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jackrrabbit · 4 years

Text

Spoiled Rotten /// Overhaul x f!Reader (18+)

Request: What if Overhaul fucks spoiled rich reader because her dad owes the yakuza money and in exchange Kai takes the daughter as a form of payment using her as his personal stress doll whenever and wherever he wants making her into his perfect little doll

A/N: While I was writing this my roommate asked if I was okay bc cause I kept stopping to fan myself and blush lmaooooo god I’m such a brat. I did change the concept up a bit, hope that’s fine!

This is dedicated not only to the OG requester but also to everyone who read the excerpt I posted a while back and told me they couldn’t wait to see the finished product!! Love you guys ❤️

Tags/warnings: threats, dubcon/coercion, dom/sub, brat taming, degradation, exhibitionism, restraints, mentions of forced prostitution, verbal & physical harassment, kidnapping, kinda breath play?, long

The first thing you notice when you come to are voices. Multiple people talking to each other, speech overlapping in patterns you can’t make out. They’re quiet—not whispering for your sake, but quiet because you’re still half knocked-out and you can barely hear.

The second thing you notice is the pounding in your head and the lingering smell of something sweet spread over your nose and mouth.

The third thing you notice is the fact that when you try to blink your eyes open, your lashes brush against something soft and dark. You’re blindfolded…and gagged, and your hands feel like they’re cuffed behind your back. From what you can sense around you, it seems like you’re hunched in a kneeling position with your cheek flattened against the floor and your bare feet tucked under your backside.

At least you’re still in your nightgown. You can feel the frilly silk of it, a useless barrier between your skin and the cool air, and it reminds you of how you got here in the first place.

A loud noise in the night. Your father’s voice pleading. A heavy thump. The door to your bedroom banging open and a strange man holding you down to your bed…lifting a sweet-smelling rag to your mouth…telling you to “take a deeeeep breath, princess.”

“Hey, I think she’s waking up.”

An invisible hand fists itself in your hair and you whine in pain as your upper body is lifted off the floor. Once you’re properly upright, you hear squeaking, shoes against concrete, and the heat and breath and presence of someone behind you. Something rustles at the back of your head—you’re too scared to move so you stay still—and then the blindfold is being lifted off your face.

Once it’s gone, you have to blink for a moment even despite the low light of the dingy room where you’ve…apparently…been kidnapped. By the freaking yakuza. And for some reason, they’re all wearing bird-beak masks.

You close your eyes, almost wishing they hadn’t taken the blindfold off. You’d prefer to live in blissful ignorance of how decidedly unclean the floor is. How dare they let your face touch it? What happened to honor among thieves?

“Do you know why you’re here?”

Against your will, your eyes flick up to the speaker. He’s the only one sitting, and somehow that gives him a position of power among the others. The leader?

Unsettling golden eyes rest on yours, and you realize he’s waiting for your answer, so you slowly move your head from side to side.

“Didn’t know about daddy’s bad habits, huh?” This time the person speaking is behind you, the one who untied your blindfold, a thin man with lank, greasy blond hair. He’s the one who drugged me, you remember in a surge of panic, and you try to stand up away from him only for him to step on the chain that connects your handcuffs, jerking you back and pinning you—painfully—to the floor.

“Careful, Setsuno. I told you not to leave marks. Let her talk.”

“Got it, boss.” The blond—Setsuno—fumbles at the back of your head and then he’s pulling the gag out of your mouth.

You open and close your mouth a few times to stretch out the stiff muscles. “Oh. My. God. Was that polyester you just took out of my mouth? Do you have any idea how bad synthetics are for sensitive skin? I’m totally going to break out.”

A hush falls over the little room. You could hear a pin drop.

“…Are you complaining about the quality of the fabric we gagged you with?” the leader asks after a second.

“You may be yakuza, but you don’t have to act like savages,” you reply primly, aligning your knees together and sending a proud look off to the side.

“Ohh…little princess deserves better, does she?” Setsuno coos. He edges closer to rub his cheek against yours and laughs when you cringe away from him. “Boss, you shoulda seen her bedroom. All pink and frilly, looked like royalty lived there. Bet they treat you like a real princess at home, huh? No wonder your daddy’s in debt.”

“Daddy isn’t—“

“Your father…took out loans from my gang. My men came last night to collect,” the leader says, drumming his fingers over the armrest of his chair impatiently.

He’s wearing plastic gloves. Why is he wearing plastic gloves? Immediately your mind is spinning, imagining all the different gruesome possibilities of what they’re going to do to you. “That’s ridiculous. My daddy doesn’t need to borrow money—“

“Clearly he does, because it looks like he pissed it all away on his daughter.” The leader’s eyes are cold enough to make you shiver—although maybe that’s just the icy temperature of the floor soaking through your nightgown.

“He had a couple payments overdue, so we stopped by to ask nicely for him to pay up,” Setsuno says, resting his chin on your shoulder. “Didn’t find too many valuables in your house, but then we got our hands on a real treasure.”

“Don’t touch me—“

“You don’t seem to understand the position you’re in,” the leader says. “When I made my contract with your father, he understood that obligations like these are inherited. Since he can’t pay his debt, you’re going to be working it off in his place.”

Working it off? You swallow. Somehow you don’t think he’s talking about your little part-time job as a receptionist at your daddy’s company. “You can’t make me do that.”

“I’m not sure you’re getting the gist, princess,” Setsuno hums. “What we’re gonna do is we’re gonna put you in a room, and then men are gonna give us money, and then we’ll let those men fuck you. All that money’s gonna go toward paying what your daddy borrowed. Sound good?”

For the first time since you can remember, you’re shocked speechless. They’re going to…what? But you’re a quick thinker, and instead of letting these filthy, awful gangters boss you around, you raise your chin haughtily to look directly into the leader’s eyes. “I don’t think so. If Daddy’s the one who got himself in debt, you can make him whore himself out to pay it back. You can’t hold me responsible for something he’s done.”

Another brief silence, and then you hear a whistle echo out from the corner of the room (and you try not to look toward it, reminding yourself that this can only get worse if they know how scared you are). “She’s got a mouth on her, Overhaul,” someone says.

Overhaul. So the leader’s name is Overhaul. How ridiculous; it sounds like a villain’s name.

“Aww, princess,” Setsuno says, and once again his voice is too close for your comfort. “Little spoiled princess doesn’t know how to shut her mouth and suck it up when things don’t go her way? Well…you’ll learn.”

You don’t want to know what he’s talking about, although if you thought about it for more than a second it’d be obvious. You suck in a harsh breath and the cool, damp air stings against your dry throat. “You can’t just make me—“

“Ohh, I think we can. See, if your daddy’s been spending all of the Shie Hassaikai’s money on his precious daughter, don’t you think you owe a little too? Like, this dress—“ you jump as Setsuno’s hand tugs on the thin, floaty silk— “was bought with Overhaul’s money, so it belongs to him, right?”

You keep quiet, not wanting to prompt him to go further, but when his hands stroke up over your waist to grope your breasts in full view of everyone else in the room, you don’t really have to guess.

“And, y’know, your daddy’s been keeping you nice and healthy with Overhaul’s cash, making sure you grow up into such a pretty girl…” Setsuno’s voice is a purr in your ear as his hands squeeze your tits almost lovingly, then pinch your nipples through the fabric. “So hey—if you think about it, this tight little body…belongs to Overhaul too. Isn’t that right, sir?”

You squirm in place as best you can but with the metal cuffs digging into your wrists, there’s nothing you can do to get away from his touch. You’re desperate enough to shoot a terrified glance up at the leader—surely there are rules about treating an innocent girl like this, even for the yakuza—but he looks as unmoved as before. “Get her out of my sight. We’ll give her a rest for the next few days, and then…”

“No!” you yelp, too panicked to keep up the pretense of confidence. “I won’t, I can’t do that, please don’t make me—“

“Shhh. You’ll get used to it, princess. And if you don’t…” Setsuno’s hand combs though your hair and then trails down your neck, tracing the path of your spine between your shoulder blades. “…well, you won’t really have much of a choice, will you?”

And then he’s tugging on your cuffed hands, pulling you to a standing position, but you wriggle away from him and do everything you can to stay planted on the ground so they can’t take you away from here, away from the only man who is capable of stopping this. Overhaul. “Please! I’m— I can work it off another way! I’ll be useful— I’ll—“

Overhaul leans forward a fraction in his chair, and you wonder if you’ve caught his interest. “What, exactly? How do you think you can be useful to me?”

You bite your lip and wrack your brains, not knowing whether the question is rhetorical. What skills do you have that would be valuable to them? Suddenly all the knowledge you’ve gained in your short life seems so meaningless. You’re a decent receptionist (well, decent is a stretch), but if Overhaul wanted someone to answer calls for him you’re pretty sure he would’ve asked.

Why did you spend your life learning such impractical skills? The four-year weekend course you took on horseback riding jumps to mind and you want to hit your head against the wall. Why didn’t you ask your father to sponsor a class in something that would actually matter in the long run? And what would even be useful to these people? Accounting? Bookkeeping? Extortion?

There’s nothing valuable you can offer. You’ve wasted your life, and now you’re going to pay for it. Seriously, the only thing you’re actually good at is keeping your boyfriends (or, rather, the men you cycle through once a month) happy until the novelty wears off and you get bored and move on to the next lovesick target—

—wait. Keeping your boyfriends happy. That’s a skill, isn’t it?

Once, a little bit after you turned eighteen, you’d had a rather illicit conversation with one of your more sexually adventurous friends about being a sugar baby. Your friend had just secured a very generous benefactor, and you’d been so intrigued by all the designer purses and vacations to Cabo that you’d almost considered trying it for yourself. She’d even helped you set up a profile on Seeking Arrangements that listed your physical features and interests, but you’d blanched when it came time to post photos.

“But why do men even like this?” you'd asked your friend after your picture-less profile received its dozenth unsolicited offer. “Rich, successful guys shouldn’t have so much trouble finding girlfriends that they have to resort to paying for sex.”

“It’s a power trip,” she’d replied. “Most men never get the chance to have a woman who’s willing to do and be whatever he wants, whenever he wants it. You’re his ideal girlfriend, his therapist, his wife, and his stress relief all in one.”

At the time, you’d decided against it, deleting your profile and telling your friend you’d rather just keep taking advantage of your real father doting on you than have to fake orgasms for rich men in their 50’s. But back then, you’d had a choice; now that you’ve been kidnapped by a gang who wants you to get fucked by a bevy of strangers to pay off a debt you’ve never even heard of, you no longer have the privilege of a way out. Or, at least, the options are a lot less appealing than before.

You tilt your head back to Overhaul, eyeing him for the first time with real scrutiny instead of prideful disgust. Judging from what you can see of his face under the ornate bird mask (and again, what is with the freaking bird masks?), he’s fairly young, mid-twenties at the oldest. Short, sort of wavy dark hair (you’ve always had a thing for dark hair), a trim suit and tie, and those eyes. Like he can read your mind just looking at you.

He’s…handsome enough, you have to admit to yourself. But it’s not just that. There’s something pristine about him, something untouchable that commands discipline. He’s clean. You and him are probably the only clean things in this hovel of a room.

“Well? I’m waiting,” Overhaul says.

And now that you’ve got the idea in your head, it’s almost too embarrassing to meet his gaze. But you can do this; you have to do this. At least it’ll be your choice, and—you’re hoping—it’ll be better than the alternative.

“I could be yours,” you tell him, taking pride in the fact that your voice isn’t breaking.

His eyes narrow and you think god, his eyelashes are long. It’s not fair. Men never appreciate having long eyelashes. What is he thinking? Is he going to kill you for even suggesting it? But it’s too late now…you have to dig yourself a little deeper if you don’t want to go through with their original plan for debt fulfillment.

You force your muscles to relax, knowing this’ll be impossible to pull off if you’re tense and biting down on the words like they’re going to choke you. If you’re going to make him believe it, you have to make yourself believe it too. “You… This job must be hard. Even for a—a powerful man like you, it has to be stressful, right? Always looking out for the interests of the gang instead of your own…needs.”

Overhaul doesn’t move, but you’re so focused on him it would be impossible for you to miss the way a single muscle in his neck flexes. You’ve hit a nerve.

You take a cautious step toward him, trying to channel the sexually-liberated vixen you consider yourself when you’re not in your nightgown surrounded by men who could murder you with their bare hands and not miss a minute of sleep. “You’re always giving, aren’t you? Looking toward the future of the gang? Doesn’t it get frustrating when—when a pretty thing is in front of you and you don’t even get…a little taste of her?”

Oh god, you can feel the humiliated heat rushing to your cheeks. How can you be saying this? You’ve played the role of seductress plenty of times before, but never in such a risky situation. You just have to keep moving toward him and hope it feels authentic enough to convince him.

“You’ve worked hard. And…like he said, my—my body belongs to you.” Now you’re close enough to Overhaul and he hasn’t stopped you, so you lower yourself onto the floor, knees bumping softly into the cold surface. Kneeling between his legs.

Overhaul stares down at you, gaze as sharp and cold as before—and you’re sick with anxiety, so scared you can feel your hairs raising up on end—but if he wanted you to stop, he would have said something, right? So you shuffle a little closer and nuzzle your cheek over the inside of his clothed thigh like a kitten, then raise your head up to him to give him your best bedroom look, the one that says, I want you. I need you. No one but you. The look no man has ever been able to resist.

“…You deserve something to yourself, sir,” you murmur.

There’s a collective intake of breath as every person in the room simultaneously realizes what you’re offering. Overhaul’s expression doesn’t change, but once again, a tendon jumps out white under the skin of his throat and there’s a creak of latex on leather as his grip on the arm of the chair tightens.

“Damn,” Setsuno says under his breath from behind you. Someone whistles. You’re pretty sure you hear the word ‘slut’ being tossed around, but there’s reverence behind it.

“And what makes you think you’re so valuable?” Overhaul asks.

You close your eyes to ground yourself for a second. He’s interested, you know that much. You’ve never really had to convince someone to want you, but there’s a first time for everything. Besides, you only have to look at him for a second to know he does want you, which isn’t a surprise. Who wouldn’t?

“I’ll do anything you want, be anything you want,” you tell him, echoing your conversation with your friend back then. “Take out your anger on me if that’s what you’re into. When you’re tired of me, you can consider my debt paid and let me go.”

“And?” he prompts.

‘And’? And what? You’re offering yourself to him, your body and your mind—what more can he possibly ask from you? You cast your thoughts around, wondering what else you have to give him. “And…and I’ll do it willingly. You, um—you look like a man who appreciates obedience.”

And that’s it. Your last shred of pride is gone. Not only are you offering yourself up to a man to use as his personal stress doll, you’re saying you’ll be compliant every step of the way. Knowing yourself, you’re pretty sure that’s impossible, but you just need to make him believe it long enough for you to find a way out of here. You can pretend to enjoy getting fucked by a gangster a few times. You’ll live.

But you’re naive. And with the stream of thoughts pushing through your head, you never really consider one thing, one essential thing: how you look pleading up at him in that pale pink nightdress—soft, pure, immaculate against the filth of the underworld, the only clean body that Overhaul’s seen in a long time.

And you’re right. He is a man who appreciates obedience.

“Willingly…so you’d be willing to prove it.”

Your head jerks up and down in response. Yes! He’s taking the bait, now I just have to get him alone and—

“Then demonstrate.”

When a moment passes and you don’t move, Overhaul tips his head to the side, gaze still locked on you, and gestures vaguely at his lap. You blink and then shy back, shrinking under the hungry gazes of the onlookers. “You can’t mean—in front of them?”

“And here I thought you were going to be obedient.” There’s no mercy, no amusement in his voice. No hint of humanity.

So he’s serious. He wants you to give him a blowjob in front of—how many? one, two three, four—four other men!? Your first instinct is to jump back away from him and your next is to slap him for even suggesting it; you can actually hear the jingle of your cuffs as you attempt to raise your hand. You’ve gotten a little kinky before—blindfolds, vibrators, maybe a hand tied to the bedpost with a Hermès scarf once or twice, but this is a whole different level. And the way they’re all looking at you…like they’re itching to see you brought down. How absolutely disgusting.

But Overhaul’s waiting for your answer, and you know full well that you’re not going to deny him.

“O-Of course.” You lean forward over the seat of the chair so your face is just inches from his lap. “Um. My hands...?”

They’re still cuffed behind you, but it seems like they’re going to stay that way when Overhaul gives a curt shake of his head. “Use your mouth.”

Once again, you’re stunned into silence. How are you supposed to—? Without your hands? It doesn’t even seem like he’s going to undo his pants for you. It’s like he wants to humiliate you…oh, wait. As soon as the thought crosses your mind, it’s clear that’s exactly what he’s trying to do.

You give him another doe-eyed glance, bidding him to at least undo his belt, but he remains unmoved. Bastard.

After aiming another glare at him (because as obedient as you’re attempting to be, you’ve never been good at concealing your emotions) you lean deeper in and take the stiff leather of his belt between your teeth, gently easing it out of the buckle and trying to ignore the mixture of earthy and metallic tastes it leaves on your tongue. It takes a few tries, but eventually you’ve got the tail of the belt out of the buckle and you pull your head back to guide the metal down until the belt is hanging open from its loops.

A rush of accomplishment surges through you when you get it open, and then you want to slap yourself. Accomplishment? From doing this with your mouth like an animal—like a dog? You can hear laughter and mocking encouragement from the men watching, but you steel yourself and dip back in to get Overhaul’s pants undone. The button is tricky, especially with your face nudging into the hard muscle of his abdomen through his shirt, but somehow you manage to tug the fabric slit over the button and then—delicately, delicately—clamp the zipper between your teeth and peel it downward.

