with the group, and a hotly anticipated 2022 reunion tour that sees them playing on larger stages than ever before. (Well, that and all the sweet guitar action and impossibly hook-y choruses that send you ba-ba-ba-da-ing into the night.)

“They need to try harder!” complained one of our finest music critics — a cartoon teen known only as Butt-Head — about Pavement. It was a common assertion back in the 1990s, especially when it came to the band’s live shows, with the dreaded “S” word being thrown around liberally. And sure, if you talk to anyone who caught them during their initial run, they’ll tell you about the false-starts and fuckups, the time original drummer Gary Young stopped the show to perform a drunken headstand, or the unpredictable technical difficulties that might have arisen. (True story: the first time I saw Pavement — the Hollywood Palace, September 15, 1994 — curls of ominous smoke began rising from Malkmus’ amp in the middle of the set. It was hard to tell whether SM thought this gear malfunction was frustrating or hilarious. Probably both.) But don’t be misled. Amidst the hijinks, a Pavement gig was, much more often than not, a glorious thing, offering an openness and pure flow that most bands of the era lacked entirely. Here was a rock band that eschewed rock god moves and poses, instead casually inviting fans into a musical universe that could be heavy as a thundercloud or as fun as the most fun day of your life — sometimes within the space of a single song. That welcoming spirit can still be found whenever and wherever Pavement steps onstage. The opening line of “Grave Architecture” said it all: “Come on in.”

#pavement

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moodymisty · 2 years

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Rule Breaker

Author's Note: This is totally brand new and not something I posted 2 months ago on ao3 before I made this tumblr and just revised again because I’ve improved since nooooooooo

God, Boba Fett is so ungghhhsdfsasdasd

Summary: You hadn't realized it until just now, pressed under the stare of a beskar helmet; Boba really loved using petnames for you.

Relationships: Boba Fett/Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, This is basically just filth with some scene building, Established relationship, Probably not the healthiest relationship but this is smut not relationship advice, Gratuitous overuse of the petnames 'princess and little one', Protective!Boba, Daddy kink, Oral(male receiving), Deep-throating, Messy blowjob, Hair pulling, Very light degradation, Armor/helmet kink, Semi-public sex(does a throne room count as a public place?), Clothed sex, Usage of the word 'bitch'(just being safe?) You know what you’re getting into with these tags lmao I warned you

Word count: 6454

Ao3 Link

-Nayc tigaanur: no touch(ing)

Never had you expected a bounty hunter to have so many rules.

But then again, Boba wasn’t any normal bounty hunter. That much you could gather for sure, though his lips were anything but loose when it came to those matters. Beyond that he was damn well one of the galaxy’s best, and knew it.

Most of the rules of his were relatively innocuous; Common sense. Don’t mess his ship or anything in it, no touching his armor when it’s off, and never be seen or heard in the palace when 'guests' were around, with few exceptions. Which meant this particular area, the throne room, was pretty much exclusively off limits. You’d only seen it a handful of times, and never for long.

He had insisted that last one was for your own protection; As many of those he was around were crime lords and other bounty hunters. A princess in the top of Mos Espa’s palace, he’d once said.

But curiosity always had been an insatiable beast, and soon enough you decided of your own accord to take a look around.

It was the mischievous, gleeful feeling in your chest that lead you down the halls, tip-toeing around to avoid being seen by any of the working droids. They’d rat you out for sure, if they saw.

Stepping in, you noticed Boba’s absence as expected. He'd been out wandering the city for the better part of the day, keeping an eye on things. Fennec would often accompany him, once or twice you had, but this time you’d refused. This time, it was the perfect time to snoop around where you normally weren’t allowed. Various trinkets and baubles were shoved in the corners of the room-most gifts, half-hazardously placed yet to be shoved into the vault by one of the droids. Ornamental weapons, precious metals, credits. All expensive, more than likely gifts from multiple different people. Or small crime gangs, attempting to keep their place in the ecosystem. They blended into the background enough that you hadn't noticed them before, stuck in the shadows towards the back of the room. Many in Mos Espa tried to give things to earn good favor he’d once said, with a distinct flavor of irritation on his tongue. As if it was inconvenient for him, getting such a large sum. You’d spend it, if it twisted his trousers so much; Snickering at your own joke. Fingertips dragging over the sandstone walls you peered down between the gaps of the metal grated trapdoor in the middle of the room, consciously avoiding stepping on it when you’d walked by it. You knew well enough what was down there, and you weren’t too eager to possibly wake it up. It didn’t take to long for you to path a good portion of the room, poking and prodding at anything that caught your eye. A tapestry, more than likely from Jabba’s previous reign, held your interest for longer than most, and part of you questioned if maybe Boba would let you decorate your personal room with it. The likelihood of him ever putting any use to it was slim to none, anyhow, as more than likely it would end up continuing to collect dust. You passed by it, still in the back of your head as your right hand grazes over the back of the throne. It was certainly a domineering one, solid metal and stone. A throne for a crime lord, not a prince, and it exuded an appropriate coldness to fit it’s owner.

At the top of a small set of stairs it also placed a height advantage on an already tall Boba Fett, and setting a heavy tone. You’ve seen Boba sat upon it before; Peering around the corner of the side entrance doorway or sitting on the arm of the throne and watching him speak to someone. Or more than one someone, as rarely did a person ever come to meet the Daimyo alone. That last time you’d seen it was without his knowledge, and you had fled from the doorway the second you noticed Boba’s helmet crook ever so slightly in your direction; But not enough to give away his lack of attention to the ‘guest’. His eyes had absolutely been on you; Even if you couldn't see them. Your feet had carried you to your room at a breakneck speed, unable to hide an almost devious smile on your face. Boba had found you not too long after, downright almost throwing whoever had the misfortune of speaking with him that day out of the palace. He ended up scolding you for your curiosity and nearly breaking one of his admittedly many rules, as Boba had little tolerance of insubordinate behavior. Though, you wouldn’t be lying to say the punishment wasn’t really a punishment, as his rough hands and sharp voice had done less than enough to make you truly learn your lesson. Now being an example, as you blatantly ignore it once more to have a little fun on an otherwise uninteresting day.

Tracing over the detailed metal on the back of the throne, your eyes dart upward when the silence of the room was pierced by a minutely distorted voice.

“Didn’t learn from the last time?”

He crosses his arms. “I thought you would’ve.” Looking over the back of the throne, Boba was standing in the entrance to the room, staring right at you. It only took a few long strides for him to come inward, unafraid of the trap door in the middle like you had been. He hadn't even made it to the throne before you spoke a half-hearted excuse, trying not to smile. “No one was here,” A soft shrug of your shoulders -you watched his helmet tilt slightly upwards. “And I wanted to take a look around.” Boba didn’t respond other than a hum of understanding, walking towards and up the set of steps to his throne.

His hands on his thighs he lowered himself onto it, leaning back enough that his shoulder blades were against the metal. His legs splay outward a decent bit apart, taking up a good portion of that giant slab of metal and stone. You softly step from around the back of the throne to the side, looking at the scrapes in the carved stone and wondering how its previous owners had looked in it.

It was hard to imagine, given how much Boba seemed to just become one with it; Like the palace had always been his.

Suddenly popping the bubble of your imagination however was the hard sound of his glove on the fabric of his armor; Boba patting his thigh. It was easy enough to guess what he was probably gesturing you to do, but you hesitated for a moment. Was he actually serious?

If he wasn’t serious about something however, it would be the first.

A louder slap against the harsh fabric threw you from those reeling thoughts, eyes darting to look at his helmet for a moment. He watched your eyes move from his helmet to his lap, unsure and hesitant.

But Boba was never a very patient man, his tone cut and dry. “What, do you think you’re going to break it? Sit.”

And with a slow shuffle your body moved, stepping between his spread legs and lowering down to plant your bottom on his right thigh. You didn’t quite know how or where to place your hands, balancing until his arm looped around your waist. So your hands settled at your lap, twirling the fabric over your legs. You could feel him watching, and you wavered under a gaze piercing through the visor of his helmet.

So you attempted to say something humorous; And attempt to forget about the feeling of heat rising up your neck to your face.

“I would like to make a request.” Was the first thing you could think of to say to break the tight silence, mimicking the words you hear some of his guests say with an almost sarcastic flavor to your voice. Though they were never so overt about wanting something from him, but you weren’t bargaining for the right to continue business under his rule, like they had been.

They also weren’t Boba’s favorite, even if he was always disgruntled by knowing that deep down, he gave you far more leeway than anyone else.

"If you’re willing to grant me an audience?” Boba hummed, the echo of his helmet distorting the sound ever so slightly. “And what is your request, princess?” He’d go along, play your cute little game. You could feel his hand still staying steady against your waist his fingers kept moving, fluttering up and down but with a harsh pressure. Uniquely Boba. “There’s that big tapestry behind the throne, and I want it. I think it would look nice actually being used, and not just sitting around.” The hand against your side grasps tighter, shaking slightly as if nodding in understanding. “Most people at least try to soften me up before starting to demand things.” His voice was a stoic, disproving tone, making you falter for only a moment. With a teasing smile, you raise your eyebrows expectantly. Boba showed no change in posture, at least that you noticed.

“Please?” Boba stayed completely silent and you groan, rolling your eyes and losing some of that playful expression. “Pretty please?” Nothing; Not a word. Even if he was going to joke along with you, it didn’t seem like he’d make it easy. You purse your lips and push them to the side in thought, wondering what he was trying to pull from you, even if it was endlessly amusing. Boba could only sigh, armor rustling as he adjusts his sitting position. “You are hopeless little one, if that’s how you think you’ll get the things you want.”

He clicks his cheek and squeezed the hand around your ribs for a moment. “Too damn spoiled.” It only took you blowing a raspberry to irritate Boba, watching with a firm set brow hidden behind his helmet as you threw a non-nonchalant hand. You turn away from a moment, before looking right back at him and smiling. “You're the only one that spoils me.”

You thought ‘spoiled’ was a bit of an exaggeration, but it went along with the teasing back and forth conversation you were trying to nurture. You didn’t get too many of these silly little moments with Boba. “Maybe I should stop then, if this is how you're going to be.” It was your eyes that changed first; Rolling while raising your eyebrows at him. He’d threatened that before, but he always ended up ending the game before he did, never truly serious. “Can I get my tapestry before you stop, at least? Unless you for some reason want it to sit and collect dust like everything else in the vault.”

The way his hand tightened to a clench on your waist hurt and caused you to breath in, feeling him tense under your body. Some of the gusto had left you now, feeling his demeanor suddenly change. Boba wasn’t one to back down on his word. Maybe, you were tiptoeing a little too far into the deep end. “Kark girl, ‘Yours’? A presumptuous little bitch, aren’t you?” His fingers tapped against your side, in the same way one would against the arm of a chair. “Just because you want something, doesn’t mean it’s yours to take.” Eyes glossing over his helmet, you suddenly feel more nervous under its cold stare. But you wouldn’t buckle quite yet.

“But isn’t that how you’ve always operated?” Never would you have guessed how much emotion could be relayed through a helmet completely obscuring ones face; Or maybe it was just how used you were to seeing Boba with it on. You’ve caught on to the little ticks, ones another might miss.

Leaning off the back of the throne and straight upright, the air around Boba changing as the ball for your game stayed in his court. Distinctly displeased with your tone, not even the echo of his helmet could hide his icy tone. He was bearing down on you-trying to force an obedient apology from your stubborn lips. “Ask nicely. Maybe I’ll forget you being a little brat about it.”

His hand is still firm against your side and his back and straighter, helmet tilted down at you.

The heat of Tatooine was normally suffocating, only breaking in the night to a harsh chill. But Boba set the air of the room aflame to a scorching heat despite the evening, hands firm on your body.

But you had to say it. It was on the tip of your tongue, and you had not enough self-preservation to think it maybe not the best idea. “At your age, you might just forget about it if I wait long enough.” It had slipped out of your mouth, to fast to catch it, but now you felt his hand tighten to a vice; A painful, almost bruising grip on your ribs. You’d already broken one of the admittedly many rules Boba enforced, as well as talking back like a petulant child.

"This is how you’re going to be?”

And so you’d tiptoed too far, and fell into the deep end. Sunk right to the bottom.

His left hand, the one that had been laying forgotten on your thigh, moved to grasp at your jaw. His rough, gloved fingers press against you face, forcing your cheeks slightly upward as he tilted your face to look him head on. “You’re going to regret talking to your daddy like that, little one.”

He’d never called himself that before; But goddamn, did it send the most startling jolt of lightning right between your legs. “Knees.” To busy computing what he’d just said, your eyes fluttered around the front of his helmet looking for a joking expression that wasn’t there, mouth agape like a dead fish. “Huh? I-” The hand around your waist quickly moved to your hair, gripping a fistful. With a yelp you grab at his wrist, lifting off his thigh and unable to do anything but follow, as he guided you to your knees between his legs. The hand loosened on your hair slightly, but was still unforgiving.

The stone floor was hard against your shins and knees, trying to grasp at the black fabric underneath his armor for support. Your fingers scrabbled for it, inching upwards towards the loose fabric on his thighs. What froze your movement was his other hand, moving around his body to remove the codpiece that laid tight against his groin. Once it was unlatched he tugged it away from him, landing with a clank against the right arm of the throne. With it gone, the tent in his flightsuit was quite noticeable, unimpeded by the hard beskar.

How long had he been like that? You wondered.

“Seems like you never learn your lesson. And I’m not going to repeat them again; I know you understand the rules.” Hand opening and sliding inside the groin opening of his flightsuit he fishes out his cock, glimpsing for a moment the dark patch of hair at the bottom of his stomach.

“You’re just a little brat who just likes breaking them. Do you think I’m just going to let you keep getting away with it?”

Already partly erect his tan skin was alight with a warm flush, twitching ever so slightly under your gaze. The hand still holding your hair he uses as leverage, tugging your face forward until his cock presses against your face. Lips against the underside as his cock lays over the bridge of your nose, he comments on your sudden lack of speech as your eyes look upward towards his helmet. You could just barely see some of the skin of his neck, muscles tight.

“What, now you suddenly know how to hold your tongue?”

Not answering his comment you take in a deep breath, steeling yourself against the heat taking over your body and making your cunt throb. He’d have to work to wear you down, not intent to just give it to him. But when the hand in your hair tightened, you whined through gritted teeth.

“Open.”

His grip stayed firm, going from a sharp pain to a dull, consistent ache. “Or I’ll do it myself.” Lips tight you hold firm for a moment, until you feel his hand twitch, thumb closing in on the corner of your mouth as if about to do so. Slowly your lips part with the tiniest ‘pop’, opening up just enough that he could see your tongue. His grip returns to your hair and doesn’t loosen an inch, firm as his helmet tilts slightly to the side.

“I know my princess isn’t that stupid.” He jerks his helmet upward in a tiny, quick motion. “Wider.”

With a moment of hesitation you open your mouth much wider, Boba watching the bottom whites of your eyes as you look back up at him. You weren’t moving your head on your own -in one final act of disobedience, forcing him to tug on your hair until your lips wrapped around the tip of his cock. It was hot against them, already tasting that light saltiness against the inside of your lips and the tip of your tongue.

It wasn’t a taste that stayed on just your lips, your mouth getting pushed down more and more onto his cock. It was a firm, constant pressure -testing your obedience. Once your lips were as far down his cock as you could take without gagging, Boba could feel your hands tighten on his thighs just as he reached that point; He stopped.

In and out, in and out.

Breathing through your nose your jaw was already starting to ache, glancing up to see him staring down at you. Feeling him throb in your mouth Boba was content to see your frozen hands shaking against his thighs, moaning around him. He was so close to being too much, his cock filling most of your mouth and pressing your tongue down.

“Good girl.”

Finally he moves, pulling your head away and relishing in the way you gasped for air. Spit was already trailing messily down your chin, even as your tongue wiped along your lips to try and clean them.

When Boba pushed your head down a second time it was less rough, opening your mouth to wrap around his cock again. His hand set your rhythm, bobbing up and down quick enough for you to get air in quick, sharp breaths. Sometimes you would groan, feeling him touch just barely against the roof of your mouth, teetering on the edge of too much. It kept making your eyes water, sometimes squeezing shut as Boba pushed your limits. Your nose barely brushes against the fabric of his stomach, and would’ve been against his skin if his flightsuit wasn’t in the way.

It was almost unfair the way you could barely hear him make a sound, denying you the relish of affecting him in anyway. Another part of his punishment for you, surely -as if he didn’t already know quite well you loved the way he looked in his full armor even if it prevented seeing his face. It makes your cunt throb even at the worst of times, seeing his body rigid in full Beskar while his emotionless helmet stared you down.

Watching your cheeks flush hot, jaw trying to adjust from having it open so wide for so long, lips swollen and messy, Boba dared to let out a soft hiss between gritted teeth as you whine around his cock. Pulling your mouth off of himself you cough, spit mixed with precum trailing down both corners of your mouth. You look a mess, meanwhile Boba seems barely inconvenienced. Outwardly.

“Apologize.”

Hands still desperately gripping at his flight suit you look up at him with an expression leagues away from the ones you’d given him earlier, face sloppy. You always try to disobey him when he’s like this, but he always seems to know the exactly the way to wear you down.

“I, I’m sorry.” He doesn’t change, and doesn’t seem at all pleased by your response. He continues to sit on the throne thighs spread, hard cock only just barely away from your touching your lips.

“Try again.” His hand pushes enough so that your face tilts further upward to look at him straight on, seeing your eyes look up at him. He loves the way they look; The color, the way you gaze up at him. “I’m sorry, daddy.”

The word felt odd on your lips, face feeling hot. The way it rang in a room far larger than his personal one only made it stronger -almost worried that it would reach someone who’s ears it wasn’t meant for. Boba only let out a curt hum in acknowledgment. His hand rakes your hair as he leans forward, as if almost threatening to tug it again if you answered him wrong. “Are you going to behave now, or be a spoiled little bitch again?” You give a small nod and wiped the spit from your lips before putting the hand back on him again. “Yeah, I can-” You cut yourself off before you could finish your sentence, feeling that try wouldn’t be the word he was looking for from you.

“I will, I promise.” That seems to be a satisfactory enough answer for him, eyes following as he leans back against the throne. The palm of his hand gives a light bump, forcing your head to bob forward closer to his cock for just a moment. “Good girl. Now how about you finish up.” His hand pushed the hair from your face, stopping it from obscuring your eyes as his palm cradled the side of your head for a moment. It was a gentle motion, even as he softly bopped the back of your head as if you needed guidance on where to go. He had loosened his grip a tad -content you would be obedient for the time being. It let you move your head at somewhat of your own pace, even if his hand and eyeless stare still set the tone.

You were still playing by his rules, even if he had given you a bit of leash.

You gently move your tongue upward along the large vein underside his cock before your lips wrap fully around him again, taking not a small amount of satisfaction from hearing him finally let out a breath harsh enough to hear. He was always so composed in comparison to you, making it always a delight to pull each little moan from him. You certainly had a fair share of your own, even if they were muffled by your mouth being full.

