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allegra-writes · 4 years

Text

“Fool’s gold”

Peter Parker x Reader

NSFW

Warnings: Smut. Sex pollen.

This is an alternative version to my fic "Fireproof", where the reader gets doused by the sex pollen instead of Peter, but you don’t need to have read that first. As any sex pollen fic, this can qualify as non/dub-con, so read at your own discretion and responsability.

Dedicated to @angel-spidey because without her this would have never seen the light of day💓

MY MASTERLIST | SERIES MASTERLIST

Peter knew it was wrong. He knew it. He wasn't delusional enough to believe it was something other than the pollen making you act that way. Making you say those things. You had always been sweet to him, that was true, but you were sweet to everybody, didn't make any difference if they were a janitor or an avenger, it was one of the reasons he liked you so much.

He also knew he wasn't the only one. His eyes weren't the only pair of eyes that strayed to you in the lab, Harley too seemed to be rather distracted whenever he was in your presence. And in fact, Peter didn't think he had ever seen Steve visit the lab that often before. Ever. And the guy was freaking Captain America, how could he ever compete with that?

You didn't feel the same way about him, he had resigned to that a long time ago. To watch you from afar. To love you from afar. Because at least that much was true: the only way he knew he beated the other two men, beaten them by a long shot, was that he loved you the most.

That was why he had left the med bay, because he couldn't stand it, seeing you like that, fighting against your restraints, skin flushed and eyes on fire, calling him, begging him to…

He wasn't able to resist it.

And why he had walked away from the lab, leaving Bruce and Tony and even Stephen, to wrack their brains trying to find a cure, when the obvious solution was right in front of them.

That was how he had found himself alone, in the dark, pretending to nap in the little on call room right outside the med bay, still in his suit after that disastrous mission they should have never let you tag along in the first place. Far enough from you not to hear your desperate pleas, but close enough to help if something happened. If the damn alien substance raised your fever enough to- No. He wasn't going to think about that. Dr. Banner was going to come up with an antidote. They still had time.

Yeah, he knew it was wrong. He knew he should have told FRIDAY to alert mister Stark as soon as he heard the soft sound of your footsteps on the hallway. He knew he should have fled as soon as the knob turned and you entered the room. As you made your way to him. But he was paralized, frozen in place, as you leaned down over him, running your hot, way hotter than normal, hands down his chest, leaving fiery trails in their wake over the thin skin tight fabric of his suit. You raked your nails over his abs, feeling the muscle riple under your touch.

"Y-you shouldn't be here" He stammered, as your fingertips came close, dangerously close, to the place where his suit was already starting to feel tight around his hips.

"Hmm… but you won't tell on me" your thumb traced the base of his length, a barely there caress that nonetheless had him jumping. "Will you, Peter?"

He breathed you in, another mistake. He could practically smell your desire, leaking through your pores. Pheromones, sweet and mouthwatering.

He wouldn't. He couldn't.

Even in the dark, he saw you smile bright at his surrender. Discarding your lab coat, you straddled his hips, little blue skirt riding up your thighs, and released your hair from its ponytail as Peter watched, entranced by your every move. You spread your legs a little more, letting your center come in contact with his by then obvious erection. He could feel your heat through his suit, choking on thin air when he realized you weren't wearing any underwear.

"F-fuck…" He gasped, eyes rolling back inside his skull as you started rocking above him.

He tried desperately to hold still, to stop himself from bucking his hips up to meet yours, but it was impossible. Every cell in his body telling him to move, to touch, to take what he had wanted for so long. What he had never dared to dream he could have.

You moaned at the delicious friction you were creating, and you could hear him starting to breathe harder too. He felt amazing, a soothing balm to your burning skin everywhere you touched. This was what you needed, what the chemicals running in your blood demanded. He was warm, and hard, and male. But more than that, he was Peter, and he had to be yours. There was no other way, no other ending for this story.

You grinded your pelvis against his harder, the pressure on your clit just perfect, the coarse texture of his suit only adding to the sensations. You were making a mess of it, ruining it, but it was worth it just to hear his groan the moment your wetness seeped through the fabric.