“Oh, she’s good,” someone says from the background. Setsuno. You look up warily, but Overhaul’s eyes haven’t moved from you.

Now that you’ve got his pants open, you’re face to face (literally) with what you’re going to have to deal with. The outline of his cock is bulging the fabric of his boxers outward, and he’s not even half erect. You snatch a look back up at him—and damn it, you have to stop doing that, because every time you look into those golden eyes and that stupid bird mask you feel like a lamb looking at a bird of prey right before it snatches you from your safe little lamb-house in the meadow and—fuck, you just have to get on with it.

So you dip down and mouth over him through the fabric, spreading the flat of your tongue over the length of his thick cock. Your mouth feels like you’ve been eating cotton (probably because they drugged you earlier) but you force yourself to salivate, letting drool spill over your tongue and dampen his boxers. When you duck and spread your lips down on the place you can feel the tip stretching out, you know the friction must feel good, because despite the lack of even so much of a deep breath from the man above you, his cock is getting harder.

You nudge your mouth over the tent between Overhaul’s legs again, letting the heat of your breath wash over him—but when he doesn’t do anything, you pull back and blink up at his face. Does he expect you to get him off through his underwear? You could, but most of your moves depend on skin-to-skin contact. There’s no way you can get his cock out with your mouth like you undid his pants, so…what? “Are—are you going to take it out?”

Overhaul brings a gloved hand to his face to rub absently at one of the straps on his mask. “…Beg,” he tells you.

Your mouth drops open and you reel back from his lap like he asked you to lick the dirt off the floor. What!? He can’t seriously expect you to—to beg him to put his dick in your mouth when you’re clearly disgusted at the whole situation. When he doesn’t give any indication of retracting the statement, you can’t help the mocking sneer that forms over your face. “Please, sir,” you spit, and a deaf man could hear the spite in your voice.

Now, that gets a reaction. Overhaul’s eyes flash and you take a certain degree of pride back at the anger you’ve clearly inspired in him. But it’s extinguished as soon as you see it, and then he’s reaching down to cup your chin, tilting your head back and rubbing his thumb over your lower lip.

“I think you can do better than that, princess,” he says, and you can hear your own mocking tone reflected back in his voice. “Unless you’d like me to give my men a turn?”

This, more than anything, scares you. He must be able to feel the way your spine goes stiff, adrenaline rushing, your fight-or-flight instinct kicking in at the prospect of what he’s threatening.

“Each of them, one by one. Between the four of them, I think they could cure that smart mouth…although they might just break you in the process,” he continues, and then his thumb is pressing into your lip, into your mouth, and you loosen your jaw to let him in. You can taste the rubbery latex of his gloves and the other men mutter agreement, encouraging their leader to turn you over to them, and you want to cry.

But you hold the tears back. “Please, sir! Please, please may I s-suck your cock sir? Please!” Your voice is more terrified than obedient, but that’s probably what he’s into anyway. When he doesn’t say anything, you babble on, unwilling to let yourself get gangbanged by a group of men who could probably wreck your pussy in a single round. “Please, please, Mr.—Mr. Overhaul, um, boss? M-Master?”

“Sir will do just fine,” Overhaul says, apparently satisfied, and he pulls his hand away from your face to free his cock from his boxers.

You let out a hot sigh of relief and angle yourself back toward his lap so you can zero in on his cock (and, hopefully, do a little to block out how sickeningly degrading all of this is: how easy it is for him to threaten you; how he has all the power and you have none; how the men around you are goading you, taunting you and calling you things that should get their mouths washed out with soap). You can focus on this, and this, at least, you’re good at. You’ve always been good with your mouth.

It’s a nice dick, too, you have to admit to yourself as you stare at it. Perfect length, girth, and a thick, cut head that you know just by looking that you’re going to have to stretch your jaw to get around. All his hair is neatly trimmed and groomed, and he even smells good, clean and fresh like soap. You’ve never been in front of a dick that didn’t smell like day-old ball sweat, so this is a first. It’s got a nice upward curve, too, and there’s a bead of pearly precum oozing out of the tip. The kind of cock that’s made for penetrative orgasms—

No. Fuck. You cannot be thinking this. You cannot allow yourself to lust after a gang leader who thinks of you as little more than an interactive sex doll. A tingle of blood rushes to your cheeks as you feel wetness pool in your panties and you adjust your stance, shuffling your thighs apart under the pretense of getting closer and hoping Overhaul doesn’t notice.

If he notices, he does the merciful thing and keeps quiet (which makes you think he has no idea you’re feeling the way you’re feeling, because he’s probably never chosen to do the merciful thing in his life). He does, however, shift one of his knees farther apart to accommodate you as you crawl close enough to him to get your head all the way between his legs.

So now you’re staring up at that unfairly pretty cock and wondering how the fuck this is supposed to start, but—best just get on with it. Pretend it’s not him, pretend it’s…no, wait, pretend it is him, it is Overhaul, the same bastard who’s looking down at you like you’re trash, except pretend you’re in control. Because no matter how many orders he gives, once you’ve got his cock in his mouth he’ll have to be the weak one. Right?

Lightly, slowly, you trace the tip of your tongue in a wet path up the underside of his cock, sliding up from the hilt to caress every bulging vein with all the delicacy and accuracy of a surgeon. When you reach the tip, you flatten your tongue to curve it around that bulbous head and then slip it off, the suction providing a wet smacking sound as your skin leaves his.

The breath of his barely-heavier exhale ruffles your hair and you relish the knowledge that he’s getting impatient. Yes. The bastard can wait.

You kiss the tip of his cock, barely moving your lips around the slit, only enough to let your tongue flick out against the precum and gather the bitter liquid up in your mouth. And then—right when he’s getting annoyed, when you can tell by the tension in his body that he’s five seconds away from shoving your head down to fuck your face—you duck closer, relax your throat, and swallow.

Like a fucking python. Or so you’ve been told.

The exhale that escapes him isn’t light this time. You can almost hear the barest hint of a groan under his breath, but you’re more focused on holding down your gag reflex as you let that heavy cock hit the back of your throat. Once he’s all the way down (or at least as far as you can get him), you rock yourself back an inch and then take him deeper, forcing yourself to hold still so he can feel the walls of your throat convulse around him, sucking him in, dry-gagging on the mass that’s filling you up.

“Fuuuuck,” you hear someone whine, and it’s not even Overhaul. It’s one of the men watching, and you feel a perverse mixture of hatred and arrogance rise up in you.

Overhaul’s cock is too big for you to properly moan around it, but you give it a go anyway so he can feel the vibration of your voice through his skin. You’re rewarded with a tangible twitch with it sitting on your tongue, and—oh—your mouth is watering out of where you’re clenching down on him at the back of your throat.

Spittle slips out over your lower lip and onto your chin, but you ignore it in favor of jerking your head up and down in fractional strokes, trying your absolute best to get yourself down to his base but knowing that he probably doesn’t give a shit anyway, not with how good your throat feels around what you’re capable of stuffing in.

What were you saying about ‘valuable’, sir? you think, and then you pull your head off his cock, so slow it’s almost cruel, sucking your cheeks in and hollowing out so those wet walls are rubbing up on every millimeter of his skin. When you reach the tip, you savor it, letting your tongue do the dirty work and looking up at him through your lash extensions before you release him with a nasty wet pop.

“Holy fuck, can I have her next?” one of the other men says, but you and Overhaul are too focused on each other to even look and see who’s talking.

His gaze is trained firmly down at you, and—no way, damn it—he looks bored, like he could be waiting in line at the DMV instead of getting sucked off by you, a girl who’s been complimented by every man she’s ever been with (including her first) on her bj technique. You know he’s feeling it—he can fake calm, but he can’t fake the way his cock’s throbbing under your tongue as you lick up the shaft. Still, now that you’ve got it in your head that Overhaul’s not going to make a sound, all you can think about is forcing him to moan. Let him look weak in front of all his little lackeys.

With renewed vigor, you lap up the length of Overhaul’s cock in sloppy dabs, leaving strings of saliva dripping off your mouth and his cock only to slurp them up, audibly, wiggling your tongue over the tip when you reach it. And that, that gets him, because you feel more than see the buck of his hips into your face as he hisses out a curse.

And—oh dear, maybe you shouldn’t have done that—because the next thing you feel is Overhaul looming forward over you, hand gripping the back of your head, and is he going to force you down? You hate that—so you take the initiative, tilting forward to take him into your mouth again, head bobbing up and down so quickly that your hair is falling all over your face, but it’s okay, because he’s got you, he’s got you, got his hands combed through your hair holding it out of your face, pulling so lightly it barely even hurts, but it does hurt, and he’s guiding you up and down on his cock and it’s hitting the back of your throat every time, and—and it hurts.

You really shouldn’t have done that.

“Take it deeper,” Overhaul instructs, almost encouraging, although you’re not given the option to pull off because he’s holding you down, pushing you firmly toward the base of his cock. You sputter around it, gagging, and you’re almost fucking choking, and he won’t let you up.

God, you’re not—not breathing, you can feel your throat choking down on him—“breathe through your nose,” he says, and this man, this villain has no idea what he’s fucking talking about, because you’re trying, eyes stinging and then you can feel tears down your cheeks. You try to squirm back on your knees, but somehow the combined force of every muscle in your body is outmatched by his single hand on the back of your head—and—and—you squeeze your eyes shut, relax, open your throat as much as you can and—

Overhaul forces your mouth down to the hilt.

Fuck, is he going to keep you there? You can’t, you can’t—if you could move, you’d be shaking your head and begging him to let you stop and as it is you’re whimpering around his cock. Your throat is making gagging noises and you’re crying, actually crying, actually fucking crying on a man’s dick. So this is what it feels like to be used?

“Good.” There’s something lower and darker in Overhaul’s voice, a husky undertone from the growl he’s trying to suppress. “Hold still…remember, you asked for this.”

You did. You asked for it. Begged for it. Pleaded.

“Want me to forgive your father’s debt…? You’re going to have to earn it.” He pulls out an inch just to ram himself back in. You make a weak attempt to move your tongue around his shaft and you can feel the shudder all the way through him, his cock twitching where it’s locked in your throat. “Mm…good girl. Just a little—little longer—“

His fingers are tightening in your hair, curling around the strands and tugging instead of just applying pressure to your head. He’s close, you think, and then you struggle back, not wanting him to cum down your throat, what if you choke on it? Like, really choke? You don’t want it, don’t want his cum in your stomach, but then he sighs and tells you again that you’re a good girl, and ohfuckohfuck you must be so scared you’re desperate for praise because you feel heat rush into your cheeks and your cunt when he says it and you try to move your tongue like you did earlier and his hips jerk forward and—he cums. In your mouth.

It’s salty, you think. The next thing you think is that you want to gag, because you’ve never had cum in your mouth before. For all your sexual experimentation, you’ve never let a man cum down your throat like this, always telling them it shoot it on your tits or whatever because you are not a person who should have semen in her mouth, much less ingest it.

But right now, with Overhaul lazily dragging your head up and down for a last couple pumps on his softening dick, your choice isn’t spit or swallow. It’s swallow or choke.

Hot. Thick. The texture is slimy, so viscous you can feel it going down your throat in strings. Part of you wants to throw up. It’s repulsive. Filthy. You hate this.

Part of you has to shift your position again so you don’t have to feel your own wetness slicking up the insides of your thighs.

How. Is. This. Possible. You may have just had to swallow your pride (and not just that), but what about your dignity? You’re a good person…okay, well, even if you’re not a ‘good person’ per se, you don’t hurt anyone with your selfishness. You don’t deserve to be kept as a pet by a sadistic bastard who gets off on watching you almost pass out on his cock, and you certainly don’t deserve the humiliation of finding that you’re turned on by it.

And yet. Here you are. Still held securely in place until Overhaul slides you off him. As soon as your mouth is free you suck in a dizzyingly deep breath, but even that is too much for your battered throat and the breath turns into a cough; you instinctively fold down away from Overhaul so the mixed saliva and cum you’re hacking out spatters in cloudy white flecks across the floor instead of on his clothing.

“Stop that,” Overhaul scolds, hauling you back up by your hair and forcing your mouth closed with a hand on your jaw. “If you make a mess, you’ll be cleaning it up.”

Considering what he just made you do to him, there’s no doubt in your mind that he’s implying you’ll have to lick it off the floor. You clench your jaw, holding back the convulsions of your throat as best you can, and hope he doesn’t press the issue.

Now that you’ve got your coughing under control, you can start to sense things that you had been tuning out before: the men hooting and wolf-whistling and applauding your performance, the traitorously persistent throb of your clit pulsing under your panties, and Overhaul’s hand releasing your chin to pet down your neck. “Now. What do you say when someone gives you a meal?”

Just you wait, bastard. I’m going to tie you to your bed and set fire to it. But you’ve got the sense that that answer won’t go over well, so you take a deep breath and look up at him again, meeting those piercing gold eyes with your own. “Thank you, sir,” you say in a soft whisper because it’s all your abused throat can manage.

“That’s right.” His hands feel colder than the concrete under your legs as he spreads his hand down your neck, only to toy with one of the lacy pink straps of your nightdress. “Stand up.”

You stand shakily, too cowed to even consider stepping back from him. Without warning (much less permission), Overhaul lifts the hem of your stupidly short dress up past your thighs, exposing your panties and lower belly to view.

“Hold this in your mouth,” he says, and after only a few seconds of hesitation you open up and bite down on the fabric so you’re effectively holding up the skirt for him. Overhaul skims gloved hands down the sides of your hips and comes to a rest when he reaches your panties—and why did you have to wear these today? Shiny red satin in the front; the back is just flowers worked in crimson lace. You know exactly how good you look in these panties, and judging by the things Overhaul’s men are saying, they’re more than appreciative of the view.

But Overhaul ignores them in favor of hooking his fingers under the elastic and pulling the panties down until they’re resting stretched between your upper thighs. You don’t have to see them to know there’s a string of slick connecting the lips of your cunt to the fabric, betraying in full technicolor detail how turned on you’ve gotten just from sucking him off. He gazes down at your pussy and then up to you as if waiting for you to admit it, but you stay silent.

“Well, well. What a nicely-trained slut I’ve found myself.” He gracelessly pulls the panties the rest of the way down your legs and lets them fall to the ground. “Do you always get this wet when you let your boyfriends fuck that smart mouth?”

It takes you a second to comprehend that he’s expecting an answer. “N-No, sir,” you reply, voice muffled by the fabric you’re still holding between your teeth.

“I suppose I can’t leave you like this, not after you took me so nicely.”

Does he mean he’s going to get you off? No freaking way. You drop the hem of your dress, let it flutter down over your thighs, try to scramble back, but his hand on your waist keeps you from moving. “I— It’s okay, I don’t need—“

“No, I think you do. I think I’m going to reward my pet for a job well done.” He leans back, eyeing you without sympathy. “I’d have you touch yourself, but—“

The mere possibility that he might remove the handcuffs has you straining against them again, and the sound of metal against metal rings out from behind you.

“—but, I think it’s best to keep the cuffs on for a few days…until you’ve settled down.”

Days? He can’t leave you in chains for days, helpless and powerless, so easy to take advantage of. “You can’t,” you whimper, and even though you mean for it to be a decisive statement, with your throat ravaged and hoarse it’s downright pathetic. Overhaul doesn’t even bother reprimanding you for talking back.

“My men have been patient,” he muses, and an enthusiastic wave of agreement wells up from the others. “Any of them would be happy to do it.”

You may have been through a lot in the past hour alone, but there is no way you’re going to let those rowdy criminals have their way with you. You send a nervous glance around the room and as predicted, not a single one of them looks like they have the slightest shred of control over themselves.

None of them…except Overhaul.

Still eased back in his chair, he looks just as relaxed and unaffected as he did when he was explaining your father’s debts to you. But there’s something flickering in his eyes, something he isn’t going to say to you, isn’t going to say out loud. A challenge.

Maybe, once again, he’s waiting for you to ask for it yourself. And if it’s a choice between him and one of the grimy ruffians who’ve been looking at you like dogs look at meat, you know what you’d prefer. Well—really, you’d prefer option C: none of the above (your current state might be uncomfortable, but you’re not so wanton that you’d rather cum in front of strangers than keep your legs together). Unfortunately, you’re starting to come to terms with the fact that ‘no’ is no longer an option.

Overhaul’s stare flicks from you to an unseen figure behind you, and you can tell he’s about to summon one of them over so you force yourself to move, lurching forward and climbing into his lap to straddle one of his thighs with all the grace you’re capable of. You feel the stir in the air when he inhales sharply, surprised, and his masked face is so close to your neck that you wonder if he can smell the lotion you put on before you went to bed last night.

It’s one of your favorite scents: vanilla, lilac, orange blossoms. You bought it because it smelled pure.

“Please, sir, I don’t want them,” you breathe next to his ear, injecting every ounce of sexual frustration you’re feeling into the needy tones of your voice. “I’m yours. I belong to you, just you. No one else—please, sir…Overhaul.”

He’s quiet for a long, tense moment, and you think he’s going to hit you, or maybe even kill you for your disobedience. Push you off his lap at least. But just when you’re teetering on the edge of jumping back from him and begging for forgiveness for talking out of turn, you feel it—a low rumble of laughter from deep in his chest.

Big, cold hands wrap around the sides of your ribcage under your breasts and his fingernails dig into you through the layers of latex and fabric. He tilts forward, forcing you to arch away and all you can think about is how horribly weak you are compared to him. Are you trembling? Will he be angry if you feels how afraid you are?