It wasn’t helping that your mind was cloudy, looking over what parts of Boba you could easily see, and pondering.

Thighs squeezing together in an attempt to lessen the feeling of your cunt throbbing between your legs, it proved to be almost negligible against that insistent, empty ache. It was obvious when you moved that you were wet, so much so that your underwear were probably well seeped through.

One hand still gripping tight at the black fabric of his flightsuit the other started traveling downward, wanting to place it elsewhere. To slip in into your underwear, touching yourself while you sucked him off. You thought you’d almost gotten away with it too -slipping down his leg disguised as a tender touch, but Boba had keen eyes. His leg jerked to throw your hand off, hand tightening in your hair. A soft noise of surprise slipped from between the seal of your lips, cock still halfway in your mouth. “Hands off yourself. You enjoy this too much already.”

He could tell the way your eyes looked up at him they were almost distracted, foggy with want as your head pulled up and almost off his cock, before going right back down to the base again. The flush of your face had traveled down your neck, entire body flourished in an inconsolable heat -while Boba’s upper body leaned every so slightly forward, almost covering your whole body in his shadow.

“But if you ask nicely little one,” He could so easily see how you felt, from the wanton look in your eyes and the vice grip of your hands, and the way your mouth wrapped tightly around his cock moaning with almost each bob of your head.

“Later I might just give it to you.” Boba let out a one note chuckle at the whine you made, tongue lapping against the tip of his cock. You could feel him twitching in your mouth, the salty taste of precum coating your taste buds. He was so close, hand tightening in your hair once again and forcing you to not move as much, tongue flattening against the bottom of his cock. It was easy to hear on his words, speaking with almost a slight breathlessness to them.

“As much as I’d like to cum in that cute little pussy of yours, this’ll have to do.” That empty ache persisted between your legs, cunt pleading to you as you pressed your thighs together like a vice. It wasn’t even a fraction enough to satisfy the way your body was screaming to be fucked, nails digging in to his legs while Boba was intent to torture you.

But gods the way he looked while doing it, upper body taut underneath his armor while a gloved hand raked through your hair against an aching scalp. When his body suddenly leaned up and back, the armor on his back clanging against the throne, you watched his helmet tip upward slightly.

“Dank farrik,”

Even if muffled by the helmet you could still hear his soft groans, Hand tugging at the roots of your hair. It sounded like he’d mumbled something else, though you failed to catch it. With a soft pop you unsealed your lips pulled back just enough around the head of his cock, so that he didn’t cum directly down your throat. A blessing, hot cum pooling in the pocket of your cheek instead. Your mouth quickly overfilled as you attempted to swallow, gulping down a large amount mixed with an overabundance of your own spit.

He felt your mouth move around him, accidentally brushing against skin already afire with sensations. You could just barely hear the echo of harsh breathing, mostly muffled by his helmet as he came down from the afterglow and his cock slowly softened in your mouth. Tensed muscles had since relaxed, his shoulders less firmly set. But almost as quickly as he had lost his composure he gained it, pulling back off the throne and leaning forward. One hand cupped the side of your jaw, while the other moved downward.

“What a waste.”

A thumb brushing across your lip he wipes away the remnants of spit and his own cum, pulling your lip slightly along as he does. “I’m sure you’d like my cock somewhere else, wouldn’t you.”

You didn’t respond, though it wasn’t like he needed much of an answer, anyways; Given they way you were still so obviously desperate. He let your mouth pull away from his cock, cleaning himself up and fixing his flightsuit by the time you’d wiped your lips clean. For a moment you’d forgotten you were in the area you were, and didn’t exactly have the upmost privacy. Having a look over your shoulder the sheer amount of open room suddenly made you feel more than a little exposed, shuffling back and forth on sore knees. When you turned back and looked up at his helmet, there was a hand gesturing upward. Your brain was still quite foggy, almost missing what he said. “Come up here, princess.” Standing up and wincing at the way your knees almost seemed to fight it, you moved quite slowly to crawl onto the throne. It was easy enough to sit on his thighs, legs bent on either side. The throne was large enough where space was plentiful, and it didn’t feel like your legs were cramped in between his and the arms of the throne. Boba’s hands rested on the small of your back, loose over one another. He only moved one to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear, the rough fabric scratching your skin; Before moving it right back. It felt nice, but not as nice at it would've felt somewhere else. But his gaze remained unreadable through the visor of his helmet, even as your hands trailed up his chest. It wasn’t necessary a sensual touch, as they reached the tiny bit of exposed skin between his black cloth under his Beskar, and the seal of his helmet. You trailed them along his skin, back and forth, feeling the scars underneath your fingertips. It was silent request to remove the helmet -provided he was willing. His hands left your back, reaching up to click a hidden latch- at least hidden to you, and release the seal of the helmet. It pulled off in one smooth motion, brown eyes locking on you as he sat it on the arm of the throne. It hit the metal with a soft ‘clink’, looking over the room with a quick glance before going to you. When you leaned in Boba didn’t object to the soft kiss you laid against his lips, leaning forward as his hands returned to their previous spot. They gripped at the fabric of your clothing, even as he stayed almost completely silent.

“There will be more people in the palace soon.” The way he said ‘people’ with the flavor of distaste on his tongue was amusing -you wouldn't have needed to see his face to know how he felt.

“I guess I should take my leave then? Or can I steal some of your dinner too?” Surprisingly, Boba didn’t bite on your little quip, only responding to your first question. While your eyes darted around his face, you could feel his hands on you tighten even slightly. You hadn’t even made the tiniest movement to leave yet. You didn't exactly want to either, but unable to help the small adjustment of your hips as the way your were sitting proved to be a little too distracting. He hadn’t put his codpiece on quite yet, and you could feel the way he was pressing against your clothed cunt.

“We have a bit yet, little one. How about you-” His head jerked away from you, hearing the sound of chatter and clanging of metal down the opposite hallway you’d entered from. What cued the two of you in was mostly the sound of one of the droids making a fuss, Boba letting out a tired sigh.

Damn, seems Boba’s guests decided to arrive on time, for once. Quickly he ushered you to move until you were sitting in the position you’d been previously, despite your noise of discontent, on his right thigh torso perpendicular to his. Once more his arm wrapped around your waist, caged in the same obvious fashion as before as he fixed his armor to perfection. A protocol droid, new to the palace -you remember because that one in particular had been an absolute pain in the ass to clean up and get working, ushered the guests in before tootling away to another corner of the room until it was of further use. One hand grasping the back of the rim, Boba was able to deftly slip the helmet on before they entered the throne room fully. “You’re all back awfully soon.”

Helmet trained on the one in the middle of the pack, they slowly moved until standing almost completely in front of the throne; Only slightly off from dead center. Three men; Two human and one rodian. They didn’t exactly look like anyone of real renown, but gang leaders and their lackeys never much had job security on Tatooine, given the amount of in-fighting. The apparent leader of the trio, at least at this time, engaged in a small bit of pleasantly to try and appease Boba for arriving completely unannounced.

So these weren’t the people Boba was expecting.

Those pleasantries got cut off however as Boba simply circled a hand lazily through the air.

“Get on with it.” But by the time they had, you were already zoning out most of what they were saying. Instead you grazed a finger subtly over the armor on Boba’s arm, feeling the scars of wear underneath a layer of relatively fresh paint. If he’d noticed you doing it his helmet wasn’t turned enough to signal it, but you knew more than likely he was watching you. Someone else was as well clearly, as when you looked up, one of Boba’s guests apparently hadn’t found the current, mostly one sided conversation interesting enough. The younger of the two humans wasn’t bashful in showing his eyes were on your rather than the Daimyo; and in an act of equally obvious nature, Boba took his left hand and laid it extremely high on your left thigh. His thumb was almost brushing against your cunt, fingers slid deep between the soft flesh of both your legs. His hand was quite tight, looking over to see his tense shoulders. It wasn’t the first time someone had circled around trying to scavenge something of Boba’s; And it wasn’t the first time he’d been incredibly possessive.

Boba always despised the former, and would bite at any plucky young man who tried to sniff around you.

It seemed in an act of pure irritation at anyone taking too long of a leer at you, Boba decided you’d be better off elsewhere. You didn’t want to leave in all honestly, having gotten quite comfortable in what you’d now consider your knew favorite spot on his thigh. His head jerked in the direction of the doorway, to the hall that led past the kitchens and eventually, to your personal room. Not that you ever used it. Afterwards he looked right at you, thumb brushing across the edge of your underwear in a soft motion only known by the two of you. “I’ll be there in a bit, princess.” When you moved to slip off his thigh he suddenly tightened for a moment, leaning in close to your ear. You could feel the cold metal barely ghost against your cheek. “Nayc tigaanur.” Even if your mando’a was sparse, learning from hearing, it was quite easy to figure what he was telling you not to do.

You’d listen, but you certainly wouldn’t be happy about it.

Slipping off his thigh your shoes now fully hit the sandy stone floor, his hands sliding off of you. You’d mourn their loss, quickly racing down the two stone steps and past the ‘guests’. The one still had his eye on you, but they left the moment Boba cleared his throat.

When he’d be done was a mystery, but as you left, his tone had a distinct coat of irritation to it; Even with most of the words being unintelligible. Something told you he wouldn’t be far behind, almost knocking into a random droid as you jogged down the hall.

But once you got to your own room, you stopped. Turning to the right and looking down the hall, you could see the turn in the hall that would lead up the stairs to Boba’s own room. His was far more grand than your own, so you decided to sneak in there instead. It wasn’t like you spent much time in yours anyways. Having already gotten in trouble once for sneaking around, it didn’t seem like much harm to do it again.

After taking the steps up the door was heavy against your hands as you pushed it open, rough scarred metal against your palms. Inside was a much grander and cleaner area than most of the palace, fitted with a few conveniences besides the large bacta tank. Like a normal bed, which was far larger than your own and sat in the back of the room.

You always loved that bed; It was so, incredibly comfortable. And it looked even more comfortable now, as you were constantly trying to keep distracted and not acknowledge the ache between your legs.

Turning on a heel eyes grazing over the walls you spotted a blaster on a table, mostly in pieces. It caught your interest enough to pick it up, rolling the pieces around in your fingers. They were cleaned, but well used and worn probably, at least what you would consider, beyond repair. Boba seemed to think different however, given it looked as if he was in the process of repairing it. Perhaps it had sentimental value, you didn’t quite know.

“Now why did I know you’d be in here. Keep yourself entertained?” Boba stood in the doorway, before taking one step inward and closing it behind him.

“Didn’t have enough time to get bored; I thought you’d be a little longer, honestly.” He really had worked fast downright almost throwing them out of the palace, his helmet tilted to face you right on and sending a shiver down your spine. It seemed whoever actually had wanted to meet with him would end up getting the short end of the stick. The dark room did little to hide the way your face re-heated as he walked towards you, taking off his helmet and sitting in on his armor stand with a soft ‘thump’.

Your eyes followed him all the way until he stepped behind you; Chest armor against your back. His hand wrapping around your wrist and squeezing, it was just barely enough to make you drop the metal piece in your hand. While leaned down to tuck his chin in the crook of your neck, you feel his lips whisper against your jaw and light fire against your skin. He has you trapped between him and the table, his codpiece pressed against your ass.

‘Even though you hadn’t been been good, daddy would still reward you,’ Those soft words mumbled into your skin. He wouldn’t miss the way you caught a small noise in your throat, rubbing your lips together.

“Come, little one; Let your old man take care of you.”

#mywriting #boba fett x reader #reader insert #reader #boba fett/reader #TBOBF

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scarlet-moonlight · 5 months

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HEARTSTEEL members (+Alune) and the Overwatch characters I think they would main/What type of player they are (I need to cope with the shitty games Ive been getting recently and I’m doing it by combining my two biggest hyperfixiations at the moment), semi serious and not serious at the same time lol, a lot of these are based on my own personal experiences playing this game (Especially Kayn)

(Also I’m using the black/bold for Ksante because tumblr doesn’t have yellow and purple for Alune because while I think pink suits her, Kayn already has it and no member uses purple)

Ezreal

-Kiriko and Moira main. Only picks the female characters because they have the cutest skins. Never actually healing you, and if he is, its only so that he can get ult and then solo DPS the entire team even though it never works out. Still 1v5’ing the enemy team even without his ult because he thinks it can look good on his tiktok montages (Yes he’s one of THOSE TikTok Moira’s) Went absolutely ballistic over the LE SSERAFIM skins and only spams their emote all game

Kayn

-Junkrat main, loves doing that cool thing that Junk players do where they jump into a group of enemies and ults RIGHT in the middle of them. Loves playing payload maps on defense cause he can spam the attackers spawn gate with mines and traps as soon as the game starts (That little shit) Very toxic in voice chat, will take his time to tbag every player he kills so it can look good on the kill cams, spams the “its snowing” voiceline everywhere (Overwatch players, you know what I’m talking about) will absolutely flame his supports for not healing them when HES THE ONE JUMPING INTO THE ENEMY TEAM IN THE FIRST PLACE (And yet only plays quick play/arcade modes because competitive players scare him lol)

Sett

-Ana main because she reminds him of his mama Unlike Ezreal, he actually knows how to heal his team. Occasionally finds himself tossing a nade at nothing accidentally or even worse, pressing Q out of panic and nano boosting the Lucio or smth. Got flamed by his teammates (*ahem* Kayn) and still feels really bad about it. Almost always caught in a 1v1 against the Widow or Ashe he thinks he can win (He does not) Never actually uses his scope and just shoots at people randomly to heal them, cause he’s too lazy to practice his aim.

K’Sante

-Zarya main, fits his vibe for some reason. He actually knows how to defend his team. Started off as a casual player, (isn’t that much of a video game person in general,) but liked how everyone else had fun on this game and wanted to do better for their sake. Got surprisingly good at it too. Very smart with his bubble and grav placements. The only one who actually plays the game normally, I swear.

Yone

-An old man who does not have time for video games, only plays because Ezreal and Kayn roped him into it and he couldn’t say no. Super basic, only playing Soldier 76 because that was the first character given to him by the tutorial and he’s too lazy to practice anyone else. Pretty good with his aim and left click but just…does not do anything else besides that. Does not sprint to try and chase people, does not use his Helix Rockets, does not use his biotic field, just..stands there spamming left click cause thats all he knows how to do.

Aphelios

-Casual support enjoyer by day, tryhard Genji and Hanzo main by night. Does the most INSANE Dragonblades with Genji, nano boost or not. Flanking entire back lanes with just his dash alone, deflecting ults like no tomorrow. Knows every map, every shortcut, every health pack location, its TERRIFYING. Even more so when he’s playing Hanzo, WILL one shot you from the most bullshit corners you didn’t even know existed WILL two tap you with storm arrow (Sometimes just one) and WILL somehow get at least a 3k from an extremely well placed Dragonstorm. Its insane. (Also he plays Kiriko as a support but with the way he kills people with her, you think he was playing a sniper. Ezreal could only dream to be like him)

Alune

-Mei main. Also just out of vibe. Almost always spending money on her favorite skins and emotes for her (Sprinkles is her personal favorite) Also a casual player. Really good at sniping with her secondary fire though, so watch out. Ults are also super satisfying. Knows the best places to throw them to at least freeze the entire team for its duration. Ice Walls are always perfectly timed to protect you from ults, including several RIP-Tires from Kayn (Much to his rage and anger) Has some scary combos with her ult and Genji blade from Phel.

#heartsteel #league of legends #overwatch 2 #overwatch #heartsteel aphelios #heartsteel alune #heartsteel ezreal #heartsteel sett #heartsteel k'sante #heartsteel kayn #heartsteel yone #i spent a solid 20 minutes on this this was too fun #me and alune are besties #(im an mei main and sprinkles is my favorite skin for her)#phe i love you but i am not gonna look past you being a hanzo main (as a zen player who cant outrun his arrows)

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sunspray-peak · 1 year

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Ch. 28: Knock Knock, It’s Eddie Bloomsbury

MONDAY - FALL 1

Achilles was not a man who liked to greet anyone pantsless. And to merely toss on a robe to cover one’s semi-nude sleep garb was pushing it.

If Achilles were truly honest with himself (which he very rarely was) these concerns had perhaps less to do with manners and more to do with the deep rooted sense of vulnerability from which he found himself constantly on the run. But one could scarcely be expected to confess that little factoid, so as he finally hurtled out the door after wrestling himself into a pair of joggers and a sweater, it was to the tune of an overzealous apology for keeping Shane waiting.

“Had to get dressed… bit of an eager beaver this morning, are we?” Achilles said, stifling a yawn as he squinted through the pre-dawn light. “Still quite dark out.”

Neither apologies nor logic could soothe a determinedly disgruntled Shane, who was sitting on the porch stairs, thin lips pursed in an impatient pout. A hoe and watering can rested on the steps below.

“Hmph. You said you’d be out today. Thought I’d try to catch you before you left.”

“Right. Sure… Well, I see you’ve got a shovel already… will you be needing anything else before I head out?”

“It’s a hoe.”

“Pardon?”

“It’s a hoe.”

“Well, that’s rude.”

“What?”

“Never mind. Bad joke.” Achilles took a seat next to Shane to better feign the eye contact he knew Shane wouldn’t give. “If you want to leave a shopping list for me, I can purchase whatever you need when I get back, although that won’t be until tomorrow. Alternatively, I can reimburse you for any costs when I return. Or perhaps you can ask Pierre for an IOU, I suppose he of all people should be happy someone’s finally farming…”Achilles’ nose began to twitch at the thought.

Shane merely grunted.

To fill the silence—now, wasn’t Shane supposed to be excited—Achilles checked his watch. “Well. You just let me know. I’ve got a few minutes, is there anything I can do in the mean time?”

Shane rose from the steps and Achilles swiftly followed. Together, they gazed out at the farmland, calm and cool in the shadow. After a beat, Shane rose a hairy hand and gestured to beyond the pond.

“Figured I could plant down there, behind the water. It’d be closer to me, farther from your house. Won’t bother ya as much that way.”

“Right. Sure, works for me, man.”

At Achilles’ approval, Shane picked up the hoe and made his way down the porch steps and past the now-blooming flower beds Achilles had planted two seasons ago before turning halfway around.

“You comin’?”

Achilles hesitated for just a moment, glancing at his watch again before padding down the stairs. Shane better not expect him to get down in the dirt. These joggers were, believe it or not, made more for lounging…

There were a handful of weeds that had cropped up since Achilles weekly clean up a few days ago, but in general, the land seemed good and ready for planting. Not that Achilles would know. But Shane at least seemed satisfied, nodding intently after getting down low to rub some dirt between his fingers.

After this little inspection, Shane offered Achilles the hoe.

“Pardon?”

“Thought maybe you should break ground first. It’s your farm.”

“Oh.”