"We can't… we can't do this" Peter tried to protest, even as his hands flew to your waist to aid your movements.

"Why? Because an alien pollen is messing with my head?" You got rid of your t-shirt, and Peter's reply died in his throat, you weren't wearing a bra either "because it's wrong? Because It's dirty and-"

A wounded sound left Peter's mouth, a wordless surrender, a sob at his own damnation, and he snapped, his fragile control finally shattering to pieces. One second you were on top of him, teasing him within an inch of his life, and the next you were trapped between the soft mattress and his hard body, as his lips ravished yours, one hand roughly massaging your breasts, the other slipping under your skirt, searching blindly, fingertips digging into the delicate skin of your inner thighs. He was furious in his onslaught, desperation clear in the way he was kissing you, all teeth and tongue. Greedy. Ravenous.

Because if this was all he was ever going to get, just one night with you, as you used him to scratch an itch, then he was going to make the most of it. He was going to commit every little detail to memory: The shape of your body under his, the taste of your skin, the smell of your hair, vanilla and cinnamon and something else, something uniquely you. The sweet little moans falling from your lips.

"Peter, please"

He almost died when you said his name like that, breathless and needy.

"What do you need, princess?" He sobbed, "Anything… it's yours…just-"

"You. I need you" You replied, graceless fingers clawing at his suit, "take it off, please, I need to feel you"

He obeyed, pressing the spider on his chest and practically kicking it off in his haste to return to you. You welcomed him back with open arms and open legs, as he crawled up your body, kissing every inch of skin he could find in the way. Your breath hitched when he got to that little spot just under your breast, and you could feel his smile against the curve of it, right before his lips enveloped your left nipple, calloused fingers circling the other one clumsily, unskilled. But you were too delirious, too far gone to notice, the miles of skin against yours both soothing and stroking the fire within at the same time.

You cried out,

"Peter! Please, it hurts so much, please! I- I can't-"

He kissed the tears away, softly, delicately. A stark contrast to his own demeanour just minutes ago.

"I-it's ok. I got you" He cooed, caressing your face "I'll make it better. I promise"

He braced himself on one arm, elbow digging into the mattress next to your face, as he wrapped the fingers of his free hand around himself, aligning with your center. It took him a few tries, even slipping out once. He had no idea what he was doing, only knew that you needed him, and he wasn't going to let you down. Your life depended on it, and it was too important, too precious for him to even think of failing.

You raised your hips just a bit, and he was sliding in, easily, so easily, as if he was meant for it. As if your bodies were two pieces of the same puzzle, finally falling into place.

"Oh god…"

You clutched as his shoulders, burying your hiss into his neck.

"Oh my god are okey? Did I hurt you?" The panic in Peter's voice made you smile despite yourself. He was still Peter, the sweetest most caring guy you had ever met. Soft, even with his hard cock so deep inside you, you could feel it in your soul, in your very essence, already claiming you as his.

But you didn't need gentle. You didn't want him to thread softly. You needed hard, and fast, and more.

"Peter… fuck me"

"I-..." His eyes met yours, and you saw a new determination in them, jaw squaring as he withdrew almost completely, only to surge again, tearing a new cry from your lips.

He let instinct take over, starting to thrust in and out of you, your tight, silky heat making his eyes roll inside his head

"Fuck! Oh god… oh my god… you feel…" He panted, amazed, handsome face scrunching in pleasure, eyes closed and mouth slack, "Fuck, you feel so good!"

You wanted to reply, to tell him how amazing he felt too, every inch of his thick hard cock stretching you just right. Every ridge, every vein sending shocks of pleasure to your body until you couldn't see straight. You could feel you peak already building, with every delicious drag.

"More… Peter, please… more"

How could he say no, when you were begging so prettily in his ear, hand tugging at his curls making it hurt so good? He picked up his pace, hips slapping against yours. Over, and over, and over…

You were still on fire, every inch of your skin alight, exploding in sensation but it didn't burn anymore. Now it was a simmering warmth, making everything sharper, more intense. Better than anything you had ever felt before. He was better than anything you had felt before.