“You know, I guess I’ll keep you after all,” he hums, stroking his fingers through your hair and down your neck. “How does that sound, princess? I think you’d like that very much, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, sir.” The response comes all too easily, even if the words taste bitter in your mouth. You’ve never said the word ‘sir’ so much in your life…but as he repositions you on his lap and slides a single hand up the inside of your thigh under your dress, you bite your lip and decide to hold back your protest.

If you’re going to have to learn manners, you’d better do it sooner rather than later. Something tells you Overhaul’s not going to accept any less than your best behavior if you want to pay off your debt.

#overhaul x reader #chisaki kai x reader #bnha x reader #bnha imagines #overhaul #chisaki kai #bnha #boku no hero academia #mha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia x reader #boku no hero academia imagines #mha x reader #mha imagines #boku no hero x reader #boku no hero imagines #boku no hero fanfic #smut #tw dubcon

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love-toxin · 4 years

Text

king of the castle - kaeya

a/n: i had some other fics in progress but this concept had me in a chokehold the entire day. enjoy

warnings: female reader, dom/sub, hard dom kaeya, sadism, degradation, dirty talk, roleplay, spanking, whipping, impact/temperature play, choking/belt choking, bruises, unprotected sex, threats, jealousy, possessiveness, sibling rivalry, i guess you can call it a cuckholding kink, praise, pet names, aftercare

word count: 4.3k

"So you're gonna whore yourself out to my brother, huh?"

Kaeya slapped his open palm with the belt. The sound alone made you flinch, and he just seemed to revel in it rather than shy away.

"Answer me. You love Diluc? You want him instead of me?"

"K-Kaeya-"

He brought it down even harder this time, the leather leaving a harsh-looking splotch against his toned skin. Your punishment was growing closer with each one, but he didn't seem at all fazed. He seemed excited.

"Just tell me, sweetheart. I don't want to hurt you."

Liar. You could see it in his eyes--he had a lust for pain that overwhelmed all other warning signs in his brain. Kaeya was the definition of a sadist, his pleasure derived entirely from seeing you suffer, and he seemed to constantly be coming up with new ways to do so that would humiliate you even more than the last. He slid the leather down the raised flesh of his hand, and ripped a yelp from you when he smacked you on the inside of the thigh with it.

"Clamming up, are we? I think that's enough of an answer."

Finally, he climbed up on the bed he'd shoved you into, his stance predatory as he crawled towards you slowly and nudged your legs apart. Not once did his grip loosen on his weapon of choice, though his pants slid just slightly down his lean hips from the lack of support, revealing even more of his stomach that sloped down into an illustrious 'v'. With a gloved hand, he reached up to grab a handful of your arm and yanked you over on to your stomach, his strength just an afterthought for him but a terrifying obstacle for you. Kaeya could throw you around however he wanted to, if he wanted to, and you were just a delicate little toy that would break once he decided to play a little too rough.

"Tell me all the things you like about him. One for each swat."

Kaeya grabbed your hips to hike them up, your knees lifting up to prop you into a face-down position. He liked you the most like this. Vulnerable.

Even better was when he yanked your bottoms down, flimsy as they were, and in his haste tore through the middle and tossed the shredded remnants aside. He spoke and you listened, he gave his orders and you obeyed--but this was something you couldn't do. Kaeya made you swear that you would never lie to him and you had kept to that, as much as he used it to manipulate you into doing whatever he wanted whenever he wanted it.

"I-I don't...I don't-"

The words just barely spilled over your lips even as you tried to push them out. It was just too hard, but Kaeya didn't care. You earned an even harder spank for that, right on the inside of your bare thigh where he knew you'd be the most sensitive.

"Speak up. Or else I'll mess up that pretty face of yours instead."

As if to hammer that point home, you felt the dig of his fingers into the back of your skull as he grabbed a fistful of your hair, and shoved your face deeper into the sheets of the bed. They were soft, fortunately, but it was so degrading that you just wanted to melt into the bed and disappear. You even felt the dark chuckle rumbling in his chest as he ground his hips up against you from behind, your top sliding up your back far enough that he could drag the expensive leather down your skin, from the top of your spine all the way to your cheeks that trembled when he landed a smack on one of them.

"You're pretty stubborn, aren't you? Is it really Diluc, then? It's not someone else, is it?"

With the belt gripped tight he swatted you again in the same place, the skin there already growing so hot you could feel it radiating off of you. But while your attention was drawn to the stinging pain that you knew was only going to get worse, the hand that had tangled itself in your hair had started trailing downwards, fingertips light and cool as he left little splotches of frost in his wake that melted just as quickly. Once he found that little spot between your legs, however, he didn't reserve the same gentleness and pressed the pad of a freezing cold thumb firmly against your clit. You cried out, squirmed, struggled to vocalize anything more than a gasp--but Kaeya held you in place, and his smirk burned into you from behind like a brand.

"Tell me, doll. You can't keep your little secrets from me anyways, so you may as well fess up."

He ground his thumb in harder the longer you went without speaking, but soon enough he switched to an easier method to have you talk--he pinched your clit between two of his fingers and squeezed, the tips even colder than before to the point that it made your mind blank for a moment or two. Just to add to the humiliation, he forced you up with his other hand and ordered you to take off your shirt, your chest on full display for him to watch your nipples pebble and your skin prickle at the cold chill that he was responsible for.

"Mondstadt? Liyue? Give me some clues. You're not trying to get in with the Fatui, are you?"

He laughed but not from joy, rather in a mocking way that mimicked a childhood bully or an egotistical villain. If you could see him from your position, you had no doubts that he was grinning in that devilish way when he had something he wanted in his grasp, but with a slight twist to your tingling little bud your thoughts snapped right back to the present. A soft groan slipped from you, and unbeknownst to you, it made his cock stir into an even harder arousal than he already had going. At this point he was in danger of popping a button off those tight pants.

"You just can't keep your legs closed, can you? I think they'd like you, actually. That redhead seemed to love watching you walk away, huh?"

Evidently his attention waned for the moment and he released his stifling grip on your clit, only so that he could drag his fingers up your slit and part your lips just enough to feel for the soft flesh beneath, his fingers quickly growing sticky as your juices leaked all down his hand and towards his wrist. Kaeya's most precious desire was his affinity for abusing the softest, most sensitive parts of you, and so you knew for certain that this uncharacteristic gentleness would soon make way for pain that you wouldn't recover easily from, both physically and emotionally.

"...No? Then what about the bard? You want him to write some love poems for you, princess?"

No matter how you answered it would be used against you--either Kaeya would take it the wrong way or he wouldn't believe you at all. So you kept your mouth shut and tried to bury your noises into the sheets below, his fingers lithe and skilled enough that he had the power to draw some rather unsavoury sounds from you if he really wanted to. And when he plunged two of them inside despite how tightly you squeezed around him, he exercised that power quite easily to the point that the shame burned your face all the way to the tips of your ears.

"How about this? You tell me exactly who it is you're trying to run away with, and I won't drop you naked into the nearest hillichurl camp."

The threat rolled off his tongue so easily as to be criminal. The icy chill that surrounded him already made you shiver, but the thought of him throwing you to the wolves both literally and figuratively turned your thoughts to panic. Perhaps he wouldn't really do something so horrific, but the way he talked you through the scenario with a smugness lacing his words certainly made it feel so, each sentence punctuated with a curl of those dastardly fingers into your sweet spots.

"No vision, no weapons, no defenses...how long do you think your precious little body will hold up? Five minutes? My bet's on five seconds."

To prove his point, he spread his digits inside you without warning and listened for the muffled keen that erupted from your throat, his efforts rewarded with a gush of slick, syrupy arousal that clung to your skin as he pulled away and left a trail behind. You expected him to wipe it off with little regard, but instead you heard a strange noise from behind, and turned your head out of curiosity to see him sucking your mess off of every finger. With his half-gloves thoroughly ruined he yanked those off too, and like a true sadist, he took the chance to savour your pathetic expressions and beat your ass again with the thickest part of his belt, a welt surely already rising to your skin as you cried out in pain.

"You think the Dark Knight Hero would save you then? Or would he take advantage of a shivering little crybaby who owes him her life in exchange?"

Another smack, and then another still, and you were certain that you wouldn't be able to sit properly for the next few days. Kaeya dragged you deeper and deeper into his fantasy, and it was only then that you truly worried that Diluc might somehow hear the two of you and come to investigate. Your thoughts even drifted to the scenario Kaeya proposed, about the possibility of Diluc taking what he was owed from you...about taking you away from Kaeya, who you should've known by now owned every piece of you. Even your thoughts, which he always seemed privy to--and now was no exception, his nails teasing down your spine so you'd have no choice but to pay attention.

"Why don't I just carve that into your skin for him, hm? 'Diluc's loyal whore', you want that on your back? What about your legs, where everyone can see?"

The moment his fingers crested over the hill of your poor, beaten behind, he whipped you again with the belt hard enough that you were already starting to bruise, and this time the tears finally spilled out when you'd been trying to hold them in. He rubbed one of his palms over the sore, swollen globes of your ass, the skin-to-skin contact soothing your aches with the chill and causing you to push back against his touch--and he just snickered and made a passing comment about your neediness, to which you responded by whimpering his name under your breath with a plea for mercy.

The wrong name. The name that didn't belong in your mouth, that caused your eyes to widen and a fresh set of tears to plummet down your cheeks as you hurried to try and backtrack. 'Diluc' this and 'Diluc' that, it wasn't your fault for stumbling over your words--but did he care?

Of course he didn't.

"...I knew it."

Kaeya's grip became hot and painful once again, a handprint stung into your skin as he slapped you with an open palm across the cheeks. It didn't look like he needed his tool anymore--because he leaned over to wrap it around your neck, the leather sliding hotly over your skin as he tightened the buckle to keep it in place. To keep you in place, exactly where he decided you should be.

"Does it hurt?"

With words failing you, you nodded your head as much as you could--the leather dug into your skin and you already felt as though you were going to suffocate, and your tears were a clear giveaway that the cocktail of both pain and pleasure was starting to overwhelm you.

"Good, you deserve to suffer a little bit for being a slut. Especially if it amuses me."

As he spoke he fiddled with the makeshift collar, the peg loosening two holes more until it sat more comfortably--and once he was finished you felt his lips against the back of your neck, his grip on the belt growing taut only when he felt you take a deep breath against his touch. Kaeya straightened back up and fiddled with something else this time, his pants sliding easily down his legs to free the beast he'd been restraining within, and with a sigh on his lips you jolted against something stiff prodding at your vulnerable little opening. He took his time in making a move, maybe to tease you or maybe for his own enjoyment, but he made sure to wet the tip generously with your slick, before sliding himself up your slit one last time and slowly spreading you open on his cock that was cool to the touch. Only about halfway in did he release the breath he'd sucked in through his teeth, and by then he had tugged on your leash hard enough for your head to tip back and your lips to part enough for him to steal a kiss from you.

"Filthy little cocktease...you don't have the right to be so tight. You'd think all your little boyfriends would've loosened you up-!"

He cut himself off with an unexpected gasp, his legs shaking almost unnoticed as he halted himself to steady his breathing. But once he had collected himself he was right back on top, your cheeks flush with new tears as he yanked on the belt hard enough to drag you back further on his cock. With one hand grasping at the sheets you brought the other up on instinct to grab at the collar, but even getting a finger underneath it was impossible as he started rocking his hips into you from behind and choking you with his belt in harmony with each thrust.

"I can't wait for him to see you when I'm finished. You think he'll give you a bath and clean your wounds, babydoll?"

All at once the air escaped from your lungs, but all you got to replace it were desperate coughs and foolish attempts to try and catch a breath. Meanwhile Kaeya pummeled you from behind regardless, his wicked glee only rising the longer he watched you struggle for air as he ripped every breath from your lungs with his thrusts. At the very least his preparation ensured a smooth drag of your walls around him, but the fact that your stomach churned as he reached depths further than he should didn't help in the least--especially when he moaned out his humiliating comments about how your body needed him so much it was sucking him in even deeper.

"Nah. He'll use you just the same as I will. He'll take advantage of you the second he gets the chance."

Somehow he seemed to have regained his composure, and returned to taunting you with a hand resting threateningly just above your hip, daring you to say something back so he could spank you again. But you clung to the spare moments of reprieve when his grip loosened on the belt, and you were afforded a quick breath of air before he pulled it taut again and yanked you back to meet his punishing thrusts. Slowly you were growing dizzier, and Kaeya's voice floated about your head like he was speaking right next to your ear.

"You wanna be Diluc's little slut? You want him to cum all over your cute face like I do?"

No, you wanted to say. You wanted to speak but he made it impossible, all you could do was take his hips bruising your behind and his feverish tugging as he choked you, your mind filled with nothing but the feeling of Kaeya making you his.

"He's nothing like me. He'll never satisfy you like I can."

With his voice reduced to a growl in his chest he yanked on your impromptu leash again, but this time it was to tip your head back far enough to kiss you again, and so he could taste your tongue on his before breaking off so messily he left a string of spit connecting your lips.

"Settle for your second best, then. As long as I get to fuck you, I don't care--he can have my sloppy seconds all he wants."

The force was unneeded at this point, your body to the point of collapsing on its own--but with the heel of his hand on the small of your back he shoved your hips down to the bed, using his own as leverage to keep you there while his thrusts grew even more erratic. Whatever else he had to say got jumbled up with whines and groans peppered in, and just when you felt your own consciousness start to slip away from you, he shoved a hand beneath your hip and searched until he found what he was looking for. With the pads of two of his fingers Kaeya rubbed up against your clit again, though this time was with skin cold enough that it shocked your system into an orgasm you weren't ready for.

Your mind whited out within moments, the heat in your belly swirling into a cool feeling that rose all the way up into your chest, and your fingers twitched and curled to bite into your palms with your nails while the rest of your body shuddered underneath him. Kaeya himself seemed to be reaping the rewards on his own end, your cunt spasming wildly around him and clenching him like a vice until he felt that same warmth wash over his body. Leaving himself to bask in the feeling until the very end, he pulled out just before it was too late and released his hold on the belt, instead replacing it around his cock to aim where he wanted. His cum jetted out in thin ropes as you anticipated, yet you still flinched weakly at every spurt that landed against your back, the cold chill of it still unusual enough to take you a bit by surprise.

Your focus continued to waver as you lay there prone, your body so worn out that he could do as he pleased without hassle. But a rush of warm shivers raced up and down your spine as Kaeya laved his tongue against your sweat-soaked flesh, each sticky glob of his love either licked up or sucked off of you until you were as you were before, mostly. Afterwards he unbuckled the belt from your neck, and it was then that the mood finally turned and he flipped you over on your back so you could catch his smile as he leaned over you.

"Nice to see you again, princess."

He dipped down to take another kiss, though this one was a hundred times softer and not liable to leave a bruise this time, his lips like the petals of a mist flower as he slowly broke away.

"C'mere, come cuddle with Kaeya, baby...you want some water? Your throat probably hurts after all that.."

His tone had come down too, so much gentler and with an obvious tinge of sympathy just above a whisper. As he settled back in bed and tucked you into his side, he brushed his fingers over the bruises already blooming across your throat, taking great care only to use the most sensitive touch as he cooled your skin down just enough to take some of the pain away.

"You made me feel so special, little one--you're such a precious little treasure, aren't you?"

The love in his voice and in the way he looked at you was a complete turnaround from a few minutes ago, but you were glad to cling to the change in your Kaeya--though your body was still working a little faster than your mind, and a few words fell from your lips before you could think twice about them.

"I-I don't...I don't like Diluc, Kaeya...I promise.."

You finally croaked out your reply and Kaeya was on you in seconds, his fingers running through your hair as he kissed the corner of your mouth, just where he could reach without straining you too hard in your vulnerable state. Under normal circumstances he liked to coddle you on occasion, and right now was no exception.

"I know you don't, honey. I know. You're such a good girl. You're my good little girl."

He brought his hand back up to rub the top of your head, and had you lift it up just enough for him to lay his arm underneath so you could use it as a pillow. And while you caught your breath and came down from such a shaky high, he took your chin into his hand and swiped his thumb over your bottom lip, his mouth parted in awe shifting into a genuine, toothy smile. He kissed you again, and this time you swore the world paused for just a moment.

"I love you more than the whole world. You're the little shooting star in my heart--you're my everything."

Kaeya touched you like you were glass, like you were a precious piece that he feared breaking, unlike the façade he'd put up just a while ago. This was your favourite part of the experience...Kaeya doting on you as he loved to do, and never wanting to let you out of arm's reach.

"You're Kaeya's little princess, understand? And since you were such a good girl, I'm gonna get you a present. Whatever you ask for."

Such an offer wasn't something you came by often, and at once your mind wandered to what you might ask of your lover as a reward for being his. But there was only one thing you wanted at the moment, and you murmured it just loud enough for him to hear and have a little chuckle about it.

"Wine? Well of course you can, but we won't count that as your gift. I'll go fetch us a nice, big bottle--you just wait right there for me."

As loathe as he was to leave you, and as much as you didn't want to watch him go, he heaved himself up off the bed and reached for his clothes, the uniform out of sorts and messy in a way that he didn't really care about at the moment. Leaving his coat be as it would only be a brisk walk, he buttoned his shirt up halfway and stepped into his boots, before turning and leaning over you one last time with a kiss to your forehead.

"I love you, my princess. Be right back."

With that you bid him a brief goodbye, and while you rested your weary bones he sauntered out the corridor and down the steps into the night air, a warm haze settled over Mondstadt in the late evening when most had gone to bed.