Achilles hadn’t expected this degree of sentimentality from Shane of all people—in all honesty, it had caught him a bit off guard, and perhaps that’s why, instead of saying no, he found himself taking the tool, gripping it in his hands like he had seen Alex hold the axe back in the Spring. What a lifetime ago that had been…

Now he wasn’t sure if hoe-ing demanded the same stance; logically, given what the two tools were used for, it probably very much didn’t. But Shane wasn’t correcting him. Though then again, he wasn’t sure if Shane would correct him—would probably just silently ridicule and watch in smug, poker faced amusement instead. Well. He sure wasn’t going to prod that judgmental attitude for any help, and so after think what the hell, Achilles clumsily swung the hoe over his head into the dirt.

“A thing like that.” Hand on his hips, Achilles looked down into the shallow little hole he had made. He handed the hoe back to Shane. “We’ve broken ground. All yours, now.”

*****

At 6:00am Achilles left for the bus stop, two empty suitcases in hand. Summer seemed to have utterly disappeared without even the slightest trace; the Fall air was crisp and cool, and the leaves had already begun to turn orange.

“Hey there! School’s back in session?”

Penny, dressed neatly in a orange pencil skirt that brought out the red in her bun, was also waiting for the bus and had given him a small wave as he approached. A leather messenger bag was slung across her narrow shoulders.

“Oh yes! I always do love the excitement of the first day… just have a few last minute things to set up…”

“For sure, makes sense. So sorry, what is it you teach again?”

Achilles hadn’t spoken to Penny one on one much before, despite the fact that she seemed closest to him in age out of everyone else in the town. Aside from the occasional group small talk and the elderflower soda introduction, their typical exchanges featured only polite smiles and nods.

“Oh yes!” she said again. “I teach at Meteor Elementary. In Moonmist. Third grade.”

“That’s a good grade,” Achilles said, nodding. “Not quite old enough to be brats yet, I suppose, but old enough to have some sense of self-awareness. How do you like it?”

Penny giggled. “They’re good kids.”

Either she hadn’t heard Achilles’ tailing question, or she simply didn’t feel inclined to answer. In a town full of one too many extroverts, Penny had always seemed more reserved, clinging quietly to the more talkative Maru or Alex or Sam at festivals.

Always sticking to the sidelines, Penny had seemed almost determined to make as little impact on him as possible, to fade into the background—though it was only fair to say that he hadn’t gone out of his way to make much of an effort to be noticed by her, either.

Well, no response was fine. The waking birds diving to and fro above them were creating enough of a ruckus to render any silence between them somewhat comfortable.

“Actually Achilles…” He looked from the birds back over to Penny, who had taken a single step closer to him. Her hands tightly gripped the strap of her messenger bag, and he was bizarrely reminded of Shane with his Joja cap.

“I was wondering if you would ever like to come by the school as a guest speaker,” she began. “We have the Henry Spector books in the class library and the kids every year love them…”

Love them? Oh, well now you’re talking my language, I’ll do whatever—

“For sure!” Hadn’t taken even a heartbeat of hesitation. “More than happy to.”

“We actually have the students write a story of their own every Fall. It’s an annual project for the third grade. I know you must be busy—

Good joke, Penny!

“—but if you ever have a spare day, I’d love if you could stop by and speak to the class about being a writer.”

Achilles bit his lip. Yoba, he was turning into Alex… So Penny was hoping for more than a glorified book signing, huh? She and Elliott should start a club… “How to Get Writing Advice from a Non-Writer.” Because, despite his little late night shindig a few days ago, he wasn’t one anymore. Not really.

Then again, it was third grade. He’d probably be showing them how to use quotation marks.

“Sure, I’d be… honored. Just give me the date and time, I’m flexible.”

Penny giggled again, her hand raised in front of her mouth. “Oh wonderful, thank you so much! I know everyone will be so excited! Maru’s stopped by in the past, too, and the students had such a wonderful time learning from her.”

At that moment, the taxi Achilles had called the night before pulled up with an unnecessary honk.

“Oh!” Penny remarked as Achilles started forward. “Where are you going?”

“Just Hyacinthia. Didn’t want to take the bus again, it’s a rough route.”

“Back to Hyacinthia!”

“It’s just for the day—my cousin’s been storing some things I left behind and is very eager for me to take it all back…”

“Oh thank goodness, I was worried you were leaving us!” Penny moved to follow him. “Everyone in the Valley has loved having you here, Achilles, we were all so glad when you decided to stay.” She gave him a sweet smile before closing the trunk for him. “Have a good trip!”

*****

Somewhat high on painkillers leftover from his pneumonia (definitely not the best decision, but neither Harvey nor his therapist were there to yell at him), Achilles passed the 8 hour taxi ride in startling speed and relative comfort. By 4pm he was back in the weeds of Hyacinthia. His home for six years.

And oh how he detested it! He was surprised to see how intensely disgusted he was by the traffic and the smell. Nauseating. His stomach was already turning flips.

The air was so much thicker than he remembered—smog, piss, and smoke, all seeping into his clothes and pores. And loud! A paisley-tied businessman yelling into his phone as he shoved Achilles to the side. A tourist family arguing in tense tones. College students chattering about their newest class schedules. Hell, probably quadruple the number of Stardew’s total population was currently charging along the small side street he was walking along.

Something wet touched his cheek as he rolled his suitcases over gum-stuck cement through one of the many eternal tunnels of scaffolding. Strange. There wasn’t a single cloud in the sky. He was about to look up to investigate when he thought better of it and trundled on, turning north.

Outside the double glass doors of easily the most ostentatious apartment building on the street, he rang Suite #1100 and was quickly buzzed in. A quick nod to the doorman, then up the elevator to the 11th floor… My goodness, it had been awhile since he had even been in an elevator (not including the hell hole that was in the mines), let alone in a building with more than three levels…

A melodic ding! His sneakers felt odd in the plush carpet as he took a step out into the hall. Carpet! Another thing he hadn’t realized he had been missing. Combined with the ornate sconces and stained glass that illuminated the walls pink, it all felt rather stuffy.

There were only two doors, both white and neatly labeled in gold. He knocked on the one to his left. After a minute (typical of her to keep him waiting…), it opened.

“ACHILLES! You’re HERE!”

“Cam!”

A beautiful woman with long, thick black hair and perfectly manicured nails waved him inside with a squeal. “Oooh! Achilles! I can’t believe it’s been two seasons! Come in, come in! Take your shoes off—”

He followed her down the marble-floored foyer into a very, very white sitting room. “Here, sit down, let me get you a drink—that must’ve been a long ass car ride.”

Achilles took a seat on one of the very, very white sofas.

“Your stuff is in the guest room, haven’t touched it, don’t worry.” She tip toed back into the room from the kitchen, a glass of champagne in each of her hands.

“What the hell are you wearing those for?” Achilles nodded at her bright pink stilettos after taking the glass. “I mean, listen, I’m honored, but you didn’t have to do all that for me—”

“Like hell I’m doing it for you.” She slapped his arm with a richly, ring-adorned hand. “I’ve got a dinner tonight, I thought I told you—”

“Yoba, Cam, that hurt—”

“Aw, poor baby, want me to kiss it, will that make you feel better?” Nevertheless, she smoothly slid her rings off and set them upon the end table. Ignoring Achilles’ dark mutters about toxic grandparent-ing , she then kicked off the stilettos and curled herself in an arm chair just as a ginormous, fluffy cat bounded into her lap. “Tell me everything. How is the farm? Never thought I’d see the day you’d willingly choose to move to the coastal backwater of Ferngill…”

“It’s not the backwater… you should actually come out, it’s… quite nice.”

“Seriously, Perry’s shown me pictures. What’s keeping you there? A man? Are you being held hostage? Blink twice.”

Rather than blink at all, Achilles rolled his eyes and took a sip from the glass. “When’s the last time I ever did something for a man, Cam. Well, actually, ok, there is a guy—”

“A ha! There’s always a guy. So when do I get to—”

“—but it’s nothing. He’s definitely not ‘keeping me there.’ We’re talking about me, remember, not you. I’m serious—don’t give me that face, he’s just a friend. A straight friend.”

“Ah…”

“No, I just… I just feel better there.” Achilles found himself biting his lip again, and gave his glass a little swirl as he tucked his own feet onto the couch. “Sure, it was an… adjustment—didn’t have a bath tub that first week—but really. It’s… not bad. The weather’s nicer. The people are… nicer… It’s quiet.”

“Exactly my point. It’s quiet.”

“I don’t know, Cam, it’s not as quiet as you’d think, and I really think I’ve… learned to like it. It’s all been surprisingly good for my anxiety.”

“Oh, really? Well if that’s the case…” Camille raised her glass. “To living your best life. Speaking of which…”

She set her glass, now half-empty, down on the crystal coffee table between them. “Now that you’re not slaving your way through corporate anymore, I have to ask. What are you doing out there?”

Here it was. Hopefully Camille would deliver on advice… the problem with Camille though was that you could never ask her directly, or she’d wave you away with many a “don’t ask me, what do I know?” But, as the two oldest cousins in the family, Achilles had grown up under her wing, and over the years, learned the best way to wheedle any sort of guidance out of her.

Achilles set his glass down on the table as well. “Blowing through my savings. I actually started renting out my farm today. Well, not renting, we cut some sort of deal…”

“Very capitalistic of you, I’m impressed. What a long way you’ve come.”

“Yeah, well—”

“What else have you been up to? I know you of all people aren’t just sitting idle on your porch watching your tenants plant spinach.”

Achilles made sure to squirm extra as he repositioned himself into a more comfortable position. “Oh… nothing much…”

“Good joke. Seriously, tell me. I won’t judge. Give me the link to the OnlyFans, I’ll even throw you a dollar, won’t watch it of course, but—”

“I am serious. I’m fresh off a Summer of rest and relaxation, baby.” He accompanied the words with a pair of finger guns which he proceeded to shoot at the crystal chandelier hanging from above them. “Dabbled with spirits. Learned to swim.”

“Oh woooow, really? Good for you, you little bastard. It’s about time—”

“—to be honest, though, there isn’t much to do out in the Valley. I’ve… had some trouble. Figuring out what I should do.”

Camille studied him closely, her blue eyes comically narrowed. Perhaps she could smell his desperation for advice, for she took a few minutes to silently pet the cat purring in her lap before finally saying, “Well what do I know? I don’t live there—”

“I’m doing a free guest speaker series at the local elementary school on writing,” Achilles rushed to say before his cousin chose to totally shut down. It was the first thing that had come to his mind. Ok, it wasn’t a series, but Camille didn’t need to know that. Although maybe it could turn into one, if the kids were interested enough… he’d have to talk to Penny…

“You haven’t written in years.”

“I mean, yeah, I know…”

“Not to say you’re unqualified, especially for six year olds, don’t get me wrong…”

“No I know…” Achilles swirled his champagne glass yet again, watching the tiny bubbles pop. “I did start writing something a few days ago, actually.”

“O ho! Did you now? Perfect. You can beta test it with the six year olds.”

“They’re nine thanks, it’s third grade… no, it’s… adult stuff.”

“Like adult stuff or like, adult adult stuff—“

“Just regular adult stuff—bitch, you know I’m that last person to write erotica.” Achilles thought darkly of the paperbacks Shane had gifted him that were now sitting in a box in back corner of his closet.

“Interesting. You know, given how it all went down. But hey, good for you—I’ll let you in on a family secret, actually—we all always figured you’d go back to writing some day, but I always assumed it’d be the kid stuff.”

“Well according to Eddie Bloomsbury, if I actually wanted to be taken “seriously” as an author, kid lit was not the way to—”

At these words, Camilles jumped from her armchair, sending the cat skirting across the rug and behind Achilles’ sofa. She threw our her pointer finger and exclaimed, “You say that name one more time in this house—”

“I just got here—”

“Yeah, exactly, which should tell you how sick I am of hearing that bastard’s name, you fuck. It was one review, Achilles! One review—”

“I only ever had that one book for him to review, Gilliterate wasn’t out there reviewing Henry Spector, now was it—”

“—and it was six years ago! Eddie Bloomsbury is dead and got MeToo-ed, I cannot believe you are still, after all this time, letting him live rent free in your head like this—”

“—I was just mentioning him in passing. Eddie Bloomsbury was the chief book critic of Ferngill’s #1 Literary Magazine—”

“—like knock knock, who’s there, oh it’s Eddie Bloomsbury, sorry Achilles’ not here, but I can take a message because we actually share a house—”

“I repeat, he was the chief book critic of Gilliterate—”

“—okay, and who gives a flying fuck you fuck, the book was reviewed fine by all the other magazines—”

“—he said I was a shit writer, Cam, the chief book critic —”

“—I don’t think the ‘chief book critic’ of Gilliterate would use that kind of language—”

“Okay, no. What he actually said was, and I quote, ‘One could perhaps forgive Desrosiers’ significant lack of both skill and potential were he capable of at least landing what should be Apparition’s biggest scares. Unfortunately, his adult debut is more slog than stimulation, ultimately lacking of any literary merit. Alas, it will take more than his mediocre middle grade series to earn Desrosiers a place beside his father in the annals of great writers.”

He had held himself together up until the last sentence, when his voice had betrayed him with a crack. Pathetic. Yoba. Maybe Camille was right. It had been six years, why did he still care?

When Achilles had finished his recitation, Camille only shook her head, half in sympathy, half in scorn, and said, “I cannot believe you have that memorized.” She paused, returning to the armchair. “Also, did he really use the word ‘alas?’ Also again—Uncle Perry writes for television, you can’t even compare—Achilles, that wasn’t a well thought out review at all, why are you—”

“Yeah, well…”

“Look, I’m just going to say this one more time. Forget Eddie Bloomsbury. He was just one guy. You need to move on. Find a new hobby.”

“It wasn’t a hobby, it was my career—”

“You were 21 years old, you were barely able to drink. Career my ass. All this pressure you were putting on yourself, it wasn’t worth it. Sure, you peaked early. Doesn’t mean you can’t peak again. Go back to BRLO, you were killing it there.”

“I was also killing myself there, if you remember.”

“Seems to be a habit no matter what you’re doing with your life.”

“Ha ha, very funny…”

“If not BRLO, then something else, then. Anything else. Take a look at the classifieds.”

“The classifieds? I don’t know if I’d find what I want there, Cam, some of us want… more untraditional routes.”

At this, Camille scoffed, tossing her hair behind her shoulder in a well-practiced flip. “You mean routes that can actually lead to fame and not just fortune? You know, sometimes I have to take a step back and think about how weird it is that I’m the black sheep of the family just because I decided to get a normal day job. You can’t always get what you want, Achilles. Fuck doing what you ‘want’ to do, what does that even mean? Just find a job.”

“Very capitalistic of you.”

“Oh ha ha, very funny… speaking of family, have you spoken to your parents lately?”

A pivot in topic—Achilles knew that was as much as he’d get out of Camille today. He could maybe push her a bit more… but there was an edge to Camille’s gaze that Achilles was all too familiar with. She was, really, the only person in his life who could ever bully him like that. Well. That was it for advice. The conversation, he had to accept, was over.

“Yeah, of course. Why?”

“My dad said they were thinking of visiting this coast some time, did they mention it to you?”

“No, not yet.”

“Whoops, forget I told you, maybe it was supposed to be a surprise. Blues Street Arcade and Way it Was are both finishing up soon, though, right?”

“Yeah, not until Winter though, set’ll shut down for the holiday…”

*****

They continued to chat for an hour or so before Camille had to leave for her charity dinner.

“Everything should be in here, right where you left it.” She flicked on the lights of the guest room. “Make yourself at home, I took it upon myself to order some Red Cactus for you because I’m just such a great cousin, it’s in the fridge. Probably won’t be back until late, don’t stay up.”

She kissed him on the cheek before taking a moment to brush some errant cat hairs off her gown and toss on her stilettos before scurrying out the door. Camille may have escaped the fame bug gene, but scurrying, apparently, ran through the family.

*****

The spare room had only three boxes in it. Achilles hadn’t had much he’d wanted to keep after breaking his old apartment lease.

Old work clothes and shoes. His two Clio trophies, awards he’d won for his work in advertising. Two family photos. A stuffed duck. A framed picture of the Ferngill Times crossword puzzle that had been published on his birth day, a gift from Camille three years ago.

One box was devoted entirely to books and old comics, plus a number of old notebooks half-scrawled with half-baked stories. His old typewriter, however, was glaringly absent from this box that, of the three, was his only connection to the writing world.

Not a surprise. He knew very well what had happened to it. About two years after he had quit writing for good, after his first promotion at BRLO, he had tossed the thing in the trash and lit it on fire. It had sputtered a bit in rather anticlimactic glory.

One of his few impulsive decisions. And one he had regretted immediately after.

It had been a beautiful typewriter—a gift from his parents, of course. Vintage in appearance only (he had to commit to the aesthetic after all). A beautifully rich sapphire blue with silver keys and a trackpad, for in addition to its traditional capabilities, it had also been able to connect to a computer.

Where its mangled remains were now, he had no idea. Not that it mattered. What was he doing these days to deserve it, anyway.

He spent ten minutes trying to decide if he’d keep the Clios or not. On one hand, he loved a trophy—a testament to hard work and talent. On the other hand, they were relics from an old life he’d been trying this whole year to escape.

Just let it go…

He stuffed them in the suitcase. Perhaps he’d keep them in a box under the bed.

The notebooks he packed much more neatly. He’d get Camille to mail the hardcovers, they were much too heavy to lug around. The paperbacks fit easily, though, as well as the comic books.

How far times had come, he thought to himself, as he glanced at the cover of Nimbus’ Issue #87, which featured the weather controlling superhero locking lips with Meg Maizel atop a skyscraper.

He hadn’t kept up with either the comics or the (short-lived) animated series over the past 20 or so years, but only last season had he seen a small news article sharing that Nimbus was now getting it on with none other than his friend/sidekick, Zedd Finch. That made Nimbus MD Comics’ first queer superhero.

Could they have made an entirely new character? Yeah, sure. Did MD Comics pick one of their least popular mainstream superheroes? Absolutely, but was that really a surprise? Baby steps, he supposed. Achilles wouldn’t complain too much. Zedd had been his favorite growing up, and least popular superhero or not, it was about time. It was the Year XXXX! Perhaps someone ought to tell George.

*****

With a cat purring in his lap, Achilles ate his microwaved burrito bowl back in the living room, sitting in the arm chair in the dark. If you could call it the dark. He had kept the curtains undrawn so that he could fully appreciate the cold fluorescent lights beaming relentlessly throughout the city. Office buildings, restaurants, clubs, other apartments… it was all so dense. And so stunningly artificial.