And Peter was lost in you, in your moans, in your body, in your cunt. In the way you were taking him, consuming him. You wrapped your legs around his waist, changing the angle, letting him reach deeper, bury himself almost to the hilt. Your blunt nails digging into his back until he smelt blood.

He fucking loved it, love the idea of carring your marks even after this was over. He knew he wanted you to wear his.

His lips found your neck almost of their own accord, sucking and nibbling until the sounds leaving your throat were nothing short of pornographic, the wanton whines and moans resonating in the room until he was sure Bruce and Tony could hear them all the way to the lab.

"Yes, scream for me baby girl, let them know how good I'm fucking you" Peter didn't know where it was coming from, that arrogance, that… possesivenes. He knew you weren't really his. It was the pollen, you would never be doing this otherwise. And he probably wasn't that good, it was his first time after all.

But your cries, the way your whole body was trembling under his, were giving him confidence.

"Oh god… you're coming for me, aren't you? You gonna come on my cock?"

You opened your mouth in a silent scream, and he almost fell on top of you taken by surprise by the feeling of your walls squeezing his cock for the first time ever, triggering his own release. But he didn't have time to recover before you croaked a weak but firm,

"More"

He met your eyes, stunned, but all he found there was assurance and passion.

He turned around on the small bed so it was you the one on top.

"Ride me"

You didn't need to be told twice, straightening on top of him, rising slightly on your knees only to let yourself fall back down, impaling yourself on his dick. He licked his lips, looking like a king with a hand behind his head, gazing up at you through hooded eyes.

"Show me"

"What?"

He gestured towards the mini skirt you forgot you were still wearing.

"Lift up that pretty skirt, and let me see how good you take my cock"

A little whine left your mouth at his words, and you did as you were told, never stopping your bouncing motions.

It worked as Peter imagined it would, his softening cock coming to life again as he watched it disappear inside you.

"Look at that" he whispered, almost in awe, "such a beautiful pussy, looks so pretty, stuffed full of my cock…"

You picked up your rhythm, a little unstable on shaky legs, both hands still holding the fabric up and out of the way.

"Peter…" you whimpered.

"What do you need, baby girl? I told you, anything you want is yours… I'm yours"

You moaned, incapable to find the words. Thinking was impossible, speaking was inconceivable, not with him still between your legs.

He bucked his hips,

"Uh!"

"That what you want, princess?" He smirked, smug, "Like it better when I give it to you?"

You nodded, shamelessly, your legs burning with the effort but stopping was not an option. He sat up on the bed, enveloping you with his arms, thrusting up into you faster, deeper…

You felt the head of his cock stab your cervix, and he must have felt it too, because he groaned, eyes glazing over.

"Can you feel me? Feel how deep I am?"

"Yes" You hissed.

"Gonna come like this…" He took hold of your hips, bringing you down hard as he thrusted up, "come so deep inside you… mark you… from the inside"

You could feel it approaching fast, the pleasure he was inflicting on you too much, too soon.

"Fill you up so good…"

"Yes"

"Until it's gushing out of you… and then… gonna fuck you again…"

"Yes!"

"Come inside you again… make you my little cumslut…"

"Yes! Please… please give it to me"

He could feel you tense around him again,

"What do you need, princess?"

"Your come" You screamed, "Give me your come, Peter!"

"Fuck! My pretty little slut… take it… Take it!"

And you did.

…

You passed out somewhere between rounds five and six, utterly sated and exhausted, but Peter couldn't sleep, terrified of the moment you woke up, all the pollen consumed, the spell broken. He knew it wasn't real, but for a few hours, he had been happy, pretending you truly did love him, wanted him, as he had loved and wanted you since the first time he had seen you, all that time ago, the day mister Stark had entered the lab with you in tow, announcing Peter that he had a new lab partner.

He was running his fingers softly up and down your naked back, a barely there caress, watching you sleep, relaxed and happy, when he heard the buzzing coming from your lab coat, long forgotten on the floor near the bed. He took it out and saw Tony’s name lighting up the scream.