But there were few places that were still open and Angel's Share was one of them, the tavern so close that he pulled on the door within minutes and took a step into the soft chatter of the tavern. Only a spare few patrons still milled about, all having spent more than enough to be too inebriated to pay attention--and at the counter was an all-too-familiar redhead, washing a glass with little purpose while he caught his gaze as he walked in. Diluc said nothing even as he approached the counter, and just turned away with a soft grunt when he picked out the perfect wine to take back to you. No small talk needed. Neither of them wanted it anyways.

"While I'm here, I'll give this back."

As Diluc set the bottle on the counter, Kaeya couldn't miss the sudden flash of emotion in his eyes at what he'd set down in front of him. The letter with a very familiar seal stared back at the bartender, and he just couldn't help himself from digging it in just a bit more while he had the chance.

"Shame she didn't see it in time."

He would've had to be an idiot not to know exactly what it was when he found it tucked inside your coat pocket, the well-placed gift going totally unbeknownst to you as Kaeya snatched it up when the opportunity presented itself. He hadn't really planned on telling you his own feelings until later--but love always managed to find a way, didn't it?

"Don't worry. I'm sure she would've let you down gently."

"...I think you have somewhere to be, Kaeya."

Heat radiated off of Diluc, and it wasn't the normal aftereffect of his vision that most who possessed them experienced. He knew well enough when his brother was furious, if the way he turned his grimace towards the floor wasn't proof enough.

"I do, in fact. Have a splendid night."

With the bottle in hand, he spun on his heels and strolled right back out where he came, the open door making way for another breeze of pleasantly warm air through the stale musk of the tavern.

"...Oh, and before you go, there's something else."

He only just found the energy to lazily turn his head back over his shoulder, and was met with one of the most fiery glares he'd ever seen in his life, Diluc's hand that had come down on the counter setting the letter ablaze and reducing it to ash in his fist.

"Never come into my bar again."

With one last smirk, Kaeya let the door shut behind him as he stepped back out into a lovely Mondstadt evening, the sounds of glass shattering echoing his footsteps as he wandered back to the one he always knew he deserved.

#yandere kaeya alberich #yandere kaeya x reader #yandere kaeya alberich x reader #yandere genshin impact #yandere lemon #love-toxin #4k

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kuroopaisen · 4 years

Text

after hours || kuroo tetsurou

➵ a late night study session might just end with kuroo having a heart attack over how stupidly cute you are.

wc: 3.1k

warnings: f!reader, i guess it’s implied she’s short?, kuroo’s Dumb, i can’t stop thinking about the in-between someone get my own story out of my head please

a/n: hi i wrote this on a whim and for some reason it’s 3k i’m gonna yartz,,, kuroo brainrot let’s go! but thank you ren for beta’ing it yet again :(

the in-between m.list

“But I’m tired,” you whine, plopping your face cheek-first onto your textbook.

“We’re all tired,” Kuroo goads, shaking his head. “Come on. The more we do now, the less we have to worry about later.”

“I know,” you whine. “You don’t need to keep reminding me.”

“I wouldn’t have to remind you if you just did your work,” he grins. “We know for a fact that leaving things to the last minute makes you really stressed.”

“Maybe I work best under pressure,” you mumble. “Ever considered that?”

“I have,” he smiles. “Now you tell me: is it worth the nervous breakdown?”

“You’re cruel and I hate you.”

“We both know that’s not true.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth,” you mutter.

“I think someone’s trying to procrastinate,” he chuckles, reaching over to ruffle your hair.

“It’s late,” you groan. “I’m tired.”

“You’ve made that very clear,” he grins.

You lift your head off the textbook, glare-pouting at him. Your attempts to look intimidating rarely succeed, and this is no exception.

Kuroo can’t hold back his fond smile.

You look exhausted.

Your eyes are a little blearier than usual, shot through with red. Your hair’s a bit of a mess – not that you’ve really made an effort with it anyway – and you’ve got that dull pallor that seems to befall everyone deficient of adequate sleep.

Maybe ten forty-six in the evening was a bit late to be starting homework. And unfortunately for you, the focus for this evening is maths and chemistry.

Of course, Kuroo’s adamant that he tried to get started earlier.

(He didn’t think that the two of you would end up wasting so much of the afternoon just watching Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood, but when he’d checked the time, he’d tried to move onto studying.

You, on the other hand, had other ideas.

“Just one more episode.”

“No,” he shook his head. “We’ve got work to do.”

“But we can’t stop here,” you whined. “I wanna know what happens.”

“We’ve got to study,” he’d replied, firm and strict and resolute.

But when you’d grabbed his arm and pouted up at him, saying “Please, Tetsu?”, his resolve toppled in on itself like a poorly constructed engineering assignment made of straws.)

“Hey,” he sighs, patting you on the back. “Let’s just try to get this chapter done tonight, okay? That’s all.”

“Okay,” you mumble.

He knows it’s a bit unfair; the chapter in question is a rather long one, with far more activities in it than the average. But he trusts you to understand what needs to be done – he wouldn’t be putting you through this if it wasn’t so relevant.

He wants you to succeed. He really does. And you both know just how hard he’s been working to help you get to where you need to be.

Time and time again, you apologise for taking up so much of his time, for asking so much of him. He always smiles, saying that it’s actually good practice for him, too – and, of course, you’re managing the volleyball team.

He insists it’s a two-way street.

Not that it matters. He knows that he’d still do this for you, even if he gets nothing out of it.

He finds it too hard to say no to you, after all.

Kuroo jumps as a solid three-rap knock rattles his door.

“Are you still up, Tetsu dear?” His grandmother’s voice sounds far too amused for his liking.

“Uh, yeah,” he swallows, getting out of his chair and opening the door.

His grandmother stands in front of him, dressed in her purple silk pyjamas.

(They’re a recent birthday present that you’d chipped in a bit of money for, even though Kuroo had told you it was fine – you didn’t need to.

You’d just smiled and told him that you wanted to say a little thank you for how kind she’d been to you.

He remembers that his heart skipped a little at your smile.)

“Goodness, Tetsu, I keep forgetting just how tall you are,” his grandmother chuckles, craning her neck to get a good look at his face.

“Maybe you’re just shrinking,” Kuroo grins.

“Don’t even joke about that, my boy,” she laughs, shaking her head. “That’s a very real possibility at my age.”

She pokes her head through the doorway, catching sight of you slouched in your chair.

“You look exhausted, dear,” she smiles, tilting her head at you.

“I am,” you whine, stretching your arms over the desk. “Your grandson is a tyrant.”

“Perhaps you and Kenma should stage a coup,” she suggests, eyes twinkling. “Dethrone this despot king and free yourselves from his incessant nagging.”

“I don’t nag!”

“Oh, is that so?” her smile widens. “‘Oh, don’t forget to drink this whole bottle, Obaa-chan. It’s important to keep your fluids up – especially at your age,’” she coos, dropping her voice an octave or so in her best attempt to replicate Kuroo’s tone. “‘Oh, Obaa-chan, come take a walk with me! You’ve been sitting in front of the TV too long. Let’s get those old bones moving.’”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Kuroo grumbles, rubbing the back of his neck, “we get the picture.”

“‘Obaa-chan! You shouldn’t be up this late! You don’t wanna wear yourself out!’” She continues, cracking a grin.

“Okay, okay!” Kuroo grouches, a sour look on his face. “Point taken!”

“I’m just teasing,” she grins. “Goodnight, Tetsu. And goodnight, dear! Don’t let him boss you around!”

“Yes ma’am!” You bark cheerfully.

She chuckles, shaking her head. But she says nothing more, ambling out the door.

Kuroo sighs.

If anything, he’s just glad she didn’t poke fun at him for having a girl in his room. Though he’s well-aware he should be grateful for the fact that he's trusted enough to not have his family snooping on him every five minutes.

Besides, being alone together in a room doesn’t mean anything. Even if…

He swallows roughly, forcing his mind to go blank.

No space for unsavoury thoughts here. None at all.

He shuts the door with a firm slam, turning back to you with his best poker face.

“So,” he hums, ambling back over to you and glancing at the textbook laid out on the desk. “What do you want to focus on?”

“Well, I think it’s time for us to talk about Pride’s true identity—”

Kuroo tsks, shaking his head. “We’ve had enough Brotherhood for one evening.”

You whine, slouching back in your chair. “Just one more episode?”

“No,” he laughs. “If we keep putting this off, we’re just going to have more to stress about later.”

“Fine,” you sigh, sticking your tongue out at him. “You’re no fun.”

“I’m starting to think hiring you on as manager was a mistake,” he grins.

“Excuse me?” You gasp, affronted.

“You’re supposed to be responsible,” he chuckles. “You know – able to make good choices and all that.”

“I do make good choices,” you glare at him. “I just hate any and everything to do with maths.”

Kuroo snorts. To be fair, he’s had the sneaking suspicion that you might be much better at chemistry if it didn’t involve so much mathematics.

“Besides,” you huff, crossing your arms, “the first years would riot.”

“You mean Lev would riot.”

“I’m sure Inuoka would stick up for me,” you say. “And you don’t want to make Shibayama sad, do you?”

“I didn’t say anything about kicking you out,” Kuroo grins, raising an eyebrow at you.

“I know,” you hum. “Just making sure you’re aware.”

Kuroo rolls his eyes playfully, flicking your forehead. “Whatever.”

The two of you settle down after that, returning to your blasted enemy.

You do fairly well, all things considered. Your focus is a bit off, but you make a good effort. And, like always, you manage to understand Kuroo’s layman explanations of things.

Of course, the two of you can’t help yourself – your study is punctuated by straying conversations that last a little longer than they should (Kuroo’s a big believer in the fifteen-five-fifteen study method, but sometimes there’s simply too much to say; a mere five minutes doesn’t cover it). Sometimes you simply demand to see Inu-chan, not budging until you’d given the Akita a good pat.

But tonight, even Kuroo tires quickly. He figures it’s probably because you started so late; something he promises himself he’ll never let happen again. Although, he’s not willing to bet money on it.

“Alright, I’m gonna go get a drink,” he sighs, stretching his arms above his head as he stands up. His interlaced fingers almost brush the ceiling. “Did you want anything?”

“I’m okay, thanks,” you sigh, putting your pencil down.

You’ve got that look on your face. The one you get when you’re faced with a particularly confusing equation or a concept you need a bit of time to wrap your head around. Kuroo knows it well; it’s usually soon followed by a quiet confession of worry and doubt.

“Hey,” he murmurs, reaching out a hand and ruffling your hair gently. “You’re doing better than you think you are.”

He wishes he could do more for you, wishes he could kick those awful feelings out of your brain. But there’s not much more he can do than this.

You look up at him with wide eyes. Your features look so gentle in the light of his desk lamp, the shadows soft and diffused. You look fond.

Kuroo tries to ignore it.

“You think so?” You pout.

“Would I lie?” He chuckles.

You peer at him closely for a moment, leaning close.

Too close.

Close enough for him to make out the intricacies of your eye colour. Close enough that he’s sure you can feel just how hot his face has become. Close enough for his mind to wander to a place it really shouldn’t.

He stands up sharply before he’s even processed what’s going on.

“I’m, uh…” He clears his throat roughly, scratching the back of his neck with one hand. “I’m gonna go get some water.”

“Okay!” You nod, smiling sweetly at him.

He doesn’t let himself linger, rushing off to the kitchen and pouring himself a tall glass of water.

He gulps the whole thing down at breakneck speed. His punishment for such hastiness is a hiccup that lurches his whole chest. Well, at least it shifted whatever weird feeling was there before.

What time is it?

He turns to the clock on the kitchen wall.

His eyes blow wide.

Twelve thirty-six. Oh, shit. He ponders, for a moment, if the clock is a few hours fast.

With a little nugget of guilt in his chest, he rushes back upstairs to his bedroom.

He opens the door slowly, not wanting to disturb the house. He slips through just as quietly, turning to say something to you.

You're lying on the desk again. But this time, your head is laid on crossed arms, your back rising and falling gently with each breath.

Kuroo’s heart feels like it might damn well shatter.

His first instinct is to pick you up and put you on his bed.

His first coherent thought is ‘what the fuck, dude?’.

He slinks towards you and places a gentle hand on your shoulder. He flushes at the contact.

What are you, twelve? He chastises himself. You’ve touched each other plenty of times before.

He immediately regrets that phrasing.

“Hey,” he murmurs, shaking your shoulder slightly. “Wake up.”

You’re motionless.

“Hey,” Kuroo whines.

“Hm?” You croak, stirring a little.

Kuroo draws back.

You lift your head and blink at him through bleary eyes.

Holy shit, he thinks. Holy fucking shit.

“It’s past midnight,” he says, ruffling your hair on instinct. Why he made the effort to yet again make physical contact with you, he doesn’t know. It’s a terrible idea, really.

“Ew,” you frown. “No.”

Kuroo shoves both his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants. There’s no risk of him doing something stupid if he does that, right?

You’re staring at your phone, your eyebrows drawn together and your lips pursed.

He knows that look.

It’s the one you always pull when he (reluctantly) calls an end to whatever you’re doing before walking you home in the evening. And he doesn’t miss how you stick a little closer to him when it’s dark, or how you always seem to glance over your shoulder at each and every peculiar sound. And he certainly doesn’t miss how you ask him to text you to let you know he’s gotten home safe.

You don’t need to tell him that you don’t want to walk all that way in the dark.

“Do you just want to stay here tonight?” He asks. He loathes himself for the weird fuzziness that churns in his gut.

You pout at him. He’s seen that face enough times to know that it means ‘please.’

“Wait here,” he smiles.

He hurries to the laundry area, rifling through his grandmother’s pile of clean clothing. There’s no way he’s going to let you sleep in your school uniform; it can’t be comfortable, and the fabric doesn’t seem breathable.

He goes through the pile once. Twice. Three times.

Nothing. There’s nothing he can lend you for the evening.

“Shit,” he mumbles, running a hand through his hair. Surely there must be—

Oh no. Oh no.

He catches sight of a plain black shirt sitting atop his pile of clean clothes. His face suddenly feels very, very hot.

It’s fine, he thinks. It’s not a big deal. My heart is not racing at the thought of her wearing one of my clothes. It’s not.

He grabs the shirt with a certain boyish carelessness, as if to prove to himself that he’s not losing his mind.

Sure, the blurry image of you wearing one of his shirts keeps trying to barge its way to the forefront of his mind, but it’s fine. It’s fine. It’s just a teenage boy thing.

He stalks back to his room with the whisper of a scowl on his face. Man, he needs to go to sleep.

As he opens the door, he catches sight of you mid-stretch. Your face is screwed up like a cat’s, nose scrunched up and eyes screwed shut.

But you’re cute. How is that cute? Why is that expression so endearing?

I’m delirious, he surmises. Probably because it’s so late.

He holds the shirt out to you with a stiff arm. “Here.”

Would you find it weird, him giving you one of his own shirts to sleep in? Would you think he’s being creepy?

You just nod as you take it from him, holding it to your chest with two hands like it’s a blanket.

Ah. So he’s overthinking it. Like an idiot.

“Did you let your family know?” He asks, trying to distract himself from his own fraying thoughts.

You nod. “I called them.”

“And they’re… fine with it?” His eyes widen slightly. Their daughter, staying over a night at a boy’s house…

“They were more angry at me for waking them up,” you pout. “But they didn’t have any problems with it.”

Kuroo’s heart swells. He’s trusted – your parents don’t mind this little arrangement. He’s not quite sure why he’s so proud, but he lets himself bask in it.

“Hey, Tetsu?”

“Hm?”

“Could I please have some water?” You mumble, rubbing one of your eyes with your knuckles.

He dashes out of the room a little quicker than he usually would – almost like his body had moved on instinct to fulfil your request.

By the time he gets back to his room, you’ve finished changing.

Kuroo’s certain he’s going to explode.

His shirt is so big on you – it’s already a bit roomy on him – grazing your lower thighs and giving him the overwhelming desire to wrap his arms around you. Your eyes are half-lidded, your cheeks puffed out a little, your hair all messy and unkempt. You look so sleepy, so cute, so—

He thrusts the glass of water towards you, cringing as the liquid sloshes dangerously close to the lip of the cup.

“Thank you,” you smile, your face lighting up as you take it from you.

Kuroo doesn’t fail to notice how your fingers brush against his as you do so.

God, he really needs to get some sleep.

“You stay in here,” he swallows, gesturing to his room.

You blink at him for a moment before realising what he means. “Wait, really?”

He nods. “I’ll just sleep on the couch.”

“No—” You’re pouting at him, misplaced guilt shining in your eyes.

“It’s fine,” Kuroo grins, ruffling your hair on reflex. He swears he zaps his fingers. “Now, you get some sleep.

“Fine,” you mumble, glare-pouting at him. “But you’ll… you’ll pay for this.”

“Will I now?” His grin broadens.

“I will,” you nod, comically resolute. “Wait, no—no, you will.”

Kuroo laughs, ruffling your hair again and reaching to—

Woah. Woah.

Where’d this sudden urge to kiss you on the forehead come from? That’s… weird.

He draws his hand back quickly. He can’t risk doing anything stupid.

“Now sleep,” he tuts, pointing you to the bed. “But don’t forget to drink your water.”

“I know,” you huff, turning around and scuttling towards the bed.

Kuroo turns around sharply, making a beeline for the door. If seeing you in his shirt was enough to make his brain go haywire, then seeing you in his bed…

He’s pretty sure he throws you a ‘good night’ before pulling the door to his room firmly shut, but he can’t be certain. He’s too busy taking a deep breath, trying to filter all the unsavoury and alarming thoughts out of his brain.