#llnks #stardew valley fanfic #sdv fanfic #my fic #stardew fanfic #stardew valley oc #sdv oc #stardew oc #sdv alex #alex stardew #stardew farmer #alex stardew valley #alex sdv #sdv penny #sdv shane #shane sdv #penny sdv

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tetrisfinished · 1 month

Text

pity party: attending - 1

declined - none

this can't be right. right? how come i'm always caught in my own pity parties. how come so many men are exactly the same trash replicated over and over again.

sometimes i GENUINELY wonder if the traditional men and women roles are the right way to go. maybe if i wasn't working - i wouldn't be as pissed off about all the shit i do at home.

queue: the waterworks (which, by the way i've been semi successful at holding back all day today, so just fuck off and let me have it, okay? okay).

at this point, i'm in my 8th year of marriage to this man. we've experienced long distance relationship, honeymoon stage, living together, owning together, vacation-ing together, and now parenting together. and i guess even a sort of separation together [read: he left for 2 months to go to pakistan sans wife and 3 yr old kid].

all of these "togethers" could have been rich life experiences. they could have been meaningful and loving and respectful.

but they weren't. i think the thing they were LEAST of all might actually have been together. how can that be? how do i turn my clock back to 0 hour at the time i started this marriage and start over.

or better yet, end it right away.

i don't know what mistake i'm continuing to pay for. but i guess that's not true. it's just a new mistake every single day when i engage him in conversation or when i task him with a chore or when i expect him to show up as a parent. if your partner is meant to "complete" you - then i feel that i am in a marriage where my partner actually manages to take away from me.

our household is toxic. our relationship is toxic. and the person who suffers the absolute fucking most is my kid.

my poor, little, innocent child who is 4 years old - he is so kind and fuck he's PATIENT. i'm 33 still trying to master this but my 4 year old kid has me beat. and maybe because of my own asshole behaviour he's had to become patient this early on in his young life.

i think back so much about all the times when i was asked "hey how could a western minded youth and an eastern minded youth get along and marry each other?" and i thought i had the best answer of all - he's not actually all that "conservative". but now i'm realizing that maybe while not conservative in the traditional and restrictive way - he actually is quite traditional. but also a smidge of modern.

he wants a working wife. but he also wants to not give up any of his own life to raise a fucking family.

and here i'm expected to make decision after decision. sacrifice after sacrifice, even consider the thought of expanding my family (khair ultimately that's in Allah swt's hands of course) all with the thought of how comletely unsupported i'll feel.

more and more i look around and people find themselves not having a lot of friends at my age. don't get me wrong. everyone has friends - but it's a tight group of maybe 2-4 CORE people. and no more. everyone else sort of filters out in the "acquaintance" column. so when i look at my significantly larger group of actual TIGHT friends - multiple groups including my actual family (mama/javaria) - i am so incredibly grateful. but maybe it was because Allah swt was preparing me for an actual life without a present partner. without a partner willing to show interest in our lives. in our families. in our home. in our child.

and again - don't get me wrong. i'm sure he loves us - or at least esa.

but feeling that love and then not showing up in any way with care or consideration or responsibility is so.....so cheap. you know?

and fuck me, i'm still trying to explain this to him. why? i don't know honestly.

in the middle it got better. but of course things have slowly regressed right back to the norm and here i am again. bitching and moaning and fucking frankly irritated that i can't just TAKE THE STEP to leave.

so. that's that.

that's the end of this rant.

the one thing i'll say that's a positive of it all is - every time i'm so triggered and emotional and upset about this stuff - i write. i guess when i'm happy i'm not as.....inspired? morbid, amiriteeee?

so someday, when i discover the audience that absolutely adores the anti self-help read - the bitching and moaning and complaining reads. that day i can compile all my blog posts and become famous.

but until then, here i am. another night of another day of another week of another month of another year - all different then before, but all alarmingly the same.

-k

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redrobin-detective · 3 years

Text

God I swear I already wrote this hc once upon a time but I can’t find it for the life of me so!

Billy Batson, young and homeless, is looking to make some extra cash to survive starts working at Whiz radio station. He gets bounced around doing various odd jobs but gets roped into taking over the nightly superhero hour when everyone else comes down sick. Bill doesn’t quite know what to do, he’s not great with words and hasn’t been to school in years. So he just starts talking from the heart.

Billy talks about heroes, not just as paragons and icons but real live people being expected to shoulder the world. He brings up the various charities and causes heroes support and how ordinary citizens can be heroes in their own way. He never directly comments on current politics but instead speaks of morality and philosophy, not as a highly educated adult but a deeply empathetic child who has seen the worst the world has to over and continues to smile.

It’s an instant hit and Billy is brought on semi-permanently. He’s popular enough the radio forgives his odd hours and occasional absences and politely overlooks the fact that he ought to be in school/foster care. They give him a microphone that distorts his age and call him the Wizard. The show becomes so popular that it extends beyond Fawcett City and soon is being uploaded online and being broadcast around the country and behind. And some heroes listen in too. Barry listens to the program on his morning jog, it invigorates him to do better and makes him re-evaluate his role as a hero. Bruce will have it quietly in the background when he’s feeling low on a bad case to remind himself that all his efforts and suffering have meaning. Clark leans back in his chair at the Daily Planet and wonders how a civilian from the Midwest can understand the burden of heroism.

Billy is doing his program when the producer knocks on the glass window in a panic. Superman is here and wants to interview with Billy. Bill is freaking out, thinking he’s been caught but the first thing Supes does is gently cradle Billy’s small hands in his own and thank him for being a source of kindness and inspiration. Superman is thrown at first that the Wizard is a child, an obviously hardliving one at that, but presses on. The Man of Steel notoriously hard to interview but he chats easily with Billy, answering questions and debating morality and cause/effect of heroes and villains. The interview goes viral and soon even more heroes are stopping by.

Green Arrow comes and screams into the mic about the abuse of the government on underprivileged people. Wonder Woman and the Wizard have a fascinating, in depth discussion on gods and belief as both prove to be a wealth of obscure knowledge. One of the Robins comes and talks about kids in the hero biz and some unnnamed British man who keeps getting his swears bleeped out gives a kind of magic 101 which mostly translates to “don’t (bleep)ing mess with it”. Everyone wants to know who the Wizard is but his identity is locked down tight, first by Whiz radio, who knows they’ll be in trouble with child labor laws and the Justice League who has become obsessed with this kid. Many have wanted to adopt the precious bean to the detriment of Billy’s blood pressure.

Everyone always asks why Captain Marvel hasn’t come by for a visit. He’s so friendly and open and operates directly out of Fawcett City. Cap is sweating at the Watchtower when his friends are talking about the latest show and gently berating him for not interviewing. Billy is grimacing as his producer makes him ask, on air, if the Cap would show up for a chat. He just wanted to make a little bit of extra cash in his off hours and now he’s kind of an international sensation and unofficial hero whisperer. Maybe Constantine can help him with a sort of duplication spell?

#billy batson #is2g I wrote this a few years ago but I went through my whole billy tag and couldnt find it #so I wrote it again #partially inspired by rockerrema's one shot of Billy being a cryptid broadcaster but also classic Bill's origins #i love the idea that Bill is just so good and genuine and caring that he's an instant hit #he talks about irl issues with thoughtful realism but also this intense optimism and kindness #also adfghjkl Bill now havign TWO secret identities he's hiding from the JLA #they all *love* this child broadcaster who just gets heroes #superman offered to tell Bill his identity and take him home and billy just wants to die #he's not even 13 and he's got grey hairs #the eventual reveal is hilarious #not oh Cap is a child #no Cap is a child AND HE'S THE WIZARD WHAT #Bill having to remind himself not to call heroes by their first names and also not leak classified JLA info #life is hard when youre a homeless child moonlighting as a magical hero and also a beloved radio star

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arlertsbaby · 3 years

Note

Hi!! I hope you’re having a great day. I just wanted to ask you if you could do softdom!sugardaddy!regulusxfem!reader?? Regulus takes her to Paris but her new jewelleries and lingeries and fucks her against the view of the Eiffel Tower. Only if you feel comfortable with it. Feel free to ignore.

heyyy! i hope you're having a marvelous day aswell! i personally love this request so much, it seems like the perfect thing to write, so thanks for submitting this!!

PAIRING: softdom!regulus x fem!reader

WARNINGS: nsfw content, sugar daddy-ing, descriptive smut, semi-public sex, overstim, modern AU, age gap (reader is 21) , pet names (princess, love, baby i think..?)

SUMMARY: regulus takes you to paris to treat you

You’re sitting at a nearby restaurant at the airport, sipping a coffee while scrolling through your phone. Your boyfriend sits on the opposite of the small table, looking around at the small shops lined up against the large room.

Regulus noticed that you’ve been drowning yourself in school work, and wanted to surprise you with a vacation to Paris, before you arrive back home to another week of finals. You were beyond excited when he texted you about the trip, having checked your schedule the night before.

“Southwest 4379 scheduled for takeoff 9:35 pm is now accepting and loading passengers.” The loud intercom announces you and your boyfriends' flight.

You stood up slowly, shoving your phone in your back pocket as Regulus held both of your suitcases in his arms as he began to walk to the ticket instructor.

30 minutes after submitting your ticket, you and your boyfriend found your reserved seats in first class. It was similar in size to a large walk in closet, a small room stretched around a coffee table, with soft blue and purple led lights stuck on the sides of the outer walls surrounding you.

“Bed looks comfy. Oh, and check this out, Bubs!” When you sat down on the bed, a laptop sized tv made itself noticeable as a mechanical whirr sought a series of movies and shows on the screen.

“’S fancy, don’tcha think?” Regulus settled on the side of the bed, glancing over to you, who was now snapping pictures in front of your window.

“Very fancy,” You rolled out the “e” when you replied.

“And nice.” You added with a snicker.

After taking pictures, you crawled across the bed to Regulus, who was now scrolling on his phone, looking at gold and silver necklaces.

From behind him, you hooked your arms around him, lowering you face into the crook of his neck.

Regulus hummed as he continued scrolling on the jewelry site, adding every piece he found would fit you to his virtual cart.

“Wake me up when we land...”

“I think I like this one.”

“That one?”

“Yeah. Matches my gold dress in my suitcase.”

You carefully picked up a silver bracelet and held it up to your face, eyeing the the gold engraved heart on the pallet in the middle on the bracelet.

“Could get my name on it. We could get matching ones hm?” Your boyfriend placed his hands on your shoulders from behind you as he spoke into your ear.

“Totally!” You happily obliged, nodding and giving the bracelet to him as you and him walked over to the cashier so he could ring it up.

“I like black and blue on you, Love.” Regulus caught your attention as he held up a dark lingerie set up to you, awaiting your approval.

“It’s almost perfect, I love it, too.” You looked at the set in awe.

“Should I try it on when we head back to the hotel? This is the last place we are visiting tonight, right?” You checked your phone for the time. 7:56 pm.

“Actually, there’s one more place I would like us to visit. Do you remember how you said you’ve always wanted to see the Eiffel tower?”

You two reserved a private view room in the Eiffel tower to admire the beautiful night.

“Still marvelous, am I right?” Regulus whispered a tease from behind you, blush crowding your cheeks when he moved his left hand from your shoulder to your waist.

You let out a pleasurable groan as he placed quick kisses on your neck, hands roaming across your chest.

“Haah.. m-more..” You moaned against him as he placed a long kiss on your lips.

You whimpered against his face when he guided his right hand up your loose shirt, massaging your tits through your lacy bralette.

“May I?” He motioned over your underwear, waiting for a response from you. When you nodded ‘Yes’, he pulled up your bra from under your shirt, rubbing your nipple with his middle finger.

You let in a sharp breath as he did that, signaling to him that you enjoyed what he was doing.

While his right hand was on your chest, his left hand found its way from your waist to the hem of your underwear, thumb hooking under the waistband before the rest of his fingers followed suit.

He let the pad of his middle finger lightly ghost over your clit. After teasing that area for a few minutes and earning a a series of moans from you, he plunges his fingers in your wet hole.

“Please, I need you.” You begged before he let out an honest laugh.

“More specific, darling.” He took this opportunity to lightly squeeze your nipple, earning another moan from you.

“Need your cock, Reggie.” You whimpered as his pace in your pussy went faster, making you grip the handrail in front of you.

“Well, since my princess begged so nicely for it, I might just give it to her.”

Playing with your breasts and getting you off drove you over the edge, your hips rutting against his hand as you came, moaning out sweet nothings.

Regulus unbuckled his belt as you came down from your high, thick cock springing from his boxers when he pulled them down.

Slowly pushing inside of you, you moaned out even louder due to the overstimulation, and your boyfriend pulled his left hand from your underwear, and held his ring and middle finger to your plump lips.

“Taste yourself, darling.”

You took his wet fingers in your mouth, swirling your tongue around them.

After a few moments of himself inside of you, he picked up his pace and thrusted in and out of your pussy, setting off another orgasm of yours.

“Mmm, gonna fuck my cum inside this pretty pussy.” He groaned out, indicating he was close, too.

While you were coming for the second time, Regulus approached his high soon after yours.

“That was amazing.” You turned around on the bed to Regulus’ side.

“Which one, the trip, or me inside you?” He let out a laugh and you gasped in sarcasm.

“Actually, both.”

“Which one did you like the most, princess?”

“The trip.”

He scoffed.

“I was kidding!”

a/n: apologies if this isnt the best, i didnt have time to spell check it and i was high writing like 75% of this lmao, its all over the place

#harry potter #harry potter smut #smut+prompt+list #regulus imagine #regulus black #regulus x reader #regulus smut #smut #send help #idk what this is #i wanna cry

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keilemlucent · 4 years

Text

long days for bad people

(r18+)

hawks | takami keigo x reader

ao3

word count: ~6k

Being a prized, adored possession was far better than you thought it would be.

warnings: light daddy kink (no age play, just the name in mostly jest), spit kink, crying kink, degradation, brief descriptions of blood + violence, kidnapping (consensual?? read a/n), brat taming, light sadomasochism, mind break, praise kink

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here it is, mafia au, villain hawks, dom, brat tamer, soft(?!) hawks. what more could you want?

there’s briefly described kidnapping at the beginning of the fic but it is reiterated throughout that this is consensual! no yandere/stockholm stuff in this fic.

i’ve been working on this one for a while and i’m happy to finally share it. hope y’all enjoy!!

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You shouldn’t have fucked around with the League.

God, it was common knowledge in the parts of town and circles you inhabited. Of all criminal syndicates, mobs, to fuck with, the League wasn’t one of them. They were known for their complete cruelty and violent delights. The League had such a reputation due to the fact that they openly left bodies carved up and burnt as they pleased.

But, you were a fucking idiot and got involved anyways.

It was a small loan, Giran almost seemed to scoff when he gave you the cash. You and your almost-stranger of a roommate were just very late on some bills and were going to lose a lot of material items if you didn’t scrounge up at least two paychecks in about three days.

You swallowed your pride and took the first and easiest loan you could get. That just happened to be with gap-toothed, wide-grinning Giran of the League. He, you knew from what you’d heard, was somewhat fair in matters like yours.

You had two weeks to pay him back.

...

You didn’t make it in time.

You were close to the amount, notably. You scrounged and clawed your way into getting the cash back. You weren’t much of a pickpocket, but you snagged some odd jobs around the apartment building that you and your roommate were still fortunate enough to keep a room in.

After one particular job, a nasty carpentry gig that you weren’t qualified for, you returned home tired and worn.

Sure, you were a day late on payment. But with this last gig, you were so close. The League would have to pity two, stupid, stupid young girls?

They didn’t, you realized, as you stepped into your apartment.

Your roommate's slain corpse was laying over the arm of your cheap couch, eyes vacant and mouth dripping blood onto the old beige carpet.

You dropped to your knees, horrified and completely stunned.

“You should’ve known better,” it was a hum from across the room, from a figure you didn’t even know was in the room until then. “Really, you’d expect folks to be smarter.”

Your mouth dried as the figure moved from the nighttime shadows, flashing a dazzling smile and ruffling crimson wings.

Hawks.

You’d heard of him, everyone had. Terrifying, fast, precise, and cutthroat. He took orders and didn’t ask questions other than snark. He talked too much, fucked too much.

“W-wait,” You didn't know why you were pleading, but you had to try, right? “I’m so close, wait—”

Hawks sauntered up to you wielding one of his feather blades, the red of blood mixing with the filaments of his feathers.

He crouched down in front of you, tsking, “I don’t like begging, angel. I’ll make this quick for you. Your friend there?”

Hawks jerked his finger behind to your dead roommate.

“She fought, pleaded, begged, all that normal shit I don’t like hearing when shitheads like you two don’t make payday,” his voice was slow, talking about death like some casual thing. “I’ll make this nice and fast if you don’t run your mouth anymore, how about that?”

You swallowed, nodding.

The small percentage of your brain that was fully functioning figured dying quickly was a much better way to go than whatever the hell had happened to your roommate. There was far too much blood for that to be quick.

Hawks hummed, the tip of his feather blade tipping up your chin so you were forced to meet his gaze. You vaguely heard the pitter-patter of your tears hitting the carpet below. Blood rushed in your ears as you stared death in the face.

Hawks appraised you.

You watched the metaphorical cogs and wheels turning in Hawks’ skull as he looked you up and down before flashing forward, gathering you in his arms and flying from the apartment.

Your first thought was obvious as you clung to him in the open air:

He’s going to drop you and kill you.

When you screamed, tears growing thicker, he slapped a gloved hand over your mouth, “I’m giving you an out, kid. Trust me. You’ll prefer this over death.”

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Your new existence was certainly better than death.

If you were ever caught and convicted of any of the illegal things you participated in, you’d be fucked, thrown into prison until you rotted, until you were just dust and bone.

But, until then, you worked for the League.

You had groveled at the feet of their leader, Shigaraki, hands clasped on your lap, claiming your worth, or maybe lack thereof. Not many attachments, not many people who’d miss you, a semi-useful quirk.

With a boot shoved into your skull, he sneered that you’d be the League’s new errand dog.

The real reason they accepted you was due to the threatening air Hawks was exuding and the fact that their old ‘errand bitch’ had died the week prior. They needed a new body to act as a civilian and do things that only an unsuspecting-looking ‘civilian’ could. You fit the bill, and Hawks had taken a liking to you.

Oddly, working for the League was actually pretty okay.

You got your own room. It was small, but you only had to share a bathroom with the somewhat unhinged Himiko, but she was fairly nice once she warmed up to you. Everyone lived in the League’s HQ and went about their business, getting drunk at their bar front each night.

Most of the mess happened at night, but it was important to put on a nice veneer and keep spirits high. Not to mention that no one would dared to fuck with the League, anyways. The cops and federal government had long been paid off due to the resources that the League had acquired for them.

You felt somewhat untouchable.

A lot of this confidence was due to the fact that you had become Hawks’s... Keigo’s...

‘Songbird’

As he liked to call you, anyway.

Keigo was the general, loveable annoyance of the League, but his connections were invaluable and his skills were unmatched. Despite how he could grate on people (read: Dabi and Shigaraki), he was respected and feared just as much as everyone else was, if not more so. And being his metaphorical and literal pet had its perks.

Sure, the first time he had you come to his ‘office’ and he fucked you against the window until it was smeared with cum and blood was a bit surprising, but god, if you didn’t fucking love it. Being Keigo’s personal fucktoy came with protection, pleasure, and a surprising amount of genuine attention. The dude was lonely, and so were you. The two of you made a good ‘couple’, if you could even call yourselves that. The sadism he doled out was always counterpointed by affections that did seem genuine.