He slid to pick up.

“Fucking finally! Y/n, where the hell are you?!”

“Mister Stark, it’s me” He whispered his reply, as not to wake you up.

“Peter! Thank God! What happened? Please tell me you didn’t-“

“Sorry, Mister Stark,” Peter interrupted him, “We kinda did…”

“Shit! Please, Peter, please tell me you kids used protection!”

“Uh…”

Tony left out another loud curse at the other side of the line.

“Where are you? Y/n did something to Friday and now it won’t tell me where you are in the tower. You still in the tower right? I need the both of you to come to the lab right now” Tony was talking a mile a minute and Peter knew something very bad, not of the good was going on.

“Why?”

“Because,” Tony’s voice was frantic as he tried to explain the gravity of the situation, “That pollen thing? That’s not an aphrodisiac like we thought, it’s a fertility treatment. It messes your hormones and hers up with every fluid exchange! Like an artificial heath”

Peter turned to look at you, peacefully asleep, curling up to his side, blissfully unaware of anything and everything going on outside that bed.

And maybe it was the alien substance fucking up his brain, maybe he was the one fucked up, all by himself, but the mental image of you, round with his child, sleeping like that next to him every night? It wasn’t half as horrifying as Tony seemed to think it was.

After all, the girl of his dreams was finally his, and a baby would guarantee she would remain his, forever.

“You know what, Mister Stark? I have to go now. Talk to you tomorrow…”

“What? No, kid, don’t hang up on me! Peter Parker I swear-…”

Tony Stark heard the line go dead.

The end.

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker smut #peter parker x reader smut #peter parker imagine #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker fanfic #tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland smut #tom holland x reader smut #tom holland imagine

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bioodorange · 4 years

Text

|| Sweet Dream- Brian Thomas x Fem!Reader Smut ||

Credit to @sjoohun for revising and @creepy-bi-day and @junkies-drift for moral support!!

2.7k Words~ 4 hours

TW!! Smut, Nasty PP, Oversimulation, Thigh Riding, Teasing, Pet Name's, Wet Dreams, Slight Dub Con

The wall behind you was starting to feel a bit rough as your body pressed against it and you shook from your fourth orgasm. Usually you could have taken a bit more of this before feeling so weak but you were practically just a doll for his pleasure at this point.

As soon as your boyfriend had gotten home, he'd tossed you onto the bed and gotten above you. His hips moved roughly against yours as he looked at you with lust in his eyes. His member already hard and pressing to on to your senstive core making you shiver.

Moans and gasps left your parted lips and it was so hard to focus on anything else besides /him/. His tosseled hair, stained with a few beads of sweat. Dark eyes half lidded with lust and desire. His breath was warm and shallow, with the small grunts from the back of his throat. The feeling made your skin tingle as yet another whine left your lips.

"A-ah Brian!~" you managed to scream out. His movements slowing down only for the man to growl softly in response. He pulled his sweatshirt over his head with a swift movement. The sight of his bare, tanned, tender skin made you forget anything you intended on saying at that moment.

The clothing was tossed into the corner and long forgetten about as he leaned over your panting figure. His lips latchined onto your neck, leaving small love bites and hickies where ever his mouth touched. Occasionally, the man chuckled at the soft whining noises that came out of you, or the frantic movement of your hips while you tried to get pleasure from his still body.

"Someone's getting a little excited now, eh?" He said jokingly, before playfully biting your shoulder, leaving a red mark in his wake. His fingers ran down your sides and back up under your shirt. Large hands unclasping your bra and merely bunched it up above your breasts. The man was to lazy to pull the material off before touching you.

Eyeing up your bare chest, Brian palmed and squeezed one of your breasts with his bare hand. Seeing you arc your back at such a simple action gave him a sense of power. You were /his/. /his/ doll. /His/ pleasure. /his/ toy

Fondling the soft flesh in one hand, the man started to get a bit impatient and pulled away, his hands now resting on your hips. Looking to at your liver confused, you ground your self against him as if to ask why. Why he'd stopped touching you, why he'd taken the pleasure away

But he wasn't focused on what you wanted. No. He was proud to see your glazed eyes and mouth agape. The man had barley done anything to you and you were already whimpering and yearning for his touch. No one could make you feel as good as him.