You’re his friend. He’s not supposed to want to kiss you on the forehead, to hold you in his arms. Hell, you’d probably think it was weird enough that he finds you so damn cute. And God, the thought of making you uncomfortable…

The guilt roots itself deep as he grabs himself some blankets and pillows from the laundry cupboard, dragging himself towards the couch.

He throws himself onto it face first, trying to ignore the burn running through his body. It feels like he’s on fire – and that pouty, sleepy expression of yours is scorched on the back of his eyelids.

This is normal, he reasons. He’s just a normal, hormonal teenager who likes girls. And you, a dear and beloved friend, just so happens to be a girl. This is unfortunate, but it’s fine. It doesn’t mean anything more. Right?

You’re just friends. Nothing weird going on here.

Besides, it’s not his fault. Anyone would’ve been endeared by what he’d seen tonight.

You’re just too damn cute.

Right?

#kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsurou x reader #kuroo tetsurou x you #kuroo x you #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo tetsuro x you #kuro tetsuro x reader #IDK WHAT TAGS ARE ANYMORE

703 notes · View notes

hrina · 4 years

Text

In The Ring, Pt. I - Jab

PAIRING: Harry x Reader RATING: M WORD COUNT: 4k REQUESTED: not exactly lol

hey everyone! this is PART 1 of the boxer!harry AU i’ve been working on. i was so inspired by this concept that i wrote it all in one day lol. if u enjoy reading it, reblogs and feedback are very much appreciated! it really helps in terms of motivation and just knowing how my readers feel about this story in general. so yeah, that would really make my month!

warning: parts of this fic will contain mentions of blood, violence, mild stalking, and sexual content. if any of that makes you uncomfortable, please take care of yourself and keep scrolling <3

okay, now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, go stupid go dumb! my masterlist and my inbox are both linked in my bio, for anyone who would like to check out my other fics or who feels like chatting. can’t wait to hear your thoughts 💘💘💘

~*~

January 7, 2021

All of Harry’s teeth are still intact.

For now, at least.

He knows that mouthguards exist—there’s one tucked between his lips every single time he enters the ring. But even then…sometimes punches go awry. Sometimes your opponent dodges at the last second. Sometimes people end up with a mouthful of leather and a few loose incisors. He always keeps one fist near his chin, shielding the lower half of his face from any blows that come his way.

Speaking of blows coming his way…

He ducks away from the straight jab that the man throws—The Wall, they call him. Harry had rolled his eyes when the nickname boomed across the room, soon lost in the roar of the crowd.

He’s never been one for flashy introductions. He prefers to let his technique speak for itself. His brand is his name. Harry Styles. Simple, concise, and so utterly deceiving. He loves watching the smile melt from his opponent’s face, basks in the moment when they realise that he’s tougher than his name suggests.

The Wall jabs again, and Harry successfully dodges the punch. He doesn’t register the other fist hooking around, however, until the blunt front of the man’s glove makes contact with the side of his head. Usually, a blow like that wouldn’t even faze him. But the sheer force behind the hit knocks him off-balance, stumbling to the side as he loses his footing and inhaling sharply when his shoulder collides with the ground.

The yells from the crowd are deafening. Harry coughs, trying to guide air back into his lungs. When he blinks, black spots dance across his vision. Subconsciously, his eyes trace a path upward, past the floor, past his opponent’s feet, past the ropes encompassing the ring. Higher and higher, still, past jeering faces and sloshing beer bottles and grungy eye makeup. All the way to the top of the bleachers, to the exit—to you.

That’s been your unofficial spot for the past two years. Once you turned twenty, your father finally gave in, allowing you to attend Harry’s matches in exchange for the cessation of your endless badgering. You always stand near the door, observing the commotion with thoughtful eyes and puckered lips. Despite himself, Harry has started to think of you as his lucky charm. It’s dangerous—he always swore that he wouldn’t be one of those overly-superstitious athletes—but he can’t help it. He just seems to perform better when you’re around.

Through the rocky field of his vision, he can see just how wide your eyes have grown. There’s an unmistakable look of concern on your face as you watch the fight unfold. Your hand finds its way to the base of your throat, playing nervously with the rose-gold pendant resting there. You crane your neck to get a better view of the ring, your pupils flitting back and forth between Harry and the frighteningly large man looming over him.

A warm rush of adrenaline floods Harry’s veins. The saliva that has gathered in his mouth tastes stale on his tongue. He spits it out as he staggers to his feet. The crowd grows louder, somehow.

The Wall’s smile shrinks as Harry assumes his previous position; his hands orient themselves in front of his face. His opponent gnashes his teeth, seemingly annoyed with the fact that the match has not ended. Harry shakes off the dizziness clouding his brain, and then he’s lunging forward with a newfound sense of determination. He throws punch after punch, sidestepping The Wall’s returning attempts. All he can think about is the fact that you’re up there, watching, waiting, worrying. He never wants to see you like that again.

You’re his goddamn lucky charm.

His victory comes in the form of an uppercut followed immediately by a nasty right hook. The Wall—this big, towering man with bulging biceps and rippling pectorals—crumples to the ground. Harry waits, his chest heaving with exertion as the countdown begins. He’s prepared to watch his opponent rise again, to shift back into a fighting stance and start over. But as the seconds trickle by and The Wall remains motionless on the ground, he soon finds the tension in his body seeping out into the hot, sticky air.

His shoulders sag in relief as a single promising word echoes through the grimy arena.

“Knockout!”

~*~

The crowd thins out considerably in the ten minutes following the termination of the match. Harry stumbles out of the ring, sliding through the ropes and pulling his mouthguard from between his lips. Your father is waiting for him with a smile on his face, holding out an arm and helping him jump down from the raised platform.

“Well done, H,” he says, patting his back proudly.

Harry pants and nods. Your father holds out a reusable water bottle for him to take—he accepts it graciously and gulps down the cold liquid with fat, greedy slurps. Once he pulls the nozzle away from his mouth, he runs the back of his hand over his face to catch any stray droplets that have collected on his chin.

“Thanks, Coach.”

“You took a pretty hard fall, there,” your father says, guiding him to sit down on a bench propped up against the wall. “Medic’s in the back. He’s checking out Aaron right now, but you’re next.” He taps his index finger against Harry’s temple. “We’ve got to make sure everything’s alright up there.”

Harry sucks in a deep breath, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion. “Who the fuck is Aaron?”

“Oh.” Your father laughs. “Aaron. The Wall. Whatever you want to call him.”

Harry frowns. “Don’t like that. Makes him sound like a dick.”

A new voice enters the conversation.

“That’s because he is.”

Harry’s head snaps to the side, and there you are.

You look nice, as usual. There’s something about you that he can never seem to properly describe. You always look so…clean. If he tried to vocalize his thoughts, he’s sure that you would look at him like he was crazy.

But in his head, it makes sense. You take care of yourself. Your nails are spotless, your hair smells good, and he knows that you must dab spritzes of perfume onto your pulse points before you leave the house, because a fresh scent follows you wherever you go. Even now, as you stand a few feet away with your hands on your hips, he catches it on a deep inhale. Not flowery, not fruity, just…clean. Refreshing. Light. Breezy.

Your father snaps him out of his reverie, and he realises that he should probably stop listing every word in the thesaurus.

“How do you know?” Your father’s inquiry is curious. He shoots you a puzzled look, his mouth curling down into a soft scowl.

You roll your eyes. “Called me ‘sweet thing’ before the match started and asked me if I was the prize,” you say, sticking your tongue out in disdain. “I told him to go fuck himself.”

Harry’s lips twitch.

Your father chuckles. “That’s my girl.”

You laugh quietly, shaking your head. “What time are we leaving?” you ask. The question is directed at your father, who is fiddling with the drawstrings hanging from his sweater. “I was hoping to study a bit more before bed.”

“Soon, gioia,” your father says. “As soon as Harry gets checked out, we’ll be on our way.”

You nod, and—for what feels like the first time since you cut into the interaction—you glance down at Harry. “Hi,” you say softly, shooting him a small, friendly smile.

He meets your gaze for only a moment. Everything about you is so gentle. Your irises are like melted pots of honey, regarding him with such warmth he feels like he’ll never be cold again. “Hi.”

“Congratulations on your win,” you murmur. Harry wants to bottle your voice and save it as a keepsake. “You made a great comeback.”

Because of you, he wants to say, but he bites his tongue. “Thank you,” he offers up instead, the words scraping against the roof of his mouth and tumbling unceremoniously into the air between you.

A moment of silence ensues as you wait for him to say something—anything—else. But he’s done. You nod once before turning back to your father, who is tweaking the settings of the watch wrapped around his wrist.

“Do you know where the washrooms are?” you ask. You toy absentmindedly with the necklace hanging from your throat. “I need to pee.”

“You can use the one in the women’s locker room,” your father tells you, throwing a thumb over his shoulder. “Around the corner, first door on the left.”

“Thanks,” you say, slipping by and pressing a quick peck to his cheek. “I’ll be right back.”

He just nods in agreement, still too preoccupied with his watch.

Harry, on the other hand, can’t keep his eyes off of you as you walk away. He takes note of the way that you tuck your hair behind your ear, how you shoulder the strap of your purse to keep it from slipping down your arm, how you walk with a purpose despite being so moderate and kind. His gaze falls momentarily to the sway of your hips, the enticing nature of your waist. He stares for a long moment before tearing away, clearing his throat and blinking a few times in quick succession.

“Proud of you, H,” your father pipes up, tapping the face of his watch twice before dropping his arm with a sigh. “You did well out there.”

“Thanks,” Harry mutters. A spark of guilt flares up in his chest when he realises that he had been blatantly ogling you with your father standing only a few feet off to the side. He silently berates himself, shaking his head free of any alluring thoughts.

Your father’s phone chirps with the arrival of a new notification. He fishes the device out of his pocket and glances down at the screen.

“Let’s go,” he tells Harry, jerking his head to the right. “Medic’s ready for you, now.”

January 13, 2021

“C’mon, H, be smart with it! Watch how he angles himself!”

And Harry’s trying, really, but Arthur—or Artie, as your father likes to call him—is a hunkering titan of a man. He used to be your father’s star athlete before retiring, and now…now he’s working in finance, or something akin to that. Harry isn’t one hundred percent sure; he usually zones out when people begin to discuss the stock market.

Artie throws a right hook, but Harry sees it coming and blocks it with ease. They move in a circle, focussed only on each other while other individuals outside of the ring totter around.

Harry prefers to train on weekdays during the afternoon, because that’s when the gym isn’t as packed. Right now, only a handful of other people are working out, lifting weights or doing cardio exercises. Harry and Artie are here so often that nobody even blinks an eye anymore. And your father…well, he runs the place. Of course he would be here.

The sparring continues. When Harry refuses to make the first move, Artie sticks one glove out, beckoning him forward. “Come here, pretty boy.”

“Don’t make me pull your hair,” Harry grits, because Artie’s ponytail is swinging temptingly from beneath his headgear.

The other man laughs good-naturedly before lunging. Harry blocks his uppercut and delivers a strong, pointed jab right to the middle of his chest. Artie stumbles backward, inhaling sharply as the breath is knocked from his lungs. Harry bites back a smile.

“Nice, H!” your father calls.

“Thanks, Coach,” he mutters.

The front door of the gym opens, accompanied by the soft tinkling of a bell to announce the new arrival. Harry’s attention is reflexively drawn toward the direction of the sound, and his heartbeat stutters beneath his ribs.

You’re there, with your hair tied back in a low bun and silver hoops hanging from your ears. You’re holding a tray of coffee in your left hand, and there’s a warm smile on your face. You wave excitedly as you greet Portia, the middle-aged woman sitting behind the front desk. The two of you chat as you shrug off your jacket and tug the sleeves of your sweater over your hands.

Your mouth moves languidly. Though Harry is too far to hear your voice, he has a pretty good idea of what you’re saying. Your eyes widen and you shiver dramatically, shaking your head.

It’s cold!

A heavy fist makes contact with the side of his jaw, and he falls to the ground.

Your father’s loud exclamation pulls your attention away from Portia and toward the ring on the opposite end of the room. Harry groans lowly as he pushes himself to his knees, tilting his head from side to side and cracking his neck. When he turns to face your father, he finds him frowning through the gaps between the ropes.

“What the hell was that?” he asks, shooting Harry a disappointed look.

“Sorry,” Harry mumbles, climbing to his feet with a grunt. “Got distracted.”

He chances a glance back at you, and his shoulders grow tense when he realises that you’re making your way over to the ring, the tray of coffee held between your hands like a peace offering.

“Hello, boys,” you singsong. “I brought drinks.”

“Thanks, sweetheart,” your father says as you hand him his designated cup. He leans forward, pressing a quick kiss to your hair. You hum happily in response.

“Jason!” you call out as Artie approaches the side of the ring. “I got your lemonade.”

“Thanks, little girl,” Artie hums, accepting his drink graciously and taking a long sip from the straw. “And for the hundredth time, stop calling me ‘Jason’.”

“Stop calling me ‘little girl’,” you shoot back, laughing deviously. “I can’t help it if you look like him, okay? You’re even the same age, too.” You cock one eyebrow. “Should I start calling you ‘Aquaman’ instead?”

“God, no.” Artie shakes his head vehemently. “Let’s stick to Jason. ’Least that’s a real name.”

You giggle as he ambles away. Your eyes shift over to Harry—who has kept silent the entire time—and your lips curl up into a kind smile. “Hi, Harry.”

“Hi.” His voice is guttural.

“Last, but not least,” you murmur, plucking his drink from the tray and holding it up for him to take. “One black coffee, right?”

“Right,” he confirms with a curt nod. He tugs his bulky gloves off, dropping them to the floor and reaching out to accept the cup. A strong spark pricks at his hand when his fingers brush against yours. Your responding gasp is soft, barely-noticeable—if he weren’t so painfully aware of everything you do, he would have missed it completely.

“Thank you,” he says, guiding the coffee to his mouth and taking a small sip.

“No problem.” You smile up at him again, and God, that fucking smile. He wants it tattooed onto the backs of his eyelids. A wave of heat blooms in his chest and creeps up his neck, but thankfully, the pink flush blends in with his sweat-slicked, already-rosy skin.

“How was class, sweetheart?” your father asks, tilting his head to the side.

“It was good.” You shrug, tossing a thumb over your shoulder. “I’m going to head home now, though—I have a proposal due in a few days and I really need to get started.”

“Go, go,” your father concedes. You bid him goodbye before standing on your tiptoes and craning your neck to catch sight of Artie, who is quite evidently enjoying his lemonade.

“Bye, Jason!”

“Bye, little girl!”

You laugh. Your gaze lands on Harry again, eyes sparkling and features resolutely tender. “Bye, Harry.”

He swallows down the hard lump in his throat. “Bye.”

January 16, 2021

Harry’s workout playlist features a lot of Ariana Grande.

He just thinks that she’s good, okay?

But he knows that Artie and your father would never let him hear the end of it, so he keeps that information private. During practice, he’ll endure whatever shitty tunes Artie picks from his own library, and he won’t say a word. He’s not in the ring to dance, anyway. He’s there to make money—albeit illegally—because quite frankly, he hasn’t discovered an aptitude for anything else.

It’s late—the gym is technically closed. But the great thing about having the owner for a coach is the fact that Harry was given another key to add to his collection. Your father doesn’t care, as long as he locks up after he’s done. Harry has spent more time here than at his own home, he imagines. It’s nice when it’s quiet—it gives him plenty of time to think.

The back of his t-shirt is soaked through with sweat. He’s gazing at the ceiling as he lifts the heavy weights up and down over his torso. A bubbly song is playing on his phone, keeping his energy high.

So what if he listens to Ariana Grande? She makes great music.

The distinctive sound of footsteps reaches his ears. He pauses, setting the weightlifting bar back onto its rack and sitting up quickly. The noise is coming from the stairs that lead down to the swimming pool in the basement. Harry stands, and though his muscles are already screaming from previous exertion, he readies himself for the worst.

You appear at the top of the flight, your slippers smacking against each step loudly. You’re ruffling a towel against your wet hair, your head angled to the side as you squeeze out any excess water. Upon catching sight of Harry, you freeze in your tracks.

“Oh. Harry. Hi.”

“Hi,” he says slowly. “I…didn’t know you were here.”

“I didn’t know you were here,” you reply wryly, a small smirk making its way onto your lips.

Harry scratches sheepishly at the back of his neck. “Yeah. Er…I was just working out.”

You nod, your expression coy. “I can see that.”

An awkward silence hangs in the air. Harry clears his throat, rubbing his jaw with his fingers because what else is he supposed to do? “Were you—did you go for a swim?”

“Yeah,” you say. Your shoulders deflate, like you’re almost grateful that he’s contributed more to the conversation. “Spent half the time doing laps, and the other half on my phone.” Your lips quirk up with the feeble joke.

Harry chuckles weakly. “That’s just how it is, sometimes.”

Your eyes flutter shut for only a moment. “Yeah.”

More silence. Harry chews nervously on his bottom lip. Why the fuck can’t he speak?

The song playing from his phone changes. Your eyes narrow ever-so-slightly when a few upbeat notes trickle into the air, followed immediately by the smooth crooning of a woman’s voice. “Is this…,” you hesitate, and he can see how you’re fighting a smile, “…Carly Rae Jepsen?”

“Uh,” he says dumbly, uncertain of how to proceed. Sure enough, I Really Like You by Carly Rae Jepsen is filtering through the taut atmosphere, painfully loud now that the two of you are truly paying attention to it.

A high-pitched laugh falls from your mouth, and your shoulders shake with the force of your amusement. Harry, unable to help himself, begins to chuckle along with you. Heat blooms across his cheeks, but he’s not as embarrassed as he thought he’d be. Your giggles aren’t derisive, he realises.