Keigo was fond of you, and you of him. Maybe your brush with death had twisted something in your head, to even allow yourself to get close to a man like Keigo, but you couldn’t make yourself care.

You were comfortable and content.

...

[bird boss]: hey babe ;^) get to my office in the next thirty minutes

[you]: what if i don’t

[bird boss]: do u really want to find out

[you]: ...

[you]: im just curious

[bird boss]: don’t get cheeky songbird

[you]: u make me wanna u know

[you]: i know it gets you riled up

[bird boss]: tread lightly kid

[you]: oooo i gave you some guff over text

[you]: what’re you gonna do about it?

[bird boss]: use your imagination

[bird boss]: 25 minutes now, songbird

[bird boss]: don’t make this worse for yourself <3

You set your phone on your cheap duvet, quickly primped yourself to see Keigo. He wasn’t too strict about your appearance but wearing dark clothes and some of the more expensive gifts he’d gotten you over the months he’d been screwing you never hurt. Something about ownership with him always got him hot and bothered.

You tried to remind yourself frequently that Keigo saw you as some sort of possession, but a possession with feelings.

Meandering through HQ was always a bit daunting, despite your protections. Your skimpy outfit choice and hardly-hidden lingerie made you feel a bit more like an object than you liked too.

There were hardly hungry mouths around the League, they kept you all fed, but god, were there starving eyes.

Dabi wolf-whistled as you walked past him through a common room, shouting something about how Keigo was collecting his pound of flesh for the day. Maybe a line or two about being a whore, but that was all flavor at that point. Keigo called you far meaner, more sinful things. And hell, it wasn’t like Keigo hadn’t... shared you on more than one occasion.

Maybe you were a little fucked up for enjoying your lifestyle to the degree you did, but why not indulge where you could? Life was far shittier scraping paint off old fences and picking up cans to just scrape by.

Opulence was a breath of fresh air. And if you were Keigo’s fuck toy? Then, god, you were Keigo’s fuck toy.

When you arrived at Keigo’s office, you knocked gently on the door, quickly adjusting your skirt and blouse.

The door opened, though no one was behind it. Only a single one of Keigo’s feathers allowed you entrance.

His office seemed daunting and extravagant for a man who did most of his ‘work’ in far-shadier, far-bloodier places. The walls were covered in mirrors and old paintings, something out of vanity and pride, knowing how Keigo saw himself. There were several black leather couches scattered around against walls, some stained by your various... activities. There was a broad desk parallel to a back wall made entirely of windows.

Night had fallen, leaving the room lit by a few lamps and warm fixtures.

“Hey, boss,” You hummed as you stepped in, shutting the door behind you just before the lingering scarlet feather flicked the lock on the door.

And the other one.

And the deadbolt.

You swallowed thickly.

As much as you enjoyed a lot of the perks of your... position, it was also daunting.

Keigo was daunting, all bloody colors, vanity, and hunger.

He sat behind his desk, wings puffed up, and partially extended over the back of his chair. The desk chair was massive, specifically acquired so that you would have enough room to properly straddle his lap for hours on end if he so wished.

Keigo idly clicked around on his desktop computer. He leaned slack and back into the chair, legs spread wide and exuding casual confidence that reeked of his own ego.

Keigo normally wore a mix of black and red, as edgy as it was. He liked to seem clean, hide the stains of sanguine that undoubtedly lingered on him no matter how he tried to cleanse himself. His black slacks were pressed, the seams pristine. The black shirt he wore was rolled up to his elbows, the buttons of his red vest undone as well. His black tie hung half-undone and limp around his neck. His tousled gold hair was mussed as normal, ruffled by his flights. His feathers might’ve needed preening, but you doubted that that was the reason he called you to his office.

And based on the deep set of his brow and the sickly smile on his lips, he was already on edge and in a mood.

“Songbird, come over here, will you?” Keigo sat back from his typing, watching you from across the room. He took you in the same way a parched man sucks down red wine, greedily and soon to be fucked. “On my lap.”

You complied, despite your earlier attitude. You padded across the room, going around his desk.

As you moved to straddle his lap, worn hands gripped your waist. His amber eyes gave you a warning, crinkling at the edges, “Not like that, sweetheart. Do daddy right.”

Oh, so it was one of those moods.

Maybe you were Keigo’s sexual punching bag so he could exert control on something he could later kiss better and patch up.

Sure, he was going to fucking ruin you, but part of the fun with him was that the more it hurt, the nicer he was after. And, all things considered, with some of the... other folks the League brought in to satiate its member’s desires, you fared far better. Keigo cared about you, in his own particular way.

You tried to lean over his lap yourself, but his hands and feathers positioned you perfectly as he wanted. With the tight grip he had on your waist and shoulders, dragging you just as he liked, it was easy to see his need for control.

Your head hung off of one of his thighs as you squirmed in his lap. His bulge already pressed into your ribs, a wonderful reminder of the reward you’d reap later on. Keigo’s hands gathered your hand to the small of your back, a feather replacing their grip a moment later.

“Sit with me while I finish this shit,” Keigo grumbled, going back to clicking the desktop. His leg bobbed absentmindedly, his free hand rubbing over the curve of your barely-covered ass. “Be a good girl, (Y/N). If you can stand that.”

He laughed under his breath.

You let your head dangle limply downwards, blood rushing to your cheeks.

You’d thought you’d be in for more of an ass-kicking, but it appeared Keigo was taking things unusually slow. You knew better than to complain, but kicking up a bit of metaphorical sand couldn’t be that bad, right?

“I dunno,” You hummed, kicking your legs lightly. “I don’t think you like it when I’m a ‘good girl’, daddy.”

“Watch it.” A single, sharp smack to your butt was hardly enough to shut you up, but Keigo did so all the same, rubbing over the covered flesh a moment later, “I’m not in the mood.”

“Are you sure about that?” You wriggled, intentionally pushing up against his growing erection.

His breath stuttered, a smirk pulling at the corners of your lips. The hand on your ass didn’t rear again, rather Keigo kept thumbing smooth circles as he continued to click around on the computer. He might have been actually doing work. Or, he was ignoring you, egging your sass on.

“If you didn’t want anything, why’d you call me in here?” You asked, way too cheeky for the way Keigo’s body was practically vibrating underneath you. Pissing him off had consequences, of course, but you weren’t in the mood to play ‘good girl’ that day.

“I told you, I want you to sit with me,” Keigo pinched your ass. “But, you’re too mouthy to do just that one thing. You’re usually better than this.”

“Am I?” You played innocent, craning to give him a wide smile. “Hadn’t noticed. What I am noticing, is your already-hard cock, dear.”

“Oh, ‘dear’?!” Keigo paused on the computer. “Cheeky. Cute.”

Keigo would just dig in more, lean in, before ‘snapping’, if you could call it that.

You gulped as his hand swatted at upper thighs, his nails almost knicking your skin.

“Up and don’t get smart about it.”

Oh, you were going to be remarkably smart about it.

You rose but hardly stayed upright for long. Sliding down to your knees, you pushed at Keigo’s legs, “Wouldn’t you prefer me down here? Just for a treat while you finish your work?”

Keigo clicked his tongue, gaze flickering down to you, “Fine. Behave yourself.”

Yeah, right. You both knew that that wasn’t going to happen.

You were already tucked underneath his desk, undoing the fly of his pants.

You pulled his cock from his trousers, pumping his cock to full hardness. Smearing around preek for a bit of extra flare before inching forward.

Wrapping your mouth around Keigo’s dick was somewhat of a feat— he had a decent girth to him, so you usually took the opportunity to warm him (and yourself) up with a bit of tip-kissing and kitten licks.

But, you were feeling bold.

You spit on his dick, a move that normally would have earned you plenty of verbal snark, but anything Keigo could’ve said to you was swallowed as you took his cock down to the back of your throat.

You sucked around it, massaging the vein on the bottom with the flat of your tongue. Drool began to pool at the side of your lips as you let the head bump your throat, gag reflex be damned.

All the while, Keigo had stopped moving above you. The fabric of his trouser balled up in his ringed-fingers as he gazed half-lidded down at you.

You smiled around his dick, looking up at him innocently as you began to slowly bob your head. His wings fluttered, twitches and air stirring around you.

Keigo stifled a laugh, a hand tangling in your hair, “All that talk earlier and now you’re treating me to a blowjob without even me having to tell you to? Dove, you’re too much.”

You pulled off of him to reply, “I can only try.”

Before he could reply, you spit on his dick again, and went back to slurping around him.

You held the base of his cock in your hands, twisting and spreading spittle. It almost felt like your actions were for show, but Keigo’s eyes were rolling back in his head all the same.

You smirked.

A drool pool from your mouth, puddling in your lap and soaking your skirt. Not like you weren’t already dripping from the sinful sounds Keigo stopped trying to hold.

“A-ah, that’s it, angel,” Keigo fucked into your mouth with his hold on your hair. “Just like that.”

Your hand rose to play with Keigo’s balls, teasing at the sack as he cried out a high moan above you.

Considering the performance you were giving, it was unsurprising to feel him tensing above you. You’d been on your knees for him hundreds of times; you’d learned to see the little twitches and puffs of breath he’d give when he’d get close to coming.

You pulled off his cock with a pop, detangling the hand from your hair in the motion. It was all fast enough that Keigo couldn’t have stopped you in his hazy, pleasure-filled state.

Based on the look of rapid disbelief he was giving you, your trick had worked well. Knowing Keigo’s... tendencies made you hesitant to push him too much in the past, but for whatever reason, you were feeling stupidly bold.

Consequences.

“Sorry, daddy,” You wiped at your mouth with the back of your hand. “Didn’t feel like swallowing today.”

Keigo’s disheveled appearance was more than gratifying. Knowing how easily you made him come undone by that point was one of the perks of your position.

His hair was more than ruffled, strands and tufts chaotically curled around his cheeks and ears. There was a bright blush on his face, spreading from his nose to the apples of his cheeks, down his deck. At some point, he’d popped the buttons at the top of his shirt. He was covered in a sheen of sweat, half-panting and based on the darkness in his brow and the far-too peachy smile on his face, Keigo was fucking pissed.

His wings stood on end.

You gulped from below him.

Maybe you pushed your luck too far.

Maybe.

“You’re playing real cute today, aren’t you songbird?” Keigo didn’t move, but his feathers twitched above him, wings flaring out even farther. “Real fucking cute.”

You were fucked.

Good.

A few feathers flew from Keigo, one snagging at your wrist, wrapping around it, and pulling you up from the desk.

You wobbled as you stood, dragged across the room as Keigo leisurely followed behind you. When you tried to set your own pace, Keigo swatted your ass with a huff, “You never learn, huh? I thought I’d trained you better than this.”

You opened your mouth to spit some dickish retort, but you were cut off as Keigo’s shoved you onto one of the leather couches.

“Don’t.” Keigo’s tone was acidic as he stood over your, wings still flared out. “I told you I wasn’t in the mood for your cute bullshit, dove, and you still decided to test your luck, huh?”

You kneeled on the cushions, sucking down air, shaking with anticipation.

“You don’t feel like swallowing today? That’s fine, I can work with that,” Keigo shrugged easily from above you.

Keigo had an... active sexual imagination, and you could tell by the crook in his lips that he had something devilish planned as retribution.

A sharp slap came down on your cheek, Keigo catching the opposite jaw and keeping you from recoiling too far. You blinked as the pain spread around your skull like licking flames against a frostbitten body.

You wanted more.

A little grin stretched against your mouth as Keigo rubbed at your cheeks with his thumbs, “Aw, you always get so sweet like this, dove. You can be a good girl if you try, can’t you?”

His actions carried candor and his words absolute torment.

Despite how Keigo was trying to goad you into submission, you had a bit of spark left in you.

Plainly, you spit on him.

The glob of saliva landed on Keigo’s cheek, under his eye.

He blinked at you.

You continued to smile.

His own expression grew strained.

“Oh, songbird,” Keigo damn near lamented, wiping away the kind gift you’d given him. His voice was smooth without any bit of waver, all of the sexually-charged anger rolling just beneath the veneer. “You’re just being pain slut today, aren’t you?”

You were, absolutely. You could feel your arousal wetting your panties, the heat of the strike from your cheek beginning to boil something in your gut.

“You just need a bit of special attention today, right? That’s all.” Keigo tsked, fully removing the tie from around his neck. “You just need a little reminder.”

“Reminder of what?” You asked, tilting your head quizzically.

Keigo flipped you, feathers pushing and bracing you as needed while nimble hands tore off your clothes without reverie.

“Plenty of things, especially with this attitude you’ve got today,” Keigo’s tie looped around your wrists, binding them together at the center of your back.

“You definitely need a reminder of who’s the boss around here,” Keigo shoved you forward, stomach flush with the back of the couch.

You reeled from the pace of it all, shifting your knees for any bit of stimulation you could get. Keigo’s feathers were slicing and pulling your clothes from your body faster than you could keep track of. It was overwhelming, making your mind swim in the best possible way. You throbbed.

“Maybe a reminder about who fucking provides for you,” Keigo’s own clothes were shaken off, dropped to the floor and forgotten.

It was true. Keigo always made sure than you were taken care of, in more ways than one. Despite how fast-paced and laid back he could seem, he was always on top of making sure you had more than enough material and immaterial pleasure whether than be in the form of food, fucking, or otherwise.

You yelped as a smack fell across your ass. A feather caught the elastic of your panties, snapping a moment later, leaving you fully bare before him.

Keigo’s worn hand came to press at your throat and jaw, tilting your head back as he climbed behind you, “Maybe, you need a reminder about who keeps you safe.”

This phrase was softer than the others, a sweet kiss pressing to your cheek and his voice a bit more gentle. It was jarring at the skin still stung from his earlier strike, but you cherished the heat besides.

Once again, true. The folks in and outside of the League were greedy. There were plenty of unwanted souls that stole glances at Hawks’s prized songbird. There were starved eyes that tore into you whether you were dolled up for Keigo or not. There had been some... close calls, one could say, but Keigo always was there, in the end, unafraid to get his hands dirty.

“You know what the most important reminder is, dove?” Keigo rolled his hips against you, cock wedging between your thighs.

“N-no,” You stuttered, brain turning gooey as Keigo’s arms snaked around your waist, sharpened nails leaving indents in your hips.

He nosed at your neck, leaving a few love bites in his wake.“‘N-no’, what?”

“I don’t know,” You leaned back into Keigo’s chest, rubbing your thighs around his cock.

“Oh, songbird, you sweet thing,” He chuckled, all teasing and self-indulgent. “I’m the one who makes you feel good.”

He was so right, wasn’t he?

With the way he’d learned your body over the last few months, he’d had some undeniable pursuit to make you feel the best.

Keigo was inquisitive by nature. He had kept you on your back for hours while he finger-fucked you, watching every twitch and roll of your hips to figure out just the right ways to break you. He’d kissed and sucked and slapped every inch of you, sussing out the perfect ways to make you writhe and cry for him.

Sure, you were an absolute terror to him sometimes. Not to mention that Keigo jumping you covered in the blood of that day's targets was as macabre and horrifying as it sounded.

But, fuck, if he didn’t know how to bring you to ecstasy that fucking ruined you in the best way.

Keigo got off on watching you shatter for him. It was the reason he’d torn you from that cheap, bloodied apartment in the first place. A kind, naive little morsel that he could play with as he wanted. You didn’t complain. Fuck, you reveled in his attention. You gave it back to him, like the fucked up, semi-divine being could be any more debauched than he already was.

Corruption spreads, but you’d never complain. If being plucked from struggling for pennies to being fucked stupid by a man who could kill you at a moments notice, a man who would kill for you, somehow poisoned you?

You’d die with a bitter taste on your tongue and a smile on your face.

Keigo rubbed at your clit, nipping at your neck, and rolled his hips greedily. His cock was covered in a mix of your slick and his own preek, easily sliding between plushness of your thighs.

“You love pushing me, acting all tough,” Keigo chastised, clicking his tongue. “I mean it when I say it's cute.”

You don’t have any more quick retorts in you, not when his fingers are down your throat, gagging you as spittle dribbles down your chin onto the leather below. It was sure to leave a mark.

“Behind all that bark and snark, you’re just a good girl, aren’t you?” Keigo punctuated his words with a bite and nip to your neck. “Just needed a reminder, right, dove?”

You whimpered against his fingers at the praise, grinding against Keigo’s touch needily.

His fingers pushed pinched your tongue, breath curling over the shell of your ear, “What are you?”

You mumbled against his fingers, “A g-good g-girl.”

It was humiliating in the best way. Keigo’s light laugh at your attempt. The way he nuzzled his nose into the sweat at the crook of your shoulder was just aloe on the burn.

“I misspoke, if you can believe that,” Keigo’s cock pulled out from your thighs. “Songbird, you know what I meant to call you?”

You squirmed at the loss, but he was quick to hush you. His fingers left your mouth with a thick trail of spit.

“You’re my good girl.”

You melted in his arms.

Falling back against Keigo’s chest, you craned your neck to lock your lips to his.

Maybe that was it, why all the filth didn’t bother you. Because you had worth. Maybe it was insecurity, or maybe it was self-aware in the face of your lived experience. Before being taken, the life you’d lived made you just a rusty cog in a dying machine. You wouldn’t have amounted to anything, probably.

But with the League?

You were the prized, beloved consort of an angry god.

Keigo owned you, body, mind and soul, and you let him. That’s not even to mention how you had him wrapped around your finger. He adored you, under all of it.

Fighting with him was for sport, not blood.

Keigo licked past your lips, pressing his cock to your cunt teasingly. You whined against him, wriggling in his arms.

“What does my good girl want?” Keigo loved making you beg for him, claw for any bit of stimulation. He liked it even better when you were already soft for him.

Stray tears pricked at your eyes, “Y-your cock.”

He pinched the meat of your thigh, shaking his head, “Not good enough. Speak properly, dove. Clear and correctly.”

You swallowed, searching for the words in your own haze.

Your words were willed to be solid.

“I want your cock, daddy.”

It was just enough.

Keigo pushed forward, the head of his cock already stretching your cunt. Consider the girth of it, the lack of preparation stung and burned more than you would’ve liked, as good as it felt to finally be filled.

Keigo cooed at your soft tears, keeping your face to his with a firm hand on your jaw. He shushed you, far too sweetly while licking the salt from your cheeks, “Relax, angel. Big breaths.”

You nodded, sputtering as he speared into you. Keigo’s free hand went back to toying with your clit, encouraging the tension to drain from your body.

As he bottomed out, you shuddered, falling back into his chest. Keigo’s wings fluttered, twitching in wait. Hot breath fanned over your face, Keigo groaning and locking his jaw.

The stimulation was overwhelming. You had expected Keigo to be meaner, considering how mouthy you’d been.

Yet, it made sense. Keigo had figured out one of the better ways to make you break was softness.

(Truthfully, it made him crack in the same way, but he’d never tell.)

“Feel that?” He asked, just barely rolling his hips.

Keigo released your jaw in favor of wrapping a hand around the front of your throat, tugging you as close he could manage.

“Uh-huh,” You panted.