Brian's hands glided over your skin, stopping at your waist. Glancing up, he looked you in the eyes, silently asking you if he could continue. A frantic nod and soft groan from you was all he needed to continue.

Pulling off your shorts and underwear, you aided him by kicking the material into some unknown corner of the room. "Good girl.." he praised softly, fingers gently rubbing your tender thighs as he dipped his head between your legs.

You were shaken from those memories with a tightness in your abdomen and a gruff voice in your ear. "still with me princess..? You were somewhere else for a minute.." Brian said, his head nestled in the crook of your neck as he roughly fucked into you

The dull ache from between your thighs was growing, your release approaching faster and faster. Grunts and soft moans filled the room, all while the coil inside you tightened. Building and building until it snapped

But instead of the orgasm youd been hoping for, you found yourself tangled in sheets and a drenched pair of shorts. The dream had felt and seemed so real. But it wasn't real enough to ease the heat between your slick thighs

You'd barely woken up and you were already slipping two fingers between your wet folds, parting them to reach ectasy.

Brian was out- he'd probably come right home and be asleep. You /needed/ him, you needed his hands gripping your hips, the rough pads of his fingers working you from the inside.

A keen moan pasted hour lips and you slipped another finger between your thighs, it wouldn't be enough to satisfy you. But hopefully enough so you could fall back asleep.

Tirelessly, you pumped your fingers in and out of your heat, the other hands palming and groping your own breast. You were still fully clothed, but you were to hot and bothered to strip down.

Little did you know a curious man watched from the door. His name on your lips was like a mantra. Your sweet lilte moans were for his ears only. The feeling of your tight walls and soft skin for his enjoyment- no one else

Yet there you sat, legs spread and body shaking. Pleasureaable noises left your lips as kept working your fingers. Someone was playing with his toy, what a shame they hadn't told him

"Seems like you've been a little busy, huh kitten? What was it you couldn't wait for daddy to come home?"

Hearing his voice made you stop in your tracks, excuses and pleads all mixed into one as he sat on your bed, laughing a bit while he shushed you

"No no baby it's ok, I understand.." he cooed reaching out and tucking some of your messy hair away from your fast, the desperate look in your eye asking for him to be nice

To not play or tease you- to just help settle the tightness in your core

Oh how wrong you were. You can not have one without the other.

Sitting up, you closed your thighs and pressed your hands to your lap. You were fully clothed yet it felt like his hands were running over your body, gently stroking every senstive spot on your skin. Anticipation could really rile people up.

"I don't want to stop you baby but I think you should finish the job off here." Brian quipped, patting his thigh softly. It was a cruel thing to do, his hard on a few inches away and you laid out all nice and pretty for him. As you crawled over, the man grabbed your his and pulled you over to straddle his leg.

Staring at the man, he kept up the smug look on his face simply waited. It looked like you were going to have to do all the work.

At first, rocking your hips didn't do much, you'd rather be laying back down and using your fingers. Deciding to let go of your dignity, you began grinding down on him. Your hips moved faster and you soon found the pleasure you were looking for.

The tireless movements of your body were forgotten to the feeling of rough denim on your thighs. God you wish you'd taken off your shorts. Gripping your lovers shoulders, you rested the crown of your head on his chest and moans escaped your lips.

Begining to bounce his leg, Brian gently cupped your cheek and made you face him and pleasure rippled through your body. "Just a little bit more baby and then I'll take care of you, okay princess?"

It was most likely an empty promise but your mind was to pleasure riden to think straight. The bouncing of his knee seemed to get more intense as you used your remaining energy to hump his leg as if your life depended on it.

The closer you got the harder it was to keep your head up. It'd be so easy to shut your eyes and let Brian guide your hips up and down his thigh.