He’s nearly overcome with the urge to take you in his arms, then, but he resists.

“Late night, watching the television…,” you sing quietly, and then you’re dissolving into merriment all over again.

Once your joint laughter subsides, you shoot him a bright grin. Harry tries his best to return it, though he doesn’t think that he mirrors your smile to its full extent. You sigh in delight, shouldering the strap of your bag and tossing your towel over your forearm.

“That honestly made my night,” you tell him, utterly sincere.

His heart somersaults in his chest. “’M glad.”

“Well,” you say, shrugging gently, “I should probably go.”

“Yeah.” His response is hollow. He lifts his hand in a half-hearted wave. “Have a good night.”

“You too.”

He lies back down with a grunt as you make your way toward the exit. His fingers wrap around the weightlifting bar, about to pull it off of its resting place, when your voice suddenly rings out again.

“Harry?”

“Yeah?” He sits up too quickly, nearly catching his forehead against the metal of the bar. When he turns around to face you, he finds you doubling back, approaching him and nibbling apprehensively on your bottom lip.

“I actually—,” you pause, like you’re unsure of how to continue, “I was wondering if I could ask you something.”

“Sure,” he says, rubbing his hands over the black shorts covering his thighs. “Go ahead.”

“It might be kind of weird,” you warn. “Don’t laugh at me.”

He shakes his head, blinking solemnly. “I won’t.”

“Would you—,” you begin, and your fingers come up to play with the pendant resting at the base of your throat, “—teach me how to box?”

“I—,” Harry recoils slightly, taken aback by your question. “What?”

“Would you teach me how to box?” you repeat, though your voice is significantly smaller. “I want to learn how to defend myself.”

“Against what?” he asks, his brows knitting together in concern. “Is everything alright?”

“Everything’s fine.” You wave away his worries with an inattentive flick of your hand. Harry’s eyes narrow as he studies your face. You refuse to meet his gaze.

You’re lying, he realises, straight through your pretty teeth. But it would be impolite of him to pry, wouldn’t it? And this is the first time that the two of you have ever been really, truly alone; he doesn’t want to fuck it up.

“Okay,” he says slowly, even though he doesn’t believe your guarantee.

He pulls at the hem of his t-shirt, tugging it up and wiping his face with the fabric. When he fixes his gaze on you once more, he thinks he catches your eyes drifting across his torso. Cocking one eyebrow curiously, he climbs to his feet.

“What do you want to learn?” he asks, reaching for his phone and pausing the music streaming from the device.

“Anything,” you say breathlessly. “Everything.”

His lips twitch.

“I—,” he scratches at his nose with two fingers, “—I don’t really have a set schedule, you know, between practice and actual matches.”

“I know.” You nod understandingly.

“And I know you have school,” he continues, tilting his head to the side. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Positive,” you tell him. There’s something strong burning in your eyes; he can’t quite figure out what it is. “I want to train. Just…don’t tell my dad, okay?”

“Okay,” he repeats. He swallows heavily, offering his phone to you. “Put your number in, yeah? I’ll text you on the nights I’m free, and if you’re not too busy, we can meet up here.”

“Alright,” you concede softly. You take the device from him, and he pretends not to notice just how badly your hands are shaking. Your nails tap quietly against the screen, and before you know it, you’re passing the phone back to him with your information saved under a new contact.

“Alright,” Harry echoes.

The two of you stare at each other for a long, silent moment. The spell is broken, however, when you finally take a step back, clearing your throat and tucking a strand of damp hair behind your ear.

“I should go,” you say. “For real, this time.”

“For real.” Harry nods.

“You’ll lock up, right?” you ask, retreating toward the exit.

“Yup,” he says, popping the last letter instinctively. At that, you smile, your mouth curling up into a soft, inviting crescent.

“Okay,” you murmur, placing one hand on the door. “Goodnight, Harry.”

He watches you go with forlorn eyes and empty lungs. “Goodnight.”

~*~

PART II: Cross

PART III: Hook

PART IV: Uppercut

if you’re enjoying this series so far, please consider donating to my ko-fi! thank you bunches <3

#harry styles smut #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfiction #harry writing #boxrry #alrighttttttt here she is! hope u guys enjoy <3

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elysianslove · 4 years

Note

Hello! I know this may not be your thing but I decided to give it a shot, if not no biggy!

I was wondering if you would be interested in writing Gojo and/or Sakuna with an asexual lover? (One that doesnt feel sexual attraction but doesnt mind kissing and cuddling etc and loves physical affection but nothing beyond that?) And like, how a relationship with that kind of person would come to be?

Because Sakuna and Gojo both give off *he totally fucks* vibes.

So how they ended up with an asexual lover would be interesting, maybe the MC rejects their advances because fear of being hated for being Ase? Because they know that the other person definitely fucks.

How would their relationship work? How would the guy react/comfort the MC.

(Maybe it ends with a epilogue with no sex(as in penetration and blowjobs to be exact but mc later in a relationship would be willing to do things like handjobs and other hands on/Using toys to pleasure their partner because they cant in that way) but lots of passionate makeout sessions/kissing/sucking and worshiping the mc's body? Especially the collar bone)

If you arent into it that's cool! I totally get it!

This is pretty self indulgent after all ahahaha it's hard being an asexual in fandoms lmao.

hi my love!! okay to start off, i’m really honored you sent in this request to me. idk just the fact that you’re trusting me with it is really sweet hehe. i’m fairly knowledgable about sexuality but i don’t like to write about things i’m not 100% sure about because i don’t wanna risk doing anything wrong or accidentally offending you! but!! thank you for going into detail with the request, and i hope this is what you were looking for, and that i didn’t do any mistakes <3

i wrote headcanons so i can go into detail and write for both!!

some nsfw under the cut, my loves! <3

ryomen sukuna

i’d say, to begin with, it would take a small while for sukuna to even be accepting of his own feelings towards you. nothing having to do with your sexuality, just you in general, specifically that you’re human and so different from him. i don’t think sex ever crosses his mind, at least at the start, because he’s too busy being really angry over the way he can’t seem to control his reactions to every little thing you do. so he himself won’t actively work at starting a relationship with you.

but he will realize, over time, that you’re not doing anything either, even though he’s been noticing that you’re not pushing him or his advances away. like any act of protectiveness that involves him physically touching you intimately, you don’t reject, and you’re always ready to retort at any quip he had. he could tell that these feelings he had for you were mutual, he was just so confused as to why you weren’t doing anything about it.

sukuna’s a thousand year old cursed spirit. he does not know shit about sexuality. i think the way he’d look at it is fuck who you want and fuck who you like. i feel like nicki minaj’s said that before, has she? he doesn’t like thinking too much about it, you know?

his confession would probably be a kiss because words? he doesn’t know them. when he feels you return the kiss he’s, deep down, elated, really, and this is simply because of his naturally sexual personality, he starts hinting at more, until you stop him. he’s really confused because you just kissed him back? you’ve been kissing him for so long why do you want to stop now? he can see the fear steadily growing in your eyes and he’s even more confused now he’s just. humans are so weird.

when you cautiously tell him, “i don’t want to go further than this. is that okay?” you look like you’re waiting for the world to erupt in your face. he just frowns and shrugs like, “yeah but that’s not the point. do you not want me?”

it takes about an hour and a half for sukuna to properly process what you’re saying. at first he’s so thrown off by it, not by you! he just can’t process the fact that someone doesn’t feel any sexual attraction towards someone or doesn’t crave sex at all. it’s not that he’s rude about it, it’s just a really foreign concept to him, you know? when you add that it’s just sex, and you’re okay with a lot of other things, the gears in his brain finally start working again and he just goes.

*shrugs* ok.

literally lmao. like i said earlier, sukuna doesn’t give a shit like whatever do what you want.

because of the rush of emotions he’s feeling towards you, and the fact that this in itself, a relationship, and a relationship with a human too, he doesn’t really focus on the fact that he might want more from you. he’s easily satisfied with a lengthy make out session, and he admits it to you every time he sees you get a little anxious or unsure of yourself.

however, his needs do grow with your relationship. it’s kind of clumsy, your transition into a proper long term relationship, especially with sukuna, but you two make it work.

you agree to try different ways to pleasure him, even if he kinda rushes through them because he’s generally just excited to have your hands on him. at first he’s content with anything you’re offering, but it makes him feel kinda useless when you won’t let him touch you and you have to remind him that your needs are different than his and that you’re sated differently.

i see sukuna as a curious and experimental guy, so he would definitely let you use toys on him. nothing too extreme, because he still needs that sense of control, but you do use some toys like a fleshlight or a vibrator to rile him up. he likes using your hand too, because it’s always so soft against him and it feels a hundred times better than any toy. he learns not to overstep any boundaries though, and not to do anything that might make you uncomfortable even if it takes him a little longer. like i said, the whole idea is just different to him, so it takes him a while to understand, and he’s still learning as he goes!

he loves your make out sessions, especially after you establish your boundaries and your limits and what you’re willing to do for him. he absolutely adores leaving your skin a sky of blue, pink and purple it sends chills down his spine marking you like that. he’s always touching you all over, and just loves to grab and knead at your skin.

in the proper long term, he doesn’t mind it at all tbh. the two of you develop a system, and he’s okay with it. the same way you would never cross his boundaries and force him to do anything he doesn’t want, he’d do for you too! it really never truly mattered, and it truly never will.

gojō satoru

different from sukuna, i think gojō would definitely be knowledgable about things like this. idk he just seems like the kind of guy that’s innately so aware of everything around him, and can read people exceptionally well.

he probably picked up on the fact that you weren’t comfortable with sex, or just didn’t experince sexual attraction, on his own, but never really brought it up because it was never his place. but the same way he picks up on that, he picks up on your obvious crush on him. he pays both details no specific attention until he starts to realize his own feelings for you, and begins on his subtle advances.

he tried to make his advances as sfw as possible, you know? just in case his suspicions were confirmed to be true. he was just extra flirty, sometimes touchy but never in an inappropriate way. very subtilely like always having your shoulders or knees touching or dusting of your jacket or feeding you a piece of his food. cute little things like that.

he gets super worried when he notices you start to distance yourself from him, because he can’t imagine what he might’ve did to push you away. he overthinks a little, worried that he overstepped his boundaries or made you uncomfortable in any way, but he isn’t afraid to approach you about it, to make sure he doesn’t repeat his mistakes, especially with someone like you, who he’s slowly growing more and more infatuated by.

when you admit to him you’re asexual, he realizes he was right, but then he’s like, “and? did i do something?” and now it’s your turn to be confused because here you were worried about rejection but here he was worried about you?

this specific incident is what makes you let loose and finally just freely admit your feelings for him. he’s ecstatic about it, seriously! all that’s on his mind is that he gets to go on a date with someone he really likes. sex is the last thing on his mind, and yeah, you’ll eventually have to talk about it, but not for now. it’s for later, when things get a little more serious.

they do get serious, to both your delights, but the dreaded moment is approaching you. gojō definitely sits you down and says, “we’re only having this talk so i know never to do anything outside of your limits. everything about this relationship is 50/50, and i want to know ways to make you feel good, too.”

please sir your hand in marriage.

i definitely believe gojō’s a kinky guy, and is more than willing to try out literally any sex toy you pull at him. genuinely, he’ll try anything you wanna try. if you ever offer a handjob, he’ll ask a million times over if you’re sure. usually, he likes to just do it himself, but have you there next to him. he won’t touch you, but your hands will be in his hair, and you’ll be kissing his neck, or just murmuring how much you love him in his ear, just spurring him on. he knows the last thing on your mind is anything sexual, but there’s just something about being under your watchful, almost bored gaze as he fucks himself.

anyways before i get too into it lmfao, he loves kissing you. loves loves loves it. not even full blown make out sessions, just gentle, serene kissing. he can kiss you for hours.

he is also incredible at body worship and praise. paints your pretty collarbone pink and purple, whispers about how you’re perfect for him, describes all your features to you like poetry. he’s an incredible lover, really. nothing can make him fall out of love with you, absolutely nothing.

#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen headcanon #sukuna #jjk sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna headcanons #saturo gojo x reader #gojo x reader #satoru x reader #gojo headcanons #saturo gojo headcanons #gojou x reader

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aion-rsa · 3 years

Text

Doctor Who: Perfect 10? How Fandom Forgets the Dark Side of David Tennant’s Doctor

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As recently as September 2020 David Tennant topped a Radio Times poll of favourite Doctors. He beat Tom Baker in a 2006 Doctor Who Magazine poll, and was voted the best TV character of the 21st Century by the readers of Digital Spy. He was the Doctor during one of Doctor Who‘s critical and commercial peaks, bringing in consistently high ratings and a Christmas day audience of 13.31 million for ‘Voyage of the Damned’, and 12.27 million for his final episode, ‘The End of Time – Part Two’. He is the only other Doctor who challenges Tom Baker in terms of associated iconography, even being part of the Christmas idents on BBC One as his final episodes were broadcast. Put simply, the Tenth Doctor is ‘My Doctor’ for a huge swathe of people and David Tennant in a brown coat will be the image they think of when Doctor Who is mentioned.

In articles to accompany these fan polls, Tennant’s Doctor is described as ‘amiable’ in contrast to his predecessor Christopher Eccleston’s dark take on the character. Ten is ‘down-to-earth’, ‘romantic’, ‘sweeter’, ‘more light-hearted’ and the Doctor you’d most want to invite you on board the TARDIS. That’s interesting in some respects, because the Tenth Doctor is very much a Jekyll and Hyde character. He’s handsome, he’s charismatic, and travelling with him can be addictively fun, but he is also casually cruel, harshly dismissive, and lacking in self-awareness. His ego wants feeding, and once fed, can have destructive results.

That tension in the character isn’t due to bad writing or acting. Quite the contrary. Most Doctors have an element of unpleasantness to their behaviour. Ever since the First Doctor kidnapped Ian and Barbara, the character has been moving away from the entitled snob we met him as, but can never escape it completely.

Six and Twelve were both written to be especially abrasive, then soften as time went on (with Colin Baker having to do this through Big Finish audio plays rather than on telly). A significant difference between Twelve and Ten, though, is that Twelve questions himself more. Ten, to the very end, seems to believe his own hype.

The Tenth Doctor’s duality is apparent from his first full appearance in 2005’s ‘The Christmas Invasion’. Having quoted The Lion King and fearlessly ambled through the Sycorax ship in a dressing gown, he seems the picture of bonhomie, that lighter and amiable character shining through. Then he kills their leader. True, it was in self-defence, but it was lethal force that may not have been necessary. Then he immediately topples the British Prime Minister for a not dissimilar act of aggression. Immediately we see the Tenth Doctor’s potential for violence and moral grey areas. He’s still the same man who considered braining someone with a rock in ‘An Unearthly Child’.

Teamed with Rose Tyler, a companion of similar status to Tennant’s Doctor, they blazed their way through time and space with a level of confidence that bordered on entitlement, and a love that manifested itself negatively on the people surrounding them. The most obvious example in Series 2 is ‘Tooth and Claw’, where Russell T. Davies has them react to horror and carnage in the manner of excited tourists who’ve just seen a celebrity. This aloof detachment results in Queen Victoria establishing the Torchwood institute that will eventually split them apart. We see their blinkers on again in ‘Rise of the Cybermen’, when they take Mickey for granted. Rose and the Doctor skip along the dividing line between romance and hubris.

Then, in a Christmassy romp where the Doctor is grieving the loss of Rose, he commits genocide and Donna Noble sucker punches him with ‘I think you need somebody to stop you’. Well-meaning as this statement is, the Doctor treats it as a reason to reduce his next companion to a function rather than a person. Martha Jones is there to stop the Doctor, as far as he’s concerned. She’s a rebound companion. Martha is in love with him, and though he respects her, she’s also something of a prop.

This is the series in which the Doctor becomes human in order to escape the Family of Blood (adapted from a book in which he becomes human in order to understand his companion’s grief, not realising anyone is after him), and is culpable for all the death that follows in his wake. Martha puts up with a position as a servant and with regular racist abuse on her travels with this man, before finally realising at the end of the series that she needs to get out of the relationship. For a rebound companion, Martha withstands a hell of a lot, mostly caused by the Doctor’s failings.

Why David Tennant Lost Hannibal Role According to Bryan Fuller

By Kirsten Howard

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Series 4 develops the Doctor further, putting the Tenth’s Doctor’s flaws in the foreground more clearly. Donna is now travelling with him, and simply calls him out on his behaviour more than Rose or Martha did. Nonetheless the Doctor ploughs on, and in ‘Midnight’ we see him reduced to desperate and ugly pleas about how clever he is when he’s put in a situation he can’t talk himself out of.

Rose has also become more Doctor-like while trapped in another reality, and brutally tells Donna that she’s going to have to die in order to return to the original timeline (just as the Doctor tells Donna she’s going to have to lose her memories of travelling with him in order to live her previous life, even as she clearly asks him not to – and how long did the Doctor know he would have to do this for? It’s not like he’s surprised when Donna starts glitching). Tied into this is the Doctor’s belief in his own legend. In ‘The Doctor’s Daughter’ he holds a gun to Cobb’s head, then withdraws it and asks that they start a society based on the morals of his actions. You know, like a well-adjusted person does.

What’s interesting here is that despite presenting himself as ‘a man who never would’, the Doctor is a man who absolutely would. We’ve seen him do it. Even the Tenth Doctor, so keen to live up to the absolute moral ideals he espouses, killed the Sycorax leader and the Krillitanes, drove the Cybermen to die of despair, brought the Family of Blood to a quiet village and then disposed of them personally. But Tennant doesn’t play this as a useful lie, he plays it as something the Doctor absolutely believes in that moment, that he is a man who would not kill even as his daughter lies dead. It’s why his picking up a gun in ‘The End of Time’ has such impact. And it makes some sense that the Tenth Doctor would reject violence following a predecessor who regenerated after refusing to commit another double-genocide.