You could, the kiss of his cock head against your cervix was almost uncomfortable. The delicious pressure and sensitivity already had you reeling in his arms, unsteady and wanting.

“I fill you up so good, don’t I?” Keigo praised his own ego, his cock, but he wasn’t wrong. The curve of his cock rubbed against all the right spots. He stretched you just right, the burn ebbing away into a need for more, more—

“Please, Keigo—” You gasped. Your legs shook as Keigo slammed into you, shoving you forward and into the wall.

His pace was brutal. Hands and feathers kept your back in a harsh arch as he rearranged your insides to his liking. He was kind enough to keep stroking at your clit, bruising your hips and babbling filthy nothings.

“I’m the one who makes you feel this good, only me, right, dove?” Keigo growled into your ear with a particularly hard thrust.

You nodded against the wall, aware of the drool slipping down your chin as your mouth lolled open. Your insides were hot like white flames, searing any ability to use coherent speech.

Keigo snickered at your state. Slowing, he gripped your ass cheeks. You yelped, inside jumping as he pried them apart. You flinched, hole twitching as he spat down, the liquid cool against the flushed skin.

It was little moves like that, Keigo just subtly making your shudder and feel dirty that got you the most fucked up and fucked out.

You pressed back on his cock, panting against the wall and keening. You would’ve spoke, if you could, but anything that you had the ability to say would’ve been torn apart by Keigo’s sharpened, silver tongue.

“My filthy little dove, huh?” Keigo sneered, watching you try to bounce on his cock the best you could. “Such a glutton when you get broken down like this, needy whore.”

The pleasure of Keigo’s cock tearing up your insides was all you could focus on through the fog of your mind, desperate and wanting and greedy.

“Y-your,” You corrected, the words bubbling from your lips, disjointed and messy. “Yours.”

Keigo may have been avian, but he purred like a damn cat at your admission. He held you like a possession, cock throbbing as he fucked you just right.

“God, you’re sweet, angel,” He nipped at your jaw before wrapping his hand around your throat. “Even all fucked up, you know who you belong to so well, don’t you?”

You nodded, rolling your hips back.

Keigo must’ve taken pity on you, squeezing at the sides of your neck. Cruel as he could be, he must’ve noticed the way your thighs and knees trembled against the leather. Keigo knew the cloud in your eyes well— how to get you hazy and how to fuck you perfectly through the fog.

He fucked back into your dripping cunt, pace harder and faster than before. You were helpless to do anything other than fall forward into the wall, cheek squished against the scarlet.

“Who’s brat are you?” Keigo squeezed a bit harder at your neck as you swallowed against his palm.

“Y-yours—!” You squeaked out, mind going numb from the stimulation and pressure.

A wicked sneer curled against your ear as Keigo’s movements grew sloppier. His tongue lolled over your shoulder, messy kisses and slobbery bites and marks left in his wake. He was close, but you weren’t far off easier.

“Little bird,” It was sweeter, closer and hotter. “Can you come for me? Come all over my cock?”

You nodded.

“Not good enough.” Keigo bit down, nearly breaking the fragile skin of your neck. “You know I like words, angel.”

You gave him words, plenty of them.

Nearly incoherent pleads and cries poured from your bruised lips as Keigo pounded into you. Each blabbering wail was met with Keigo groans and grunts, condescending little phrases spitting over you without release.

Your lack of leverage and use of your arms made you thumping against the couch and wall, vision darkening on the edges as the pressure in your gut and the hold on your throat remained.

You were breaking in his arms, tears rolling down your cheeks as you held yourself from cresting. The exertion of it all was taking its toll, legs jellied and chest beading with sweat.

Keigo sensed it, shifting his hips to hit the spongy spot in your cunt, “Come, dove.”

You let go.

A sob shattered in your throat as your climax crashed through you. Keigo released your throat, holding you by your bound arms as he bottomed out. His own harsh cry panged against yours as he stuffed you full.

Surprisingly gently, he rocked his hips against your own, letting the ambient throb of your cunt milk him dry.

You came down, rolling and spinning as you sucked down air a bit too fast. Keigo panted behind you, though the sound seemed dull.

The pressure from your wrists released, soft thumbs rubbing at where the fabric had bitten into your forearms, “Hey, angel, you with me?”

You could only nod weakly, exhaustion and aches creeping in.

Keigo repositioned the two of you, setting himself against the arm of the couch, wings up free to drape and splay over the floor. He dragged you with him, pulling you to lay on his chest. The stickiness of his spunk, your slick, and general sweatiness might’ve been uncomfortable, but you weren’t quite lucid enough to care.

“How are you feeling? Still feeling a little mouthy?” Keigo teased, already knowing your answer.

You muffled a groan against his chest, shaking your head against the sweat of his chest.

“Awww,” Keigo chuckled, fingers brushing over your cheeks, “Is my dove a little fucked out?”

“Keeeigo, b-be nice.”

Your voice broke, parched.

Keigo snorted, pressing a kiss to the side of your forehead, “I guess I can manage that. Just for you, though. Can’t let the others see me get all soft.”

You wouldn’t; seeing Keigo warm and gooey, both of you mutually fucked-out, was a pleasure only you got to indulge in. And you loved every moment of it.

++++++++++++

taglist: @sinclairsamess (msg me if you’d like to be on it!)

ko-fi

#salem writes #hawks x reader #takami keigo x reader #takami keigo #hawks x y/n #hawks x you #takami keigo x y/n #takami keigo x you #mha smut #mha x reader #bnha x reader #hawks #hawks smut #hawks fanfiction #takami keigo smut

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hajimine · 3 years

Text

BETWEEN THE NOTES — SEMI EITA x GN!READER

synopsis: for as long as you can remember, you and Semi Eita have always hated each other—but a couple of tender glances and one too many bottles of beer later, you find out that maybe you were looking at it the wrong way this whole time.

genre: fluff, (kinda) enemies to lovers, musician!au, mutual pining but they’re both idiots, jealousy, etc.

warnings: alcohol + intoxication (nothing bad happens), slight suggestive themes, vulgar language, kinda fast paced?

wc: ~2.5k

to: @archivednikes happy birthday shawdy <3

special thanks to: @rintaroll for beta-ing & telling me a lil bit about how bands work and stuff bc idk shit lol :,)

“Semi, get your ass moving,” you huff. “You’re gonna make me late.”

He gives you a smug look and raises a slitted eyebrow. “Did something crawl up your ass and died? What’s up with you?”

You exhale heavily through your nose and stare at him, unimpressed.

“We gotta catch the afternoon train if you wanna reach the venue in time for our gig. This is a really good opportunity for me, don’t you dare mess it up.” you say, gathering the last of your things for the trip.

There is a tingling sensation crawling down your spine, as if someone is staring at you. You look over your shoulder curiously, opening your mouth to utter another snarky remark to get your partner to stop gawking around and get ready.

But the intensity behind his gaze caught you by surprise.

Those hazel eyes of his—ones that are usually sharp and cold—held a sort of softness in them as he looks at you. When you caught him staring, his gaze did not falter one bit.

You couldn’t stop your eyes from traveling down the perfect slope of his nose, continuing down to his pouty lips.

As much as you hate him, you can’t deny that Semi Eita is an attractive man. Heck, even the word attractive isn’t enough to express how infuriatingly hot he is.

Your gaze stays on his lips for a second too long. Have they always looked this soft and inviting?

The dry cough from the opposite side of the room is the only thing that managed to break you out of this trance. Semi Eita’s trance.

Your manager stands by the door, tapping her foot on the wooden tiles impatiently.

“Now, lovebirds,” she narrows her eyes, “Save the PDA for tonight, yeah? We’ve got a schedule to follow.”

You roll your eyes at her, cheeks uncomfortably warm. And just like that, the strange yet tender moment you shared with Semi dissipated into thin air.

。。。

You don’t know if you should take pity on the gray-haired singer or if you should laugh at him.

Currently, Semi’s head is bowed down in shame as he gets an earful from his manager in the middle of a crowded train.

You see, the four of you should’ve arrived at the venue by now. Both your managers are very strict about schedules, and they planned to arrive at the bar two hours before the agreed time.

Thankfully, his bandmates have been a little more punctual than him and have successfully boarded the 4pm train. But Mr. Popular right here just had to stop every few minutes to take pictures with every single fan he met on the way to the station.

“It’s half past five now,” his manager whisper-shouts, “Do you know what that means?”

Semi tries to give her an awkward smile to calm her down. It doesn’t work.

“It’s rush hour! What if we won’t reach the bar in time? It could ruin both your careers, do you know that?” she glares at Semi once again, but there is less bite in her voice now.

“I’m sorry,” Semi starts, plastering a charming smile on his face, “I only wanted to be nice to the fans. Wouldn’t make too good of an impression if I just ignored them, no?”

His manager sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose, exasperated. She motions for Semi to stop talking with a wave of her hand.

The singer grins, and out of the corner of your eyes, you can sense his sharp gaze on you once more.

You try to ignore it.

。。。

When your group reaches the bar, Semi’s bandmates are almost done preparing themselves for the gig.

The bar is dimly lit and cool, the multitudes of warm overhead lighting being the only source of light in the room. It’s not too busy tonight, you observe. Some people still donned their work clothes, perhaps rushing over to the bar right after a long day at work—mingling around with friends to let loose for a little and enjoy themselves.

“Dude, where were you?” Aito asks, eyebrows turned downwards in a frown.

Semi pats the guitarist on the side of his head, “Relax, we’ve got plenty of time to prepare.”

Aito rolls his eyes, completely used to his bandmate’s antics.

“Whatever,” he huffs. “By the way, are we gonna have a little after party later?”

“Uh,” Semi’s eyes flicker towards you for one second, then back to Aito, “I dunno man, might be too tired to get wasted tonight.”

The guitarist narrows his eyes. He didn’t miss the way Semi’s gaze lingered on you.

“Y/N,” Aito smirks. “You coming to the after party?”

You were listening to their conversation this whole time, finding the whole exchange quite amusing.

“Eh, I don’t see why not,” you smile sweetly, “It’s gonna be even better now that this dude isn’t coming anyways.” You pointed your thumb at the vocalist.

From where he’s standing, you hear Semi scoff.

“Y’know what?” he sneers, “On second thought, I am going. How does that make you feel, huh?”

You shrug, feigning indifference.

“I literally do not care.”

“Piss off.”

Aito throws his head back in laughter, shaking his head as he walks away from the scene, muttering about people being too clueless and dense for their own damn good.

You adjusted your equipment bag on your shoulder, exhaling loudly to try and calm your heart down.

。。。

It is in moments like these that you remember why you decided to go forth with this career path, no matter how rocky it may be.

Adrenaline courses through your veins as you sing the lyrics of you and Semi’s song; every ounce of the jittery nerves you had just a few moments ago long gone.

There’s nobody else in this world that can ever take your place

Some of the customers are listening intently, others just nodding along to the song, and the rest not even listening at all.

You could hear your heartbeat thumping loudly against your chest, the sweat trickling down your forehead and into your eyes making it harder for you to see the crowd.

And when the day’s all done and dusted, all I ever need is to be in your arms again

You whip your head towards Semi, just like the countless times you rehearsed this song together.

“It shows chemistry,” your manager had said, “play it up for the crowd, will ya?”

The butterflies in your stomach flutters about restlessly when you notice that Semi has been looking at you this whole time.

His eyes—sharp and intense—held your gaze, unabashed. Steady. Sure.

Will you stay tonight? ‘Cause baby you’re all that I need, and you’re all that I want.

And in that moment, with your eyes locked on each other, the world seems to stop.

Nothing else matters, Semi’s lopsided smile says, only you.

。。。

The performance flew by in the blink of an eye, and it’s a little past midnight now. As promised, your managers held a little after party in the shared lounge of your penthouse suite.

It’s not as fancy as it sounds, you smile to yourself. There are suspicious stains on the gray carpet, and the furniture smells vaguely of cigarette smoke and sweat.

Bottles of beers have already littered the floor and glass table, and you haven’t even started drinking.

“Duuuude,” Yuuto slurs, “Why are ya so tense for?”

The bassist points at you and Semi, eyelids drooping as he tries his best to keep them open.

“C’mon guys,” Aito clasps his shoulders and massages them roughly, “Relax a little, we did amazing tonight.”

Semi shrugs his friend’s hands away, annoyed. He snatches an unopened bottle of beer from the cooler and opens the cap with his teeth.

You gulp. He hands you the bottle wordlessly before grabbing another one for himself, chugging it down quickly. You mirror his actions, hoping that the alcohol can dull the annoying fluttering in your stomach that refuses to leave ever since the two of you shared that intimate moment on stage.

For fuck’s sake, what’s going on with me?

Your trick works, in a way. Your stomach feels pleasantly warm now, and your breathing has finally evened out. Another unopened bottle of beer lays invitingly on the couch and you reach for it, opting for a bottle opener instead of doing it like Semi.

“Bro,” Yuuto grins at the singer, drool threatening to leave the corner of his mouth, “Did’ya see that blonde chick in the front row? She was hardcore eye-fucking you dude.”

“Ah,” Semi takes another swig of his beer, a cute flush blossoming in his cheeks.

Wait, what. Cute?

“She gave me her number when we were gathering up our stuff.” He runs his hand through his hair.

“You gonna hit her up or what?” Aito teases, smirking.

The singer shrugs, “Maybe, I dunno.”

Your breath hitches, and Aito’s smirk widens. You raise your eyebrows at him, silently telling him to fuck off.

“Where’s Kai?” you hear Semi ask. Come to think of it, you haven’t seen the drummer since after the show was over.

“Oh,” the guitarist laughs, “Fucker left us for some girl he saw in the bar. Might see him tomorrow morning, might not. Who knows?”

The vocalist hums and walks over to where you’re sitting, plopping down on the old couch.

“The managers?” Semi casually drapes his arm on the back of the sofa. You feel yourself tensing as your heart races uncontrollably, and the singer looks over at you with an unreadable expression on his face.

Aito scratches the back of his neck, quickly losing interest in the conversation.

“They decided to sleep in early. Long day, I guess.”

Semi nods and rests his head on the top of the couch, exposing his defined jawline. His eyelashes look so pretty from this angle, they’re long and fluttery and they almost…

Huh?

“Eita, are you gonna hit that blonde girl up or nah?” Aito provokes, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

You clench your teeth and reach for yet another bottle—your fourth one this past hour. Or fifth. You don’t bother counting. Semi looks over at you again, but this time his eyes holds a sort of concern in them. You scoff to yourself.

“Uh,” the singer looks at his friend weirdly, “Why are you so insistent on this? I did say maybe didn’t I?”

Aito laughs. You almost recoil in disgust.

“Oh nothing,” he chuckles, “It’s just that she’s really hot and she’s your type so—”

You stand up abruptly, knocking over some empty beer bottles by accident. The regret is immediate. You can feel the acid in your stomach traveling up your esophagus, tickling the back of your throat.

Semi quickly stands up when you clasp a hand over your mouth, trying your best to hold it together.

“Shit,” he mutters, “You okay?”

He rubs tiny circles on the small of your back, an action that’s supposed to be soothing but instead causes tingles to run up and down your spine. You shiver.

Another wave of nausea hits before you could respond, causing your knees to almost give out under you.

“Whoa there, angel,” Semi wraps his arm around your waist, holding you flush to his side to support your weight.

You groan softly as your head spins uncomfortably. Droplets of cold sweat is starting to form on your forehead, adding another layer of discomfort upon you.

“You wanna go to your bedroom?” Semi murmurs close to your ear. You shiver again. At this, Semi thought that you’re freezing so he drapes his leather jacket on your shoulders, holding you close.

You nod weakly as you try to blink the black spots in your vision away.

From somewhere around the room, you hear Aito snicker, “Stay safe!”

You turn your head around to give him a deathly glare, but all you see is a big blob of blurriness.

Dammit.

。。。

Semi takes the key card from your bag and pushes the door open, placing your duffel bag on the floor after

He guides you to the bathroom—with gentleness you rarely see from him—and sets the toilet cover down so you can sit on it while he wets a towel with the running tap water.

“You still feel dizzy?” he asks, voice soft.

You stare at his fingers as he wrings the towel and shakes your head.

Semi holds out the cloth and pats your forehead with it, the coolness allowing you to feel a little more refreshed.

“Do you want me to make you some tea?” he wipes the back of your neck carefully.

Shit. Has he always been this thoughtful?

You shake your head again, telling him that you just want to go to sleep.

He sighs and gives you a half-smile, holding out his arm to help you to the bed.

Semi still has it in him to give you a little but of privacy as you wiggle out of your tight jeans, looking away until you slip under the covers.

He helps you pull the plush white comforter closer to your chest, tucking you in.

Your mind doesn’t feel as hazy as it was a few hours ago, but the leftover alcohol coursing through your veins gave you a sort of boost to your impulses.

“Eita,” you whisper, reaching out towards the singer, “Stay?”

The singer halts in his steps and turns to look at you.

“Uh, I don’t know Y/N,” he starts, “You’re drunk right now.”

“No I’m not,” you say, steady voice proving your point. “Please?”

Semi glances over at the door and sighs. He chewed on his lower lip for a few seconds before sighing again.

“Okay.”

。。。

You’re struggling to open your eyes when you wake up, the harsh sunlight streaming into the room completely unfiltered.

Drunk you completely forgot to close the blinds, it seems.

You groan audibly, wanting to pull the covers above your head to hide yourself from this cruel world.

You freeze. Why can you feel someone’s soft breaths on the crown of your head?

Nervously, you reach out in front of you, eyes still shut closed. Oh no.

You force your eyes open, grimacing from the sudden brightness. Your eyes widen at the sight in front of you. Semi Eita, your supposed nemesis, is sleeping soundly a few inches away from you, arms wrapped around your waist.

What the hell happened last night?

A small squeak leaves your mouth as you fully realize the situation you’re in. The small noise wakes Semi up from his slumber, causing him to slowly open his eyes, squinting at the bright light.

“Morning, angel,” he croaks, voice raspy with sleep.

My god does he look pretty in the morning.

You stay there, frozen and unblinking. All the words at the tip of your tongue seem to disappear from existence.

Semi blinks, sitting up quickly.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he rubs his eyes vigorously, “I should’ve said no when you asked me to stay. Fuck, you were drunk and I—”

You grab the back of his neck and pull him closer to you, a small smile gracing your lips.

Your thumb grazes Semi’s bottom lip, dragging it down every so slightly before releasing it, enjoying the way he seems to unravel under your touch.

“Shut up and kiss me, will you?” you murmur, trying to keep your cool as your heart hammers against your chest loudly.

At this, Semi breaks out of his reverie and laughs, “I thought you’d never ask.”

a/n: if you’ve made it this far, please feel free to let me know what you think about this fic! and please REBLOG IF YOU ENJOYED mwah <3

#❀ —𝐁𝐘 𝐇𝐀𝐉𝐈𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐄 #haikyuu x reader #semi eita x reader #haikyuu!!#haikyuu fluff #haikyuu imagines #semi eita imagines #semi eita #haikyuu x you #hq x reader #haikyuu scenarios #!semi

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gaslysgirl · 2 years

Note

https://www.instagram.com/p/Cc8cBLrsXJ4/?igshid=YmMyMTA2M2Y=

Begging for a Pierre flirting in the gym to fucking in the gym theme.