Moaning loudly, spots of white entered your vision as you slumped down on his chest. Your release was sweet but not enough. Cum stained your shorts and plush thighs yet the ache between your legs was still there.

"That wasn't so hard now was it?" Your boyfriend asked as he laid you down, nestling his hips between your thighs and pulling your shirt off. Bucking your hips lazily against his, you reached up to tug his sweatshirt off only to have your hand swatted away. "That's a privilege you have to earn kitten" he beamed.

Huffing in protest, you flopped back onto the bed as the man removed your shorts and spread your legs. The man's gaze and faint breath so close to your core made you buck your hips, pleasure was so close but so out of reach.

Fanning his warm breath over your slit, he chuckled watching you groan and squirm a bit as he slipped two fingers inside of your entrance. You were plenty wet enough for him to work his fingers and and out with ease.

Spreading his fingers, Brian hummed as he scissored you, shoving them in deep and parting them. Seeing your face contort in pleasure was something he'd kill for. You looked so pleased yet so needy at the same time.

"How's it feel baby, you're being awfully quiet" he teased, curling his fingers on the soft spongey part deep in your core. Before you could answer a loud, shaky moan passed your lips, thighs clenching together around his hand.

"Hm, I can't hear you..." He pondered, spreading your legs again and holding one of your thighs down gently. "Just answer me, it's one question" he pointed out, working his fingers inside you rougher digging right into the senstive spot inside you.

More groans and sounds of desperation left your lips. It would be so easy to give in. The pleasure coursing through you made it hard to talk, especially to Brian. The man sitting besides you a sadistic grin plastered on his face

His fingers eased up and he raised an eyebrow at your awkward expression. "I-t feels so go-~ AH!~" just as you began sitting up the man pressed his fingers to the spot, slipping in a third one to help the cause.

"Come on princess all you have to do is say it and I'll let you cum. Brian taunted, watching you huff and groan below him.

Pressing the rough pad of his thumb to your clit, he began rubbing small, tight circles around it. The pleasure was almost enough to make you cry, the erge to release was driving you mad. It was impossible to speak especially with your boyfriend's fingers inside you.

"I-t feels..." Your breaths began getting shallow, your annoyance with your boyfriend rising. Why couldn't he just make this easy for you? Bowing your head a little, locks of hair surrounded your face. Steadying your breath the best you could, you looked up to see his expectant face.

"It feels good, so so good.." you said softly, clenching your thighs around his hand. Grinning a bit, Brian was satisfied with your answer. He added a fourth finger and pumped them in and out of you while his thumb rubbed your clit.

Your core began to tighten around him as your climax approached. Hands gripped the sheets beneath you as your back arched.

Cum ran down your thighs and onto your boyfriend's fingers and you lay there, panting and relieved. His fingers had felt amazing but you knew it wasn't over yet.

Sitting on his knees, Brian pulled off his shirt and jeans then discarded his boxers as well. His dark blonde hair was messy and sticking up, sweat ran down his tanned skin. Various scars criss crossed his bare body. He was beautiful.

Leaning over, Brian smiled softly and gently pumped his hard member. You noticed the pre cum dripping from his tip as you spread your legs a bit more for him.

Bending over, the man laid his hands besides your head as your arms loosely linked around his neck. You two had had sex many times before but, it still took a few moments for you to adjust to his length.

In one deep thrust, he was inside you stretching out your walls nicely. Lolling your head back a soft moan passed your lips whilst your lover began a gentle pace. It felt nice, having him so close, sharing a few sensual kisses and breathy words.

Until you noticed the small smirk on his face, and the fact he seemed to be letting up bit by bit. That God damn tease. Groaning a bit in annoyance, you bucked your hips up a few times looking him in the eyes. "What's wrong baby is it not enough?" He said laughing a bit as pulled out of you and pulled your small figure into his lap.

"No it's not.." you huffed, resting your head on his chest and rubbing your thighs together, arms crossed. "I've never left you unsatisfied, have I?" He asked. You only sighed in response, knowing he had a point.

Giving you a soft kiss, the man kept you both sitting up. Turning your body to face him, Brian slid you back onto his cock and grabbed your hips. "Go on one Princess, I'm all yours."