In the series finale ‘Journey’s End‘, Davros accuses the Doctor of turning his friends into weapons. This is because the Doctor’s friends have used weapons against the Daleks who – and I can’t stress this enough – are about to kill everyone in the entire universe. Fighting back against them seems pretty rational. Also – and again I can’t stress this enough – the Daleks are bad. Like, really bad. You won’t believe just how mindbogglingly bad they are. The Doctor has tried to destroy them several times by this point. Here, there isn’t the complication of double-genocide, and instead the very real threat of absolutely everyone in the universe dying. This accusation, that the Doctor turns people into weapons, should absolutely not land.

And yet, with the Tenth Doctor, it does. This is a huge distinction between him and the First Doctor, who had to persuade pacifists to fight for him in ‘The Daleks’.

In ‘The Sontaran Strategem’ Martha compares the Doctor to fire. It’s so blunt it almost seems not worth saying, but it’s the perfect analogy (especially for a show where fire is a huge part of the very first story). Yes, fire shines in dark places, yes it can be a beacon, but despite it being very much fire’s entire deal, people can forget that it burns. And fire has that mythical connection of being stolen from the gods and brought to humanity. The Time Lord Victorious concept fits the Tenth Doctor so well. Of all the Doctors, he’s the most ready to believe in himself as a semi-mythic figure.

Even when regenerating there’s a balance between hero and legend: the Tenth Doctor does ultimately save Wilfred Mott, but only after pointing out passionately how big a sacrifice he’s making. And then he goes to get his reward by meeting all his friends, only to glare at them from a distance. His last words are ‘I don’t want to go’, which works well as clearly being a poignant moment for the actor as well, but in the context of Doctor Who as a whole it renders Ten anomalous: no one else went this unwillingly. And yet, in interviews Russell T. Davies said it was important to end the story with ‘the Doctor as people have loved him: funny, the bright spark, the hero, the enthusiast’.

It’s fascinating then, that this is the Doctor who has been taken to heart by so many viewers because there’s such an extreme contrast between his good-natured front, his stated beliefs, and his actions. He clearly loves Rose and Donna, but leaves them with a compromised version of happiness. They go on extraordinary journeys only to end up somewhere that leaves them less than who they want to be, with Russell T. Davies being more brutally honest than Steven Moffat, who nearly always goes the romance route. Davies once said to Mark Lawson that he liked writing happy endings ‘because in the real world they don’t exist’, but his endings tend towards the bittersweet: Mickey and Martha end up together but this feels like they’re leftovers from the Doctor and Rose’s relationship. The Tenth Doctor doesn’t, as Nine does, go with a smile, but holding back tears.

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It’s a testament to how well written the Tenth Doctor is that the character has this light and shade, and with David Tennant’s immense likeability he can appeal to a wider audience as a result. It’s not surprise he wins all these polls, but I can’t help but feel that if the Doctor arrived and invited me on board the TARDIS, I’d want it to be anyone but Ten.

The post Doctor Who: Perfect 10? How Fandom Forgets the Dark Side of David Tennant’s Doctor appeared first on Den of Geek.

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stylistiquements · 4 years

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There was the silence and there were the stars | Corpse husband x reader -Among Us AU

Among us AU : There was something. Something in the silence and the harsh coldness -that only space was capable of- that turned your brain into a sarcastic and bored mess. Maybe that’s why you found yourself so interested by any sabotage pulled on the crewmates, maybe that’s what made him so interesting to witness. He was different from the rest of you. Different to an extend you were about to understand.

❚ Word count : 4.2k ❚ Warning : A bit angsty but you will get that fluffity fluff and touch starve feeling you require I promise ; swearing ❚ Note : there will be no mention of death or killing as it is basically a real life Among us, just some shenanigans. Y/C : your/color

A/N : This little thing was inspired by -⭐️ anon. It was a fun thing to write even though it took me way too long because I asked my brain “sir may I pls have the focus capacity I need” and brain said no (: so yeah, this is litteraly just me ranting n complaining about space. This is a bit angsty but as what if is way too happy for me that was a nice opportunity. I hope you won’t mind and appreciate it anyway. As always just let me know. As it’s my first time writing like a one shot thingy I’m really curious to know. Also it’s supposed to be proofread but if you find any mistake just take ur glasses off. Thanks. Enjoy the wild ride.

You met him again. He was fixing wires while you were downloading some files on the computer. Difficulties happened regularly around here; various oddities that occurred from time to time, sometimes a few times a day. It would go from doors closing mysteriously to no electricity, you never knew which one it would be. Those inconveniences used to draw a smile on your lips, a grin you tried your best to hide from everyone else. The sound of the urging siren resounded in your head like a call, reviving the last spared spark left in your brain. At this point, you were pretty sure it was one of your crewmates’ doing, too many coincidences for any other options to be left. You didn’t mind though. The game started months ago but still amused you to this day.

He never let a word escape his mouth. To your awareness, no one knew anything about him, no one had ever heard the sound of his voice which you could only dare to imagine since the two of you met. It felt silly, you fabricated this voice inside your head, a half-finished melody you played to keep your mind busy. It would have sounded just as an old piano would. So slightly out of tune that maybe, if you didn’t care enough or wished for it not to be true, you wouldn’t even notice.

You called him black. It resonated with the color of his suit and the darkness that emanated from his soul. Not that he looked like a mischievous character, but rather like someone who would have been gnawed by life for years. A shade that reminded you of the bittersweet feeling 4 AM forced you to taste. Describing that presentiment was a challenge you couldn’t take. It was one of those things that had to be felt, not narrated.

Shit.

He caught you staring again. How could you look any other way? There was something with him that appealed to you, that pulled your eyes toward his direction every time. Probably only a peak of unwarranted curiosity you couldn’t really be blamed for, probably the oh-so mysterious aura that floated so carelessly around him. He always had this way of sneaking in and out, just as if he was nothing but his own shadow.

Yet, being near him was easy. Silence only felt comfortable when he was in your surroundings. The whole world stopped existing -and it had in fact since the first day you two met.

He had dark charcoal hair which fell so perfectly in curly strands around the two horns that crowned over his head. Paired with two ruby hued eyes, he truly was a sight for sore eyes. A wicked and breathtaking beauty, so unique it gave you the impression that he wasn’t even human.

He used to hop in a vent after finishing his tasks. As if his true home was there; a secret hideout for him and him only. You didn’t even know it was a thing before you watched it with your own eyes. Who wouldn’t blame him. If you could have escaped that warmth deprived place too, even for 5 minutes, you would have.

That’s why you never asked any question about it nor tried to investigate further. Being stuck in space was only a kid’s fantasy, nothing a fully conscious adult would inflict to themselves. Which, in itself, was pretty much self-explanatory about everyone’s mental condition in here.

It was also a pre-established rule, no questions. No one ever expressed it out loud, but you would have to be a fool not to guess it. Every crewmate grew accustomed to the deadly silence only space had to offer. A giant timeless hole where nothing really happened. With nothing but the smell of technology and the constant purr of engines as the only distractions left. See, living in a spaceship was no ordinary lifestyle : days and nights melted into each other until it became nothing but a groundless concept. The crewmates perceived it as comforting for some reason. You used to shrug it off, no questions. How unethical would you be to disturb their peace?

If you had to be honest, you would probably say that you felt bad for Black. Nothing like pity, but being alone in this stark and brutal silence for this long must have been pretty life-consuming. That’s why, even though it made your cheeks and the tip of your ears flame up in a raw and unforgivable tint of pink, you always kept looking into his eyes for one more second after he noticed you. Just to be sure he knew that he wasn’t alone in this shit hole. You stared into the depth of those ruby eyes, hunting for silent answers to questions you weren’t even sure of in the first place. He never quivered, only stood motionless until his task was completed. Just locking the eye contact. After that, he always ran away as silently as he existed. Leaving your head disturbingly empty.

Every single time.

Something changed one day. You were about to prepare some test samples when it happened. He jumped off a vent and you followed his movements from the corner of your eyes, too distracted to remember about the task that was assigned to you. He ran to the door and proceeded to shut it. Within the last second, the one that always lasted hours, he put an index in front of his mouth. Silently asking for you not to say a word. And before the steel door could obstruct your vision completely, you noticed a smile on his lips. A smile that made the whole spaceship turn inside out, draining the blood out of your body in a painstaking, almost sore way. There you stood, intoxicated by stupefaction and trapped as a cat.

Black mutated you into a self-depreciating joke : in here, you were only interestied in the impostor. The only one who made your day a little better was the one giving nightmares to the others.

It was him, from the beginning. It was him and he smiled. A grin that twinkled maliciously from his lips to his eyes, wounding your heart in an insoluble way. It made every prejudice you had about him crumble : he was no longer that miserable existence you sensed he was but a quiescent sun that could radiate all around him once unleashed into the world. How did he do that? How could he be both the tunnel and the light at the end of it?

When red came to the rescue, she described you with a glare. She judged you in the not-so-pleasant way. You could always count on those glares to know their opinions about you. Because their judgment would have to be expressed one way or another. She thought you looked suspicious, with your half poured concoction into a hand and the rest of it in the other, just staring blankly into the void. You wouldn’t blame her for that.

It stuck with you for days, filling your empty mind with the sight of a smile that could no longer be experienced. The scene shamelessly repeated itself in your mind until it became nothing but a progression of disassembled images, forcing you to taste the astonishment over and over again. The problem was, you hadn’t seen him for days. And, even though you wanted to know what happened, you couldn’t ask. That was the rule.

What would you say anyway ? Black is the imposter and I watched him close medbay’s door ? Yeah, I don’t think so. You should have stopped him in the first place -and you would have if you weren’t just mesmerized.

So, you took each day -or night … or piece of time, whatever you wanted to call it since it was no longer existent- with composure. Forcing yourself to do any task with a meticulousness that didn’t look like you. Just to make sure your brain was busy enough not to think about it or him. Being trapped in a place and being trapped in your own mind are two different wrestles, yet in here those two intertwined perfectly. Just like the rest of it, it didn’t even make any sense : the guy smiled at you for ten seconds and here you were, an absolute clutter of questions and recollection. You were probably just too bored and he, as always, was the perfect distraction. That must have been it, right?

You walked in admin. Your heart skipped a beat before your eyes could process who stood in front of them.

Look what the cat dragged in.

His hair twirled flawlessly above his face, almost hiding a grimace that indicated so transparently his mind. You leaned against the door frame and crossed your arms, unabashedly watching him as he swiped his card frantically while sighting heavily every time that “bip” of failure rang.

Eventually, he looked at you with an expression you couldn’t quite read. You tried anyway, staring at him as if he was some sort of work of art that needed to be decrypted. From the way his chest moved heavily under the pressure of the irritation to the way his glowing eyes witnessed you. This expression on his face gave him a funny look, a scowl which made the laugh that tickled your throat hard to hold back.

“Y-you have to do it slower. Otherwise, it won’t work” you stuttered. “I guess it’s harder since …”

You walked to him carefully, so carefully you forgot your words. Just as if he was a wild animal who could run away if scared. Making sure no step would fall out of line. He was so close, so close, maybe if you tried to catch him this time he would stop running away.

“Since it’s not my job, right ? Is that what you were about to say ?” he asked with a low voice, a voice you would have never dared to picture for him. Not the broken tone you pictured but a melody so sweet and so unique it felt like it was made just for your ears to enjoy, taunting you to dive into his mind.

“Do you need help” ?

“I- hum- You’re not supposed to help me, you know ?” he stuttered, visibly amused, judging by the way his eyes wrinkled under his smile.

“Are you gonna lock me in the room once again ?” He shook his head as a chuckle escaped from his lips. “Then who cares” you finally breathed.

Your fingers brushed against his warm skin as you grabbed the card. You tried to appear unbothered, hoping so intensely for the swipe to be a first try success. That way, maybe he wouldn’t notice the way you breathed heavily under the weight of your pounding heart. But those red eyes piercing through the depth of your soul were hardly bearable for those like you who suffered from unbeknownst afflictions.

You grew aware of his every move, the way those eyes fell on you, the perfume that emanated from his skin, the sound of his slow yet noticeable respiration.

You gave him his card back and he captured your fingers in the palm of his hand, making it impossible for you to escape his grip. Hiding those blushing cheeks from a sight that seemed to see everything was a defiance only the proudest people would be capable of. It wasn’t your case, but you counted on preserving the last sane cells left in your body.

“Your secret is safe with me.” You whispered, avoiding any eye contact.

“I know that.”

A simple answer that would never be enough to satisfy you. Yet, before you could review the best option of an answer, he left. Just as he always did, he walked away silently -still this time it seemed to last an eternity- while you just stood there inertly as you watched his black silhouette disappear into the endless gray hallways.

You finally caught the breath you had been holding this whole time. Leaning over, you observed your reflection into the screen of the digital tablet as you rubbed your hands together, hoping for that strange spike of electricity that ran through your fingers to fade away quickly. A mess.

“There you are, Corpse” green said as he sat cross-legged in black’s secret place “I’ve been looking for you.”

Corpse was the name green chose for Black, feeling like it would be the most suitable image for the one who always worked in the shadow. Not the most refined nickname, yet black ironically related to that. Silent as a Corpse, he thought. A level of sarcasm that amused him and which probably led to him immediately falling in love with it.

Corpse observed the little sprout on the top of Green’s head. It floated lightly and followed his every move. What a little freak. Just a thing deprived of any sort of self consciousness, out of this world just like he felt he was. Corpse remained fixated on it, hoping he could get as self-aware as it was. The last impromptu reunion he had with you was nothing he had planned, nothing that should have happened. He wouldn’t exactly call it a mistake and still, he had no one else but him to blame.

“Did something happened with y/c ? You seem a little flustered.” Green asked, pulling Corpse out of his overflowed mind.

“I don’t know, I think I kinda fucked up.” He replied with a shrug. “I’ve been spotted.”

“Was it really a mistake ?”

Green was the only one who was granted with the privilege of learning how to understand Corpse. Because, deep inside, they grew up to be the same kind : the kind that didn’t belong here. Two sides of the same coin.

Green’s social intelligence, on the other hand, Black didn’t like it that much. Thanks to that guy, he would be able to work comfortably in the darkness, where no one could see him, but it also meant that he saw clearly what was going through Corpse’s mind. Actually, it didn’t take him too long.

What was the surprise when he realized it was you who lived rent-free in his thoughts? See, in Corpse’s eyes you were different from the others : too conscious about the reality that happened before yours eyes. It made you interesting to observe. What a delightful sight it was to watch you rolling your eyes in your crewmates’ face, to notice the serious look you had when you were focused on a task, the way your eyes sparkled every time a new sabotage was made. He wouldn’t track you, yet he would never resist a peek once your paths crossed. It happened often, more than you actually realized.

Yet, Corpse was no fool. You and him never belonged together. You were destined to a bright destiny and he was the obscurity. That’s why he was more than careful not to get too close, not to see his bare mind get burnt under the exposition of those peculiar feelings in the pit of his stomach.

That’s why his previous reaction made no sense to him. But what could he say? You took him aback when those words were directed at him. You made his short-circuited brain unable to be sensible anymore. He just wanted to know what your touch would feel like under his fingers. Why was his skin blazing with electricity now ?

Corpse swallowed it all. From the blossoming feeling inside his body and mind to the warmth and the softness of your skin. He couldn’t feel that way. “I’m not really sure.” he finally said, as honest as he could be with himself.

He would spend his next few days planning with Green, cornering you to a small part of his brain. You couldn’t be there, you had no right to be. The game was progressing faster than they anticipated it. It made him thrilled, accepting the challenge no one but the two of them could bear.

However, a new unwanted seed grew into his mind. The idea that, maybe, you were only by his side in this game. That, maybe he would never be able to witness your existence in the real world.

“Have you ever noticed how weird the stars look sometimes ?” Corpse asked as he joined navigation. You jumped and your mind turned into a scattered place stuck between a task you battled to achieve and the proximity left between the two of you. Your heart beat in rhythm with his echoing, never ending footsteps. Still you had, indeed, noticed. “It’s like they’re not even real” you answered with a smile that made your voice higher. A melodic lift that betrayed your intention of ever finishing your job.

When you finally looked at him, his lips moved into a satisfied curve. Shivers tickled your arms and your neck. Maybe because he was just standing so perfectly still in front of the glass window. So perfectly still that, among all those celestial bodies, he appeared to be the most beautiful one. “Mind keeping me company for a bit?” Your mouth betrayed you when the question escaped your grip. But Corpse snorted faintly and shook his head.

“From all the people in here you want to spend time with me ? That’s probably not your wisest decision.” He said as he tried to muffle a high pitch laugh with a hand that covered his mouth.

See, that’s the words he had been afraid of since the first time he saw you. The words he would have to turn into derision since he knew he would have no strength to refuse. Yet, you stood there with those glimmering eyes and those eyebrows that arched in a strange manner, cutting every single inch of air out of his lungs. Even if he wanted to say no -and he should- he wouldn’t have been able to.

It was never meant to happen, not judging by your two so hostily opposed nature. Fuck that shit. Who cared about that speech when you were here and you were so beautiful?

You moved closer to him, a strenuous and slow tense that shouldn’t be disregarded. You’ve had seen the same scenery for months yet never it made you feel the same way as you did at that very moment. Because those balls of lights floating into the void shimmered in his ruby hued iris just as a dozen of fireflies would. He made your world a little blurry, narrowed to his presence at your side.