Rubbing clothed d1ck...teasing... eye fucking then acc f***ing.. a bit of possesive Pierre while f***ing but it makes no sense because all you have seen each other is at the gym

Probably ending with something funny like Pyry telling him he should take a rest from the gym it's wearing him down and he's over motivated to gym these days etc etc

Loved the just for fun one you wrote way beyond what I had in mind 🤤

Ugh his gym posts always get me wet, ngl 🤤

“You’re improving,” Pierre praises as he watched you squat with the barbell. “Thank you,” you reply. “Gonna spot me or what?” You ask then, adding another plate to the weight. He grins, his eyes drifting over the tight legging you were wearing, a shirt tucked into the waistband of your sportsbra showed him the curve of your back. You looked at him through the mirror, as he looked absolutely delicious today. His biceps were bulging up, and God- the veins. You ducked under the barbell, squatting with the weight. You didn’t need a spot at all, but it was fun how easily he fell for it.

Pierre watches you squat and get back up. “You don’t need my help, do you, babe?” He asked, his hand tapping against your ass in a supportive way. “I do,” you breathe, squatting down and pretending you can’t get it up anymore. He laughs at the pathetic attempt, but he lifts the barbell out of your hands anyway, and you push your ass right against his semi-hard on. You glance around at the few people left in the gym, and they’re all minding their own business. “Don’t pretend like you haven’t been eye fucking me for six weeks already,” you said, turning around as he grabs your hips.

Ten minutes later your back slams against the lockers in the mens room, you’re stripped from your leggings, your tits spill over your sportsbra, and he’s ballsdeep inside you, pussy spread by his cock, and you have the best workout of your life. Pierre easily holds you up, and you hold onto his shoulders for dear life, your eyes glued to his godlike body. You have to be quick before you get caught, but he has no trouble making you cum.

The next day, Pierre’s suffered some muscle aches while being in the gym with Pyry. “You look overworked, how many times have you been training this week?” Pyry asked as Pierre sips on his water. You walk into the gym and shoot him a playful smile. “I got in some extra workouts,” Pierre grins.

#pg

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rocorambles · 3 years

Text

It's Always Been You

Pairing: Semi x Reader

Genre: SFW, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff (I swear it’s more fluff than hurt/comfort), Getting together

Summary: You’ve always known Semi was your first choice. Now you just need to convince HIM that it’s true. Easier said than done.

Prompt: “When will I be someone’s first choice? Tell me, when?”

A/N: This is my contribution for the HQHQ SFW collaboration. There are so many talented writers on the server and I highly encourage you to check out the collaboration masterlist here to see how everyone decided to run with this prompt. (Also this is an AU where the boy’s and girl’s volleyball teams practice in the same gym. Just go with it. LOL Please and thank you.) Thank you for beta-ing @sawamooora~

There’s a certain sense of pride and anxiety that comes from being accepted to Shiratorizawa as a student athlete. Pride from knowing your athletic prowess has been recognized as being at least notable. Anxiety from not knowing if that’s all it’ll amount to, talent that’s forced to remain seated on a bench as other, even more capable athletes surpass and outrank you. But as wide-eyed first years, Semi and you don’t feel that full weight yet, not as you watch and learn from your senpais in awe, and it’s that curiosity, that love for the sport that brings you two together.

Semi’s always been on the quieter side, but when he sees you in the corner of the girl’s side of the gym all by yourself, practicing setting a volleyball against the wall, recognizing you as a fellow newbie from his class, he takes his chance. It’s an easy friendship, one that easily crosses from the court, to the classroom, to after school study sessions and hangouts. And even though it sucks to still be set aside on the bench, left to cheer on your upperclassmen while the both of you hone your skills, it brings both of you comfort that you’re not alone, that you have someone else cheering you on, growing and improving right alongside you.

It’s hard work trying to stand out among all the hopeful first years at Shiratorizawa, but the endless hours of hard work and encouragement you give each other, the shouts to keep on going, the careful bandaging of each other’s fingers before and after grueling practices, it all pays off. The two of you proudly stand side by side in your second year as your parents snap a photo of both of you donning your brand new team uniforms, marking you as starting players.

The adrenaline of the cheering audience, the exhilaration of being in a real game, it’s everything both of you have wished for and more. But through the excitement, a nagging worry tugs at Semi as he watches the new rookie setter, Shirabu Kenjirou, from afar.

There’s nothing wrong with Shirabu. He’s a smart kid, albeit a little short tempered and rude at times, but aren’t they all in high school? But it’s not his attitude, not even his shitty haircut that bothers Semi. It’s the ease with which he connects with the rest of the team, the natural skill and talent he possesses, the way Coach Washijou stares at the younger male with interest, that has Semi striving harder, his desire to stand out and prove himself only hindering him and the team more.

And reality comes crashing down around him one day as a shrill whistle jars him from his razor sharp focus, the paddle with his number being held up by Shirabu making his heart drop to his stomach as he’s subbed out, face heating with humiliation and embarrassment as his teammates eagerly high five and clap the younger setter on the court, welcoming him into the game.

Just like that, he’s been replaced.

It hurts, but he knows it’s to be expected. He had seen it coming, and acknowledges that it’s the better decision for the team. But that doesn’t make it sting any less. And he watches with steely eyes at how effortlessly Shirabu melds in with the team, the ball easily and smoothly connecting.

He thinks this is the worst of the heartache, vowing that he’ll just work harder, at least be a useful pinch server. He’ll be the best setter he can when he’s needed. But what he isn’t expecting is the lancing stab to his heart when he sees you rush over to Shirabu after the match is over, the way you’re practically bouncing on the soles of your feet as you fawn over the younger setter, congratulating him on his first game, complimenting him on a job well done, not even sparing a glance in his direction. In your defense, you do make your way towards him eventually, but he can feel the pity in your eyes, the way you approach him as if he’s a wounded animal, and he slaps your hand away before it can come in contact with his arms, storming off, leaving you gaping in his wake.

The situation was poorly handled and he knows he owes an apology at minimum, but those words get stuck in his throat when he spies you chatting one-on-one with Shirabu at practice the next day while the boy’s and girl’s teams share the same gym. It’s vaguely reminiscent of watching a horror film and despite the way he freezes, heart clenching, Semi can’t tear his eyes away as you demonstrate some setting techniques and drills to Shirabu. And when your bandaged fingers carefully wrap around the younger male’s forearms to adjust his posture, Semi rushes off, unable to bear watching how once again, he’s become irrelevant.

He wonders— hopes that it’s just a one off thing, that things will return to how they once were. But they don’t, and he watches as Shirabu and you laugh and joke, high fiving and cheering each other on as you help one another practice, time and time again. He tries his best to ignore it, gritting his teeth and using more strength than necessary in his practice serves, brushing off the concerned questions from even usually stoic Ushijima. But it all comes to a head when Shirabu is absent from practice one day and you cheerfully walk up to him like no time has passed, like you hadn’t turned around and instantly betrayed him for a better version of himself, grinning as you ask him to practice with you.

There’s a sick satisfaction in how quickly your smile disappears, the flash of hurt in your eyes when he sneers at you, thanking you for “gracing him with your presence”.

“Glad you could find it in yourself to make some time for me. Thought you’d skip out on practice to take care of your little boyfriend.”

“What-”

The whole gym stares at both of you as his harsh voice echoes throughout the area.

“When will I be someone’s first choice? Tell me, when?!”

Semi and you don’t talk to each other for the rest of that year, although not for quite the same reasons.

For Semi, it’s a completely burned bridge and, as good as seeing you feel some of the same pain he feels is, there’s an emptiness inside of him as he goes home that night. The belief that he’s ruined everything between the two of you heavily weighs inside of him.

For you, it’s a medley of hurt, shock, and confusion. You give Semi the time he needs to cool off, give yourself the time and space to ponder and think into the late and early hours of each night, wondering where everything went wrong.

Shirabu? Boyfriend? How could Semi possibly even believe that?

Being an upperclassman means mentorship and guidance. So when Shirabu had come up to you one day after he became the boy’s team’s starting setter, you had graciously offered up some tips, let him know that you’d practice with him if you were free, encouraged him. You had missed your easy banters with Semi, missed how in sync and in tune with each other you were. But how could you turn away an underclassman in need?

Yet, the more you think about it, the more you really try and understand Semi’s perspective, guilt gnaws at you, clawing at your heart.

Had you meant to neglect your closest friend? An emphatic no.

Could you see why he had felt abandoned? ...A begrudging maybe laced with remorse.

Do you want him back in your life? A resounding yes.

You know it’ll be hard work to regain Semi’s trust, know he has a stubbornness that’s hard to crack — especially when it’s been hot glued together by seeming betrayal. But you’re just as determined, just as headstrong, and to both the dismay and amusement of both your teams and classmates, you twirl together in a chaotic dance.

To say he’s caught off guard when you knock on his door one morning to walk with him to school is an understatement, but when realization comes crashing down on him, he scowls, and his parents watch while shaking their heads and hiding a laugh as you scramble to keep up with him while he pointedly ignores you and speed walks a few steps ahead of you.

His mom points out to his father the way their son slows down just the tiniest bit when you stumble in your haste to catch up.

Ushijima watches in uncomfortable confusion as you sit with them at lunch, plopping down in the empty seat beside Semi, chatting away at your old friend despite the way Semi resolutely stays silent, not even sparing you a glance.

But if the ace notices the way Semi doesn’t snap at you or pull his bento box from you as you grab a piece of fish Semi’s mom had cooked, he doesn’t say anything.

Shirabu pouts when you completely bypass him, fondly ruffling his hair as you stride towards Semi, volleyball in hand at practice. And both your teams watch in exasperation and fascination at the unintentional comedy show the two of you provide as you waddle after Semi like a baby duck following its mother, quacking your head off and never giving up even though Semi pretends he doesn’t see you in the corner of his eyes, mimicking every drill he does.

Coach Washijo and your coach wonder if they should slap both of you on the heads for this madness, but when they observe the way Semi painstakingly slows down and exaggerates his form when you struggle with an exercise, they roll their eyes, turning their attention to the other players lounging around.

Yet as amusing as it is, all shows must come to an end and your grand finale arrives with the devastating loss against Karasuno, the chances of going to Nationals again ruined just like that for the third-years.

Even for you, a bystander in the audience, just another spectator in the crowd, it’s a hard pill to swallow. Unshed tears glisten in your eyes when you see the years of hard work they’ve all put into the sport go down the drain, the slump of Semi’s shoulders as they walk off the court. You can’t even begin to imagine how the players themselves are feeling, don’t know a single word you could say to make this alright. Yet your legs are sprinting, wobbling and shaking in their frantic need to comfort your long-time friend, to try and soothe him, to tell him how proud you are of him, how this doesn’t change how you think and feel about him.

It’s more than a little awkward, panting to catch your breath as the entire dejected team stares at your sudden appearance in confusion. But Tendou’s always been a little quicker, a little sharper than the rest, and he grins, practically shoving Semi in your direction, playfully waving farewell at both of you before slamming the locker room doors shut before Semi can process what’s happened.

There’s a tense silence as you try and wrap your suddenly dry mouth around words.

“I’m sorry for your loss-”

You jolt at the cold scoff, the way Semi quickly spins on his heel, set on re-entering the locker rooms, turning his back on you.

“I don’t want to hear that from you. Go comfort your little boyfriend. I’m sure our star setter would eat those sweet words right up-”

“SHUT UP!”

This time it’s Semi’s turn to clamp his mouth shut in shock, hesitantly turning around, eyes wide as you storm towards him, jabbing your index finger into his chest.

“I swear to God, if you mention Shirabu’s name one more time while I’m talking to you, I’m going to muzzle you until you can’t say ANYTHING.”

(If either of you hear Tendou’s giggle from behind the closed doors, neither of you mention it.)

“I came to talk to YOU because I miss YOU. I like YOU. And if you could take just a minute to get your head out of your ass, you’d know that you’ve always been and always will be my first choice.”

Your chest is heaving, blood rushing in your ears from the exertion of your passion. But the reality of your accidental confession comes crashing down around you and your face heats in embarrassment, heart plummeting at the way Semi just gapes at you, speechless. You turn to rush away, mortification triggering your flight response. But a gentle, but firm tug on the hem of your shirt keeps you still.

You brace yourself for the rejection you know is coming, nervously turning around, slowly lifting your head to meet Semi’s gaze. But your heart flutters at the hope and disbelief in his eyes.

“But I thought...You and Shirabu- OW!”

You roll your eyes, a satisfied smirk on your face at the way he gingerly rubs his head, shooting you an accusing look.

“I did warn you about mentioning him, didn’t I?”

But before he can open his mouth to retort, you gently peck him on the cheek, giggling at the flabbergasted and stunned expression on his face, cooing at the faint blush that radiates across his skin.

“Hurry up and get your things. You owe me a popsicle for being such an ass this past year.”

There’s a lot more cheering and celebration in the locker room than there should be for a team that’s just lost their shot at Nationals as Semi re-enters the space, his already packed bag (courtesy of Ushijima) shoved into his arms by a gleeful red-head.

#haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu angst #semi x reader #haikyuu fic #haikyuu x reader

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3wisellamas · 3 years

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SCC Family / Pre-Band Backstory Headcanons?

(May or may not have gone a LITTLE overboard on these. Because I’m just a sucker for Found Family. ;v; )

Sweet:

-Sweet has a ridiculously huge family -- tons of siblings, cousins, aunts/uncles, etc. All of whom are professional musicians, and in fact used to serve as Queen's personal orchestra! Needless to say, they're ridiculously wealthy, too. -He's also got huge family problems, though. For starters, his parents were emotionally distant, and EXTREMELY strict, enforcing discipline and demanding perfection of their kids since they were all semi-public figures, and controlling their schedules to the minute -- Sweet had several different music lessons per day! -He was also pretty heavily restricted on what kinds of music he was allowed to listen to, however he did have one Cool Uncle who would occasionally sneak him rock or pop albums to listen to in secret. He got caught and had them all confiscated more than once, and definitely got the chip on his shoulder about authority and holding music back from his upbringing. -Eventually he just got sick of it all, openly rebelling against his parents, and teaching himself to play his own style of music rather than his family's, pretty much becoming the black sheep, but it wasn't until he dropped out right in the middle of his first year of music college in order to be a DJ instead that he was officially disowned and kicked out of his home. -That Cool Uncle took pity on him, though, letting him move into an old closed-down junk shop the family still owned and teaching him how to tinker with machines -- if Sweet couldn't get his DJ-ing career off the ground, at least he could have a job and support himself. And for a long time, that was indeed his main source of income, since his initial plan of being a street musician didn't really pay the bills, though he still kept at it anyway. -After SCC was formed and actually became a moderate success, but before Queen banned music and they went underground, Sweet's parents reached out to him again to try and reconnect. It...didn't go well, with them being extremely overbearing about every single element of their meeting down to the dress code, and Sweet having a massive panic attack the instant he stepped into his old home. Thankfully Cap'n and K_K tagged along, though, and were able to get him out of there, get some milk in him, and calm him down. They still run interference and keep Sweet's family away from him, which he's always grateful for -- while he still occasionally calls the Cool Uncle maybe once a year, the rest of them make Sweet EXTREMELY anxious and uncomfortable. Cap’n:

-Cap'n, ironically enough, has the most loving, supportive, normal family of the trio. -He was an only child, grew up in a suburb of Cyber City on the other side of the Cyber Fields from the junk shop, and though his parents loved him (to the degree it embarrassed the crap out of him!) he was bullied pretty mercilessly as a kid, about everything from wearing glasses to his extra fingers to his height to his (lack of) magical power, meaning he grew up with a bunch of self-esteem issues that he still hides behind his Cool Guy exterior. -He actually ran away from home as a teenager after flirting with the wrong girl, and her boyfriend, one of those bullies, came for Cap'n in a REALLY bad way -- he ended up all the way in the middle of the city, with nothing but the clothes on his back and the CD in his tray, initially too afraid to go home because he thought his life was still in danger, but after a while it became more of a pride thing, too afraid to go home and admit he had failed to make it on his own. -He basically spent the next few years homeless, learning to fend for himself (and having a LOT of close calls along the way!), but for a few months he had no choice but to try and join a gang of other music equipment-based street punks in order to survive, which is where he met and quickly befriended K_K. The two of them ended up getting sent out on a bunch of less-than-legal jobs, with K_K having to save Cap'n's ass more than once when he got in trouble, and eventually he agreed to leave with them and go back to the streets. -The CD bagels were initially his idea, with K_K making them and Cap'n selling them, and he also just learned to scam people a LOT. The two of them may have slept in their boxes in an alley every night, but they did always have money for food and new CDs thanks to him. -Eventually they decided to move their bagel-selling operation to one of the busiest streetcorners in Cyber City, which happened to also be claimed by a certain speaker-shaped part-time street musician... -Amazingly, Cap'n successfully reconnected with his family later on, after his parents surprised him at one of their shows -- even grown up and going by a different name, they recognized him immediately, and became SCC's biggest fans, always in the front row cheering for their son and holding up posters with different messages for him, though they still keep a respectful distance otherwise, since they know better than anyone how fragile Cap'n's ego is. Every now and then they invite the whole band over for some homemade spaghetti code, and let them hide at their house a couple of times when Queen put a little too much pressure on their rebellion. -They've basically adopted Sweet and K_K as well, and though they still embarrass the crap out of Cap'n he loves them back. K_K:

-K_K, shockingly, has...probably the saddest backstory of all. -He literally has NO family, and doesn't even remember them, being orphaned at a young age and raised in the system, and was unceremoniously tossed out onto the streets the day he turned 18. Meeting/hearing about the others' families bothers him a little, even though he tries not to show it -- positivity is just how K_K deals with all the shit he's been through. -After only a couple weeks of trying and failing to find a place for themself, and getting very, very lonely, they ended up with the musical robot gang just...because. Showed up one day and started sitting the the back of the hideout playing music, and refused to leave. The gang didn't really mind, since K_K is BIG and scary even if he's always smiling, and even if he wasn't too good at actual Crime they'd drag him along just for intimidation purposes. -When Cap'n joined up, though, the gang got the idea to pair up the scrawny, overconfident new kid with the Thing That Would Not Leave, sending them both out onto the most dangerous missions as a way of either getting rid of both of them, or making them quit. After bonding very quickly with their first ever Real Friend, as well as having to defend Cap'n in fights and even saving his life a couple of times, they actually proposed the latter: "You know we're doing illegal stuff, right? You wanna just go?" Cap'n agreed, and neither of them ever set foot on the gang's turf again, never having to deal with any retaliation because, hey, K_K's finally gone! -They were the one who actually fought against Sweet when he challenged them for stealing his streetcorner (since Cap'n cowered behind them), and accepted Sweet into their group afterward, and even came up with the name Sweet Cap'n Cakes! -K_K 100% considers Cap'n and Sweet the only family they've ever really had, and would do anything for them.

#deltarune #sweet cap'n cakes #deltarune sweet #deltarune cap'n #deltarune k_k #emheadcanons

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pagesoflauren · 4 years

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The Highest Bidder Ch. 1 (Ransom Drysdale x reader; sugar daddy!AU)

Summary: A graduate-level education is a costly pursuit. When you move out of state to study in Boston, expenses pile up, leading you to auction off what is apparently your most valuable asset: your virginity. It goes to the highest bidder…who happens to be Ransom Drysdale.

There are no major spoilers for Knives Out. Consider this as an alternate timeline. There will be references to the movie/its characters and family dynamics revealed in the movie.

Warnings: loss of virginity, explicit sexual content/smut, angst, sugar daddy/baby arrangement, dark elements, dubcon, cliffhangers, minor spoilers for Knives Out, unprotected sex, irresponsible driving (don’t drink and drive!), swearing, Ransom is an asshole (more to add and if you spot any that I’ve missed, please kindly let me know!)

A/N: Huge disclaimer...I really didn’t want to end this chapter the way I did, but it was getting a little too long...but there’s more coming! Don’t worry, please don’t send an angry mob after me 😱 Big love to @threeminutesoflife and @caffiend-queen for beta-ing this for me! ❤️ One last thing about the text messages: Italics are sent messages and bold italics are received messages :)

This chapter is written under the assumption that the reader drinks alcohol.

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

With his bedroom illuminated by the flashing images of his television, Ransom lounged lazily in his bed. One hand was occupied with his phone as his thumb slowly scrolled over the screen, the other idly wrapped around his cock as he took in the images on the device.

Various girls, all a few years younger than him, staring with false wide-eyed innocence or sprawled out provocatively across recliners on sandy beaches or by turquoise-watered pools. Their names or aliases were listed under the respective photos, with a number in green text next to it.

Deciding there were too many options, Ransom scrolled back up, the hand on his cock pausing as he started setting filters through the search. He changed them to specific hair colors, skin tones and a more concentrated age range. The only filter he didn’t change was the prices--there was no limit there. The page refreshed and showed him more favorable faces.

His mind started to numb and the faces started looking too similar. As he was ready to pack it in for the night and tuck himself back into his boxers, a strange listing catches his attention.

He sees you, kneeling in the sand at an apparent topical destination in a barely-there bikini. Unlike the other girls, though, your face is candid, caught in a laugh, eyes crinkled and lips spread in joy. There’s no price. Just the letters “HB” in red text.

He clicks on your photo and the webpage changes to your profile. There’s a few more photos of you: one with a cat, more vacation photos. Your location is convenient: Boston. Not too far from where he is.

But all of that fails to answer the question at the forefront of Ransom’s mind: Why don’t you have a price next to your name?

He scrolls through a couple more meaningless pieces of information: a little blurb about who you are, your measurements, your race and your conditions.

One time only.

“What?” he wonders aloud, face scrunching in curiosity. Sugar babies don’t just have sex once and then walk away with a fortune. From what he’s heard, they bitch and moan but shut up when there’s a cock in their mouth (or pussy, for that matter). They need to be looked after either because they can’t afford it or can’t be bothered to do things on their own. Then, once he reaches the end of your profile, he understands.

Virginity Auction. Current Bid: $8,250.

Ransom smirks at the prospect. He wasn’t looking for a virgin, but he likes the idea of taking one now.

The number changes in real time, going up in five dollar increments before someone brings it up to $8,500. A pop-up window appears, warning him that if he’s interested, the auction ends at midnight. Ransom’s eyes flick to the top of his phone. It’s 11:57.

He thinks for a few ticks. If he pays you enough, he’ll have the convenience of entertaining himself between your legs and taking your virginity with no strings attached. Once that’s done, you’ll be out of his hair. He wouldn’t have to put you up, send you money or deal with your whining or complaining.

Sounds like a good deal.

Pressing his thumb into the blue button that says “Bid,” Ransom looks at the clock again. 11:58.

Initially, he types in $10,000. But with two minutes to go and your price still ticking up, he doesn’t want to chance getting outbid by someone at the last second. He has to blow the other bidders out of the water.

Sat up in your bed and wringing your hands nervously, you look at your cracked phone screen. Midnight has just passed and you’re waiting for a notification about the final bid in your auction. It started at $5,000 and in the week that the listing was posted, you had gotten notifications whenever it went to the next thousand.

This isn’t how you wanted to lose your virginity. Ideally, you would have genuinely made love to somebody, someone your parents would have approved of and who truly cared for you. Even more ideally, it would have been the man who eventually became your husband...though you wouldn’t have waited until marriage to lose your V-card. You were about to take the next step in life and--you had to face it--you weren’t getting younger.

What was the least ideal of it all was the fact that you were doing this out of pure desperation. Your graduate program was starting in a month and your savings were mostly gobbled up by application and testing fees. Living out of state didn’t help either; most of your money went to paying rent and commuting around the city. If someone paid you enough to tide your finances over, you could live off that money until the end of the semester, after adjusting to the program and your schedule, before taking on a job off campus.

Your phone buzzed with an email from the website and you tapped the banner. Your email app launched and opened directly to the message.

Your auction has ended.

Reading further, you can’t believe what you see.

Winning bid: $50,000 by Ransom Drysdale.

Fifty thousand dollars? Surely there must be a mistake. Why would someone pay ten times the starting bid?

And Drysdale...where had you seen that name?

Closing your eyes, you searched your recollection to place the name. It’s so familiar.

Deciding your memory is unreliable, you resolve to a Google search of your highest bidder’s last name.

The first result that pops up is a real estate company and a picture of famed author Harlan Thrombey, who apparently is the father of the woman who owns the business.

You feel faint...these names are not insignificant in Massachusetts, let alone the world. Harlan was a best-selling mystery writer--you had some of his books in your library back home.

Then concern floods your brain: if this Linda Drysdale is Harlan Thrombey’s daughter, that makes Thrombey her maiden name. She must’ve married a Drysdale.

Are you a pawn in some horrible cheating scandal? You must be, nobody has the name Ransom. It has to be an alias. Her husband must be looking for some young thing to get his rocks off.

Stress causes your scalp to prickle as your phone buzzes again with a text message from the semi-mysterious Ransom, checking if it’s you, that he has the right number.

Yes, you reply.

The three dotted message bubble pops up before turning into another message.

Good. I’ve made a reservation at The Boxer in the city for Saturday. I told them you’ll check in. I told them not to charge you anything, but if you need to pay any fees, I’ll send you the money back. I’ll be there after 9.

A chill runs down your spine at how direct he is. But, you suppose you can’t expect anything more from him.

Okay, you acknowledge.

More dots, then another message.

Dress appropriately.

Despite your lack of experience in the bedroom, you know for a fact that he’s not referring to office attire.

Settling back onto your pillow, you pull the covers over yourself and breathe slowly. You’ve got some preparation to do.

What do you bring with you when you’re planning to lose your virginity to a complete stranger in exchange for tuition money?

Fuck all if you have a clue.

You spent the days leading up to Saturday getting yourself ready. You bought a tight dress and pair of strappy heels from the sale racks. You cluelessly browsed for lingerie before an associate took pity on you (or just desperately wanted you out of her store, jury’s still out on that) and helped you select a lacy set complete with a garter and stockings. The associate absolutely gushed at how the color of the material complemented your skin tone, though you could care less. You forked over $120 for the damn thing and scampered out. Learning from your friends’ mistakes, you purchased a set of condoms using the self-checkout kiosk (and prayed you picked the right size). You weren’t instructed to buy condoms, but you figured you wouldn’t risk the chance of not having any. You endured a Brazilian wax, stifling profanities as the woman did her work. You also had trouble getting over your embarrassment; a stranger was going to see you bared all for him in a few days so if you can’t handle the wax lady seeing you, how could you handle “Ransom”?

Ransom.

Thinking about him did nothing for your nerves. You were certain you were going to lose your virginity to a man in his late 50s, who was married to Massachusetts’ biggest real estate mogul and the daughter of a renowned author.

Dear God, what if she found out? Her father wrote murder mysteries, she had plenty of ways to kill you and get away with it. What if you weren’t even meeting “Ransom” and you were meeting Linda and she was going to kill you at the hotel?

You shake your head and look back down at the contents of your duffel bag: toiletries, a change of clothes for tomorrow, the condoms and your phone charger. You had created a playlist on your phone...if you weren’t going to lose your virginity to someone you loved, then maybe you could fake it with music.

Who are you kidding? you chide yourself.

You sigh and resolve to getting ready. After eating dinner, you strip off your old band t-shirt and sweatpants, remove your simple cotton underwear and novelty pineapple-patterned socks before discarding them into your laundry hamper.

You shimmy into the lacy knickers, the material feeling quite uncomfortable against your skin. You clip the bra on next, followed by the garter around your waist. Then you finish off with the stockings over your legs, stopping at mid-thigh. After fastening the clips on the suspenders to the lace trim at the top of the hosiery, you sit at your vanity to apply some makeup and fix your hair.

“‘Dress appropriately’,” you mutter as you pull your dress from your tiny closet, “Hopefully this is appropriate enough.”

You maneuver yourself into your dress, struggling with the zipper for a moment then smoothing the material over yourself. You slide your feet into your heels and teeter a bit as you stand up.

You’re not planning to really impress too much, so you pull on a downy, puffy jacket to combat the sea breeze the city gets in the evenings.

Pulling the strap of your bag onto your shoulder, you look in the mirror one last time. You catch the reflection of the clock: it’s almost seven thirty. Taking into account how long it’ll take for your rideshare to arrive at your house and the traffic in the city on a Saturday night, you’ll arrive at the hotel a little after eight. You suppose now’s a good a time as any to leave.

Requesting a car for pickup, you realize there’s no going back.

Stepping into the hotel lobby, you know you don’t belong here.

With modern touches and old architectural charm, the men wearing luxury tailored suits and women wearing unaffordable dresses, you felt you stood out like a sore thumb. The most luxurious hotel you had stayed at was a Holiday Inn Express near Disneyland. And it barely had functioning lighting.

You timidly approach the front desk. Though the receptionist gives you a warm smile, you’re not comforted.

“Hi, I’m here to check in for Drysdale?”

The man’s eyebrows raise in what you assume is recognition.

Maybe this “Ransom” meets other escorts here often, then.

“While we would normally ask you to cover the fees upon checking in, Mr. Drysdale is a very good friend of the hotel so we’ve accommodated his request to make an exception,” the man informs you as he types away. He grabs a keycard and hands it to you.

“You’ll be in room 6-F. Have a pleasant stay.”

“Thank you,” you say meekly, taking the card before turning to take an elevator up.

Once on the sixth floor, you locate and unlock the room. The lights turn on automatically and you’re met with a cool gray toned room, which gives the room a darker atmosphere already.

The entrance is narrow and you assume the bathroom is on the other side of the wall on your right. With wobbly steps, you move forward and see the room open up.

The first thing you notice is the king-sized bed. Beyond it, the windows show illuminated facades of buildings outside. On the wall opposite the bed is a desk with a speaker and aux cord on top of the marble workspace and a fridge underneath. A TV is mounted on the wall above the desk. Next to it is an open wardrobe with a bathrobe hanging, cubbies and drawers, as well as a tray of refreshments.

You set your bag on the bottom shelf of the wardrobe and retrieve the remote to turn on the TV to create some white noise and maybe kill some time (and nerves) as you wait for nine o’clock to come around.

You wander into the bathroom and look yourself over in the mirror. You shake out your hands and pace, deciding to take off your heels for now as you pad around the room.

Ransom was bored of dinner and his host knew it. Everyone else kept a level of decorum, but all the guests knew this get together was extending much longer than necessary.

Checking his watch, it was quarter to nine. He threw back the rest of his drink before nodding to his friend and exchanging brief glances as he got up. Haphazard goodbyes were thrown his way as he pulled on his jacket and Ransom gave a nod of acknowledgement. He exits the restaurant, whistling to get the valet’s attention and handing the man his ticket as he pulls out his phone.

Where are you? he messages you.

At the hotel, sir. Room 6-F.

“‘Sir’,” he muses to himself, smirking at the title you’d given him. He didn’t even need to tell you to address him that way.

Have them bring up my usual from the bar.

Yes, sir.

Wondering how far he can take this, he asks you to send him a picture.

He’s surprised with how quickly you comply. You’re sat on top of the sheets at the edge of the bed, leaned forward so your elbow can rest on your knee and the camera can get a view of the plunging neckline of your dress. Your hair falls nicely over your face and your palm cradles your chin.

He can’t lie, he loves the way you look. You may as well be the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen.

Taking a few deep breaths, he wills himself to calm down; he can’t get hard yet.

He puts his phone into one pocket and reaches into the other as the valet returns with his car. When the valet approaches, Ransom hands over a few sad, crumpled bills as a tip before walking around to the driver’s side of his car and climbing in. Sending one last message to you, he pulls away from the curb and heads to the hotel.

I’m on my way. Make sure my drink is there before me.

You let out a spastic sound of nervousness and shook out your hands again before getting up to pace around the room again.

The drink was on the way, you placed the order as soon as he told you to. You didn’t want to give him any excuse to not pay or complain you were unsatisfactory. Though, not having any experience in bed might prove that mission to be difficult regardless of whether or not his drink came in time.

There’s a knock on the door and you jog over, pulling the door open to find a waiter holding a tray with a glass of what you assume is Scotch perched on top, covered with one of those signature little hats hotels always place on top of glasses.

“Thank you,” you smile, carefully receiving the glass from him. He bows silently and turns to leave.

You shut the door and place the glass on a coaster you find on the desk. You bother yourself with where the glass should rest (next to the speaker? on the far end, closest to the wardrobe?). Deciding it should be on the bedside table, you move the glass and coaster there then return to the desk to plug your phone in and play some music. You cringe at your choice to include Ed Sheeran in this playlist, but there’s no going back now.

Suddenly, you hear the clicking sound of the door unlocking and you scramble over to sit on the bed to put your heels on.

When you look up, you’re shocked to not find a man in his late 50s, nor the severe looking woman you’ve seen plastered on real estate posters.

You find a man who can’t be that much older than you, dark hair and blue eyes that stand out in the dim light of the entry hallway. His cheeks are pale and rosy, framed by a strong jawline. He’s tall, crown of his head so high towards the ceiling. His broad shoulders nearly touch either side of the walls as he approaches you.

He’s dressed rather casually, as if he was out to dinner with friends. The color palette of his outfit matches the hotel room: cool gray henley shirt, black blazer and jeans, finished off with a pair of brown boots and belt to match. If you’re honest, he looks like a model. He looks like he could have any woman he wanted.

Why the hell does he want a virgin?

When he comes to stand in the room, hands tucked into his pockets, he looks you up and down from where you’re seated. His lips pucker thoughtfully and you see how perfectly pink and full they are and you wonder what it would be like to kiss them...

Nope. We’re not doing that. It’s a one time thing and that’s that. You remind yourself.

His eyes catch the glass on the bedside table and he plucks it up, removing the paper covering before bringing it to his lips to drink.

When the glass is halfway to his mouth, he hooks a finger at you. “Stand up.”

As he drinks, you obey, rising from your place on the mattress and smoothing down your dress before folding your hands together.

He pauses his sipping, “Turn.”

Hands falling out of each other’s grip, they land at your sides rather limply and you begin turning, giving him a three-sixty view of your body. You feel heat creeping up your neck and settling into your cheeks.

When you come back to face him, he throws his head back to finish his drink and places the glass back on the bedside table, but he misses the coaster. You cringe inwardly at the ring that will surely form on the surface later.

Your breath catches in your throat when your eyes meet his. You feel like a deer in headlights, unmoving as his gaze continues to flit over your figure. You wonder if he knows you’re holding your breath. You wonder if he can hear how quickly your heart is pounding.

When he goes to take off his jacket, things start feeling real. You don’t know how to describe the sound that leaves your throat, maybe something a frightened toad would make. Ransom halts and throws you a perplexed look and you cover your mouth in embarrassment.

He rolls his eyes. “You nervous?”

The words blend together, but his voice is so honeyed and silken and you can’t help but sigh inwardly at the sound of it.

Your jaw is slack and can’t make any sounds rise from your larynx. You snap your mouth shut and manage to nod stiffly.

Rolling his eyes again, he crosses the room to the mini fridge under the desk and pulls the door open. Crouching down, he shuffles through the various little bottles inside before turning and tossing one to you.

Your balance teeters as you fumble to catch it, the glass slipping out of your grip a few times before you fully grasp it.

The cap makes a cracking sound as it separates from the tamper evident band when you twist it open. You don’t bother to look at the label or pay any mind to the color of the liquid. Once the bottle’s open, you tilt your head back and drink, feeling the burn travel down your throat. When you stop, you notice you’ve had almost all of it.

Your eyes meet Ransom’s again and he raises his brows as if to ask, Better?

You finish the remaining contents of the bottle and feel the liquid settle in your belly as you twist the cap back on.

“Thank you,” you muster your voice to say.

His eyebrows raise again, showing his disinterest, and he holds his hand out. You’re certain you resemble a child when you use both hands to carefully place the bottle in his hands. There’s a flicker of confusion that crosses his face and you think you were meant to place your hand in his, but he turns and places the bottle on the desk.

There’s a sense of dread that settles in your stomach when you realize there really is no going back and no more stalling. You can’t read the expression on his face, but you’re certain he’s not pleased with how slowly this is going.

Summoning your courage, you reach your hands up behind you and begin to pull the zipper down...

Permatag: @caffiend-queen @fckdeusername @lou-la-lou

Chris tag: @onetwo3000 @patzammit

Ransom tag: @jeremyrennermakesmesmile

Highest Bidder Taglist: @sapphirescrolls @just-another-wretched-egg @ladynightshade30 @angstsfordays @icanfeelastormbrewing @buckysteveloki-me @what-is-your-plan-today @iloganjade @twittytelly @xoxabs88xox @an-awkward-human-1 @fanfiction-trashpile @jtargaryen18 @donutloverxo @meaganottiz02 @princess-evans-addict @kianifan @asiaaisa77 @kelbabyblue @my-emotional-self @saiyanprincessswanie @random-things-i-love @captainchrisstan @daughterofthenight117 @buchanansebba @sweater-daddiesdumbdork @andiebell2023 @avengerraven1023 @dahkness @thatonefangirl111 @sllooney @sheerfreesia007 @chris-evans-indian-fanfic @suzieqsez @farremoved @edge-ofparadise @bellaireland1981

A note about tags: If your name is crossed out, I couldn’t tag you for some reason. While comments asking for me to tag you are okay, it is much easier for me to keep track of my tag lists if you send an ask. That’s the sure fire way to guarantee I’ll tag you.

Additionally, if I forgot to tag you, please gently remind me via my ask box.

#ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale fic #ransom drysdale fanfiction #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale x you #knives out fanfic #knives out fic #The Highest Bidder #pagesoflauren

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