“You forgave me really easily the last time we met.” He noticed. “That’s a little sus if you asked me.”

“Well, what can I say ? You’re the only distraction I have left, so I’m not really in the position to hold grudges.” You shrugged sarcastically.

“You’re really funny, I have to concede that” he said as his smile made its way to his eyes.

Your brutally honest words intertwined with his chuckles and crewmates never heard the spaceship as lively as that time. That time when you got to discover who Corpse really was. A man who hid his blooming existence behind a silence.

“Why did you stay silent this whole time ?” You dared to ask before the silence fell upon the two of you, a silence that maybe you wouldn’t be able to endure this time.

“Because I never wanted to lie”

“I- ...hum- there’s really nothing I could say against that, right ?”

With every grin, every chuckle, every abrupt eye contact, your proximity kept embedding his mind a little deeper until you stole the stars’ show completely. It’s no good, you held his breath hostage when he realized he could feel the warmth stemming out of your skin. So tempted to get closer and witness it with further clearness.

Thus, he lifted a hand that starved connection. He tried to close the gap between your two touches so prudently, so discreetly that you didn’t even notice. A touch, that would go beyond his movement, more like a proof he needed to make sure someone like you really existed in a shithole like this.

He was so close.

Yet, the alarm rang before he could embrace the object of his desire. “Better check that out quickly” you said with a sigh. Somehow, it felt peculiar just knowing that, this time, you were the one running away. A sense of some sort of joke played by space. As if space hadn’t done enough. When Green cut the communication, he couldn’t realize -If only he knew the double meaning of that sabotage. Ah, the irony of it all.

“I’ll see you soon” Corpse informed you, more of a promise than a farewell and he stayed there long enough, staring numbly at his hand.

You ran until the communication room, holding this bittersweet feeling on the tip of your tongue. You tried to swallow it and almost found yourself praying that no one would arrive before you could. This way, maybe your fugue would make more sense.

Blue was already sitting on the floor, trying to find the good frequencies. “I’m already on it.” she said on a plain, monotone voice. Of course, she fucking would be.

Now what was left to do ? Corpse was probably already gone and-and the silence … the silence had returned. A dead, cold, cruel silence. It tested out your nerves, built up some pressure down your throat that made keeping your composure barely possible. Corpse slipped between your fingers again. The game was no longer a funny and pleasant diversion from the plain, austere daily life you had. You grew tired of that cat and mouse game. You just wanted him.

After going back to the oh-so empty navigation room, you completed your tasks. And you were finally done. You wandered around for hours, days -who knows-, searching for a purpose.

The game was coming to an end, you could feel it. Something in the air changed, it became dryer than ever. Unbearable on your skin that ached for something you couldn’t apprehend. The crewmates were agitated, everyone kept running around day and night just to make sure the last tasks would be completed as soon as possible. New difficulties were triggered almost as soon as the last ones ended. Chaos.

Just as if he wasn’t ready to end the game so soon, as if he didn’t want to get the hell out of this place as much as you did. From time to time, you almost found yourself eager to ignore the alarm. Taunting him one last time by neglecting his call.

Maybe that way he would show up, maybe that way he would stay with you. Yeah, maybe that way he would stop being nothing but an ephemeral being that almost made you wonder if you finally gave up on your mind to the silence. Because at that moment he only felt like a chimera your brain created to protect you. Because you were just so fucking bored.

You gave up on that idea, turning on the CCTV as you sighed. Just to see more colorful suits running around, trying to hold their shit together for what appeared to be the ultimate hour. Despite all the sabotages, it seemed like your number made your strength. You imagined Corpse’s face, probably piqued. A dark frown covering his pretty eyes. It made your lips twitch for a second. Who knew it would end this way ? Definitely not you.

Yet that amused smile faded away when you heard the familiar sound of the door closing, locking you in yet another time. You rolled your eyes and turned around, unprepared to witness who locked themselves with you. His body laid against the door, guarding it as his chest moved frenetically under the weight of his rushing breath.

“This is the end” he whispered frantically under his breath. He doesn’t look as worried as you thought he would, but it didn’t matter. You moved impulsively toward him, never stopping until he snaked a hand around your waist and slipped the other one in your back. That way, this time, there were no escape.

He let his head rest in the hollow of your neck, soaking the divine and comforting warmth you had to offer. His warm breath on your skin sent shivers through your body which responded by squeezing him a little tighter, holding him as close to your heart as humanly possible. You could feel his, beating so fast.

“This is the end.” His whisper grounded on your skin.

He lifted his head to dive into your eyes with the same sweet smile you offered him. The one which expressed the happiness, the relievment it felt to embrace him.

“If it were for you, I would do it all over again.” You said, pressing your forehead against his, sharing a breath as you closed your eyes. One last attempt to memorize everything about him. You sensed his smile, so wide you didn’t even have to look at it to see. He left a trail of kisses on your cheeks and your hand wandered in his hair as a faint gasp escaped your lips.

Corpse looked back at you. And then, as his thumb drew light circles on your cheek. With glowing eyes that translated all the adoration he felt for you, he whispered “Maybe it was just meant to be”. And then, he closed the distance between the two of you, brushing your lips softly at first before capturing them completely once he was sure you felt the same way as he did. A kiss that tasted like 4AM and home.

“I’ll find my way back to you, my love. I’ll find you in the real world.” He promised.

#corpse husband #corpse #corpse husband fic #corpse husband x reader #corpse husband x you #corpse husband x y/n #among us au #corpse x you #corpse x reader #corpse x y/n #corpse scenario #corpse imagine #corpse among us #corpse fluf #corpse angst

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enbylesbianism · 3 years

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ANY WAY THE WIND BLOWS: Simon Snow trilogy wrapped! (review)

Hi, there! It took me a while to finish this post, as I could talk about it for... a long time (not necessarily a good thing), but I got it! I like praise, so if anyone wants to tell me I did a good job... Also, I might edit this post later on. I don’t remember anything else I’d like to add, but I wouldn’t be surprised if I did after posting. My brain does not obey me. Anyways, off to it! By the way, I won’t give this book a real rating.

While this is a review on Any Way the Wind Blows, I intend on analysing some points of the overall series too. The book starts where Wayward Son left off, the end of the road trip, Simon and Baz having problems in their relationship, Penelope helping Shepard with his curse... and the whole situation of the NowNext vampires. Rainbow Rowell only seems to remember the first part. That leaves us with the second book of the series ignored almost completely, with the exception of Simon and Baz’s feelings as well as Shepard’s existence.

Don’t get me wrong, aspects of the book are mentioned, but never in a truly important way. Lamb, the Vampire King, is mentioned by Simon, but only focusing on his and Baz’s relationship, never about the fact that there are a bunch of vampires (supposedly ‘evil’) in the U.S. but I guess what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, right? I could count on one hand the times the NowNext vampires were mentioned (like, literally, this isn’t an exaggeration, I looked up ‘NowNext’ on the e-book and only got five results), all of them either being one of them considering telling someone else about it, then not following through with it, or dismissing it as a concern for Lamb. Which makes the plot of Wayward Son completely useless for the trilogy. Now, that wouldn’t matter as much if everything else had been properly developed, but we definitely can’t say that.

We are introduced to a brand new, poorly developed villain, Smith-Smith Richards, whose character arc is as ridiculous as his name. He’s one of the fake Chosen Ones that started appearing after the events of Carry On (and the only one to be mentioned and/or defeated, for that matter). It becomes clear that presenting as Simon Snow-ish is part of his brand, especially when Baz describes him as looking like the Netflix adaptation version of Simon, and that he was raised and guided by his uncle, who’s just... there. I don’t think it would’ve been hard to make him manipulating Smith-Smith into believing he’s the prophetic savior of the Magickal World, which would not only make both of their characters more interesting, but it could also serve as a parallel of Simon’s relationship with the Mage. Richards also has some special powers such as increasing a mage’s magic for a limited amount of time, but taking it away afterwards, as well as making someone immune from spells. It’s worth saying those aren’t skills that are usual in the Magickal World, or else there wouldn’t be so much confusion and shock from people (specially Baz and Penny, who would definitely have heard of something like this before), but we get no explanation on why or how Richard has them.

Then, we have the Salisbury’s. We, as readers, already know Lucy and Davy are Simon’s parents, making Ruth his grandmother. It’s noticeable that Rowell builds up to that discovery, by making Simon get along with Ruth instantly, him thinking about Lucy a lot etc. It makes us excited to read the part where they actually figure it out, to know how Simon would deal with that, him dealing with the fact that he’s the Mage’s son and the fact that, technically, he killed his father. I suppose that’s the point, but actually getting to that part was incredibly underwhelming. The way they discovered about Simon—being able to lift a family sword—hadn’t been mentioned or hinted at before. One would’ve expected Simon, who’s particularly interested in swords as it’s mentioned many times throughout the series, to notice a freaking Excalibur at the Salisbury’s place before.

And speaking of noticing things: when it’s finally revealed that Simon is Lucy’s son and the Mage’s heir, Baz pointed out the uncanny similarities between his boyfriend and the deceased Watford principal. “Those narrow eyes. That tilt of his head. I thought... I thought he’d learned it. Was imitating it.” + “Merlin, Simon, you even look like him.” (Any Way the Wind Blows, chapter 86) Simon was the Mage’s protégé for years and I assume the Magickal authorities knew that he was the one to inherit all of his money and personal belongings, but no one, in the whole British Magickal community, thought about them being related? I refuse to believe there were no conspiracy theorist teachers at Watford or that Mitali or even the Pitch’s alongside everyone who was against the Mage didn’t at least check to know if there was something behind those characteristics. Baz literally said (chapter 88), “I think it’s undeniable. I’d cast ‘Flesh and blood’ on them, but it would bounce right off of Snow (...)”, so there is a spell for that. Plus, we didn’t even have one whole chapter of Simon dealing with this information! The chapters (no more than five, out of ninety-one) were divided between Simon, Baz and Lady Ruth’s POVs. He’s the main character, so one would think he’d get more development.

Another point that felt rushed was the romance. While Simon and Baz’s relationship wasn’t, as it’s been a topic Rowell has explored for three books (we’re not counting Fangirl here, as their ‘participation’ on it was minor and their personalities weren’t as consistent as in the trilogy. Not that it is that consistent there), the others just felt like she wanted everyone to finish the trilogy with a pair. I’ll start with Shepard and Penny. There were fans who liked them together before Any Way the Wind Blows, but it wasn’t hinted at—it was more like a fandom thing. I personally like them as a couple, but it could have had development and, maybe, foreshadowing in Wayward Son. I mean, they did fight monsters during a huge part of a road trip together.

The next one I’ll talk about is Agatha and Niamh. I love them, don’t get me wrong. Actually, it’s precisely because I love them that I wish they’d gotten a better treatment. Niamh wasn’t introduced before Any Way the Wind Blows. I get why she wasn’t introduced in Carry On—it was interesting to see a character who wasn’t caught up in Simon and Baz’s drama during the school years—but a hint of her existence could’ve been left in Wayward Son. Agatha is an important character on it, and a mention of her father training an aspiring veterinary could’ve fit somewhere, as a hint, maybe. (Also, Lucy, the dog, being absolutely forgotten during this book when a lot of Agatha’s time is spent in a veterinary clinic...) Besides, we could get the vibes from them, but after they kissed, there was barely any content. We didn’t get them calling each other ‘girlfriend’ (or if they even like that label at this point), or the aftermath of the kiss, or a POV from Niamh. Or Niamh appearing the epilogue? If Agatha was taking care of the goats, I’m sure Niamh would have a part in that too. Still on Agatha’s character, but not on Niamh’s, it felt like Rainbow Rowell was setting up for aromantic and asexual Agatha, specially because of this quote: “It was like she'd pulled the feeling right out of my heart. I could have kissed her. (I still wish sometimes that I wanted to.) (That would feel like an answer to... the question of me. Then I could say, 'Oh, thats who I am. That's why I've been so confused.')” (Wayward Son, chapter 4).

And I was leaving the best (I need to be sure everyone knows I mean this sarcastically) of the romance topic for the end: Fiona and Nicodemus. It’s just... so forced and undeveloped. Not even because, to me, they’re both gay as hell. There was just... such a lack of development! I don’t think we had any interaction between the both of them before Any Way the Wind Blows. There was no foreshadowing or why would Fiona, a vampire hunter from a family of vampire hunters, would marry... a vampire! I’d already find it weird to see fanfiction of them as a crackship, but it’s canon?! Like, canon as in they’re going to get married and use Fiona and Natasha’s mother’s ring? Seriously, nothing will take from me that this is a lavender marriage (as I’ve already discussed with my best friend, which inspired this post of theirs.)

I’d also like to speak about a topic that’d been hinted throughout the series, especially post-Carry On, which is the criticism towards the Magickal Community in the U.K.. That criticism is very much embodied in Shepard’s character. It’s explicitly said that the British mages have some kind of supremacy towards other supernatural beings, such as vampires for example, gatekeeping literal magic. Up until relatively recently, mages with weak links with magic couldn’t attend Watford (and that’s a major plot point in the final book) and there’s a denial towards any other kind of magic except the ones that are part of their craft. Even within the Magickal community itself, there are more important families that are more likely to succeed, like Natasha receiving criticism for marrying Malcolm, as a Pitch. It felt pointless not to tackle the issues you’ve set up yourself in your own universe. Penelope has very strict morals related to magickal law and beliefs, something that she could’ve deconstructed, especially considering Shepard, her love interest, symbolises that. Another point related to that is, the trilogy is very clearly heavily inspired by Harry Potter, where many of those points are very clear (e.g. wizard supremacy in relation to other species, such as werewolves and domestic elves and the status quo that makes some traditionally magical families more influential than others, like the Malfoy’s vs. the Weasley’s), so it’s not an easily forgettable concept.

The series also had a lot of inconsistencies. The one I’ve seen talked about more often is Simon and Agatha’s... intimacy status, let’s call it that. Simon’s whole thing in the first book was that he struggled controlling his magic when experiencing intense emotions, which makes it hard to believe that he managed to have sex withount an... accident. Besides that, though, there’s this quote, “She (...) presses a kiss into my temple. No one has ever kissed me there. No one has ever kissed me anywhere but on my mouth” (Carry On, Chapter 27), but in Any Way the Wind Blows, when Simon’s about to have his wings cut, Agatha says, “It’s a strange feeling to look at someone’s chest and know it’s nothing to do with you anymore, but still to remember kissing every inch.” (Chapter 14)

So, we have established that Rainbow Rowell’s work, both character and plot driven, is flawed. “But we got the characters interacting for the closure of the series, at least!” Well... we got interactions between the canon romantic relationships, yeah. But besides that, we didn’t get much. There were no interactions between Agatha and Penny, or Shepard with Simon and Baz. Or Penny and her mother figuring stuff out. Or literally anyone with a therapist. And not gonna lie, the interaction we got between Baz and Dev was underwhelming, to say the least. Niall is nowhere to be seen, too.

Rainbow Rowell’s writing is beautiful: she writes poetic lines that make the book seem perfect at first glance, if you don’t think about it for too long. Her words are very shiny, but once you get use to that light and see what’s behind them, what’s between one shiny quote and another, it has so many flaws and plot holes that it reads like a first draft. There are many concepts in there that are genuinely good: the rest of the trilogy focused on the protagonist dealing with the trauma of being a child soldier instead of being entirely an adventure, Simon being unlabelled, a fake Chosen One that gives mages fake hope... Those are all good ideas, but so poorly explored that, despite being an entire book/trilogy, it still feels like a writing pitch or something among those lines.

I felt iffy about other things during my reading of the series, but they aren’t exactly plot points, so I’ll just list them below:

Mitali, Penny’s mom, including ‘discovering your bisexuality’ as a mid-life crisis thing

As I’ve seen people talking about biphobia/bi erasure in the books, I’ll be including this post that features both unlabelled and bisexual individuals talking about the topic (it isn’t my place, as a lesbian, to talk about this, that’s why I decided not to do so.)

Romanticising of Baz’s suicide (a.k.a. chapter 61) in the first book. If you’re not in a good place mentally, like I was when I first read Carry On, I hope you know that a kiss or romance doesn’t help any mental illness you or others might have. Don’t let anyone use your guilt to manipulate you. Paraphrasing Alice Oseman in their graphic novel Heartstopper, love can’t cure a mental illness.

Any Way the Wind Blows was... very horny. I can’t point out how this makes the book bad exactly, but it wasn’t something I enjoyed. One of Rainbow Rowell’s strongest skills is that her quotes, when loose, are good. They tend to be poetic and just beautiful, overall. But in the... explicit scenes, these skills were barely used, and I felt like I was reading NSFW tweets off of someone’s private account on Twitter. Besides, the first two books of the series weren’t written like that, so the change was very sudden.

The older people could’ve been more explored. Penelope and Mitali’s relationship and how similar the both of them are compared to each other, Daphne and Professor Bunce’s insecurities and why they believed in Smith-Smith, Fiona, Nico, and Ebb... Also, the Mage and Lucy. We could’ve had more on them, y’know.

The pop culture references. They made the book read even more like Twitter’s feed. Honestly, if I wanted to read prompts and nice ship content alongside memes from Twitter with some horny thoughts sprinkled all around, I would’ve opened the Twitter app. Or Tumblr, Instagram, whatever.

The POV switching felt lazy to me at times. It’s nice to know how different characters are experiencing that situation, yes, but sometimes, like during the discovery that Simon is a Salisbury, it read as if Rowell wanted to create tension, but couldn’t think of any other way to do it except the switching around.

Narrative wise, I think Simon and Baz should’ve spent more time broken up.

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