To tired of waiting to complain, you began riding him. The sound of skin on skin filled the room as your movements became more intense. Laboured breaths and mews of pleasure passed your lips all while Brian sat back and enjoyed the show.

Tightening his hold on your hips the man began guiding you, relieving you of some of your work. Senstive from two previous orgasms, your third one approached quickly. By then your thighs ached and you were practically a ragdoll as he railed into you.

Shutting your eyes, his thrusts slowed as cum flowed from your pussy and over his toned thighs. Chuckling softly he relished in the feeling off seeing your face, pleased and tired. But he still needed his own fill.

Laying you back down on your back, Brian didn't miss a beat and began thrusting inside you again. A bit oversimulated at this point, you rested with a sort of "ahegao face", lips parted and glazed eyes angled up.

God you looked so fucking pretty, hair fanned out on the pillow and breasts bouncing with each thrust. Taking your thighs over his shoulders, the man pressed his thumb to your clit and started rubbing tight circles around it.

His rougher pace and added attention to your clit was a bit to much, but lazily trying to push his hand away didn't do anything. Walls tightening, you could feel your release approaching- his was too. The way his cock twitched inside you and his nails dug into the skin of your thigh, you knew he was close.

And then all of the sudden it hit you like a wave, your over done cunt squeezed around his tight member yet he didn't stop. Cum mixed with sweat between you too as he kept up the rough pace, chasing his own high now.

Whining for him to let you rest, maybe set your legs down, you had an odd sensation in your abodoman. Moaning his name, Brian finally came. Thick ropes of cum filled you up as he let out a deep groan of pleasure, his hips calming down but not stopping.

And then he felt it, an odd sensation on his lower stomach. Gazing down he saw your face screwed in pleasure as a clear liquid squirted from your pussy all over your thighs and his groin. It was amazing.

Panting a bit, you looked a bit embarrassed at the mess you made. But, seeing him pull out was a relief you could finally relax and go back to bed. Reaching up, you tried to grab him only to have him turn you over onto your kneees in response.

"Oh no princess, were gonna see if you can do that again." He grinned, rubbing the head of his cock on your puffy walls you let out a groan in protest. This was going to be a long night.

#slender verse #slenderverse #creepypasta #proxy #mha #marble hornets #marble hornets smut #creepypasta smut #Brian Thomas #brian thomas x reader #brian Thomas smut #hoodie #hoodie x reader #hoodie smut

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widowsofchaos · 4 years

Note

Pretty please do #51 with Steve Rogers.

Sweet Dreams

summary: the Captain has only eyes for you.

pairing: darkish!Steve Rogers x black!reader

warnings: mention of alcohol, drunk reader, dark yet soft yandere Steve, somnophilia, vaginal intercourse. dub non-con. Requested prompt 51: “Are you trying to seduce me? Depends. Are you seducible?”

a/n: Finally writing for my fav Captain. <3 requested from this prompt list. shoutout to @punani for helping with the “isn’t this your dream, princess” line for the smut. Thanks so much, boo. <3 xoxo T

do not repost my works!

“You’re doing it again, pal.”

A gruff chuckle could be heard behind Steve - earning a grumble under his breath. The greenery that swirled in his oceanic orbs blackened, and dilated into inky madness; his thick brows peering over his muscular shoulder.

Staring, gawking -- admiring.

“I’m not doing anything, jerk.”

“Punk, please–” an airy snicker, “I know you like the back of my metal hand.” Another snicker, “Even after over seventy years, and you still can’t talk to a dame.” Bucky took a quick gulp of Asgardian ale, his upper lip sneering in satisfaction.

Fueling his mischief.

“Shut it, jerk.” A forced chuckle slipped from Steve’s pink lips, finally facing his long-time companion, grumbling at his best friend’s smug grin. Clicking his jaw tightly, not willing to admit it.

No one can read Steve like an open book like Bucky can.

No one ever.

Brotherly adoration manifested in sibling bickering, always prodding and pushing each other’s buttons.

“Go talk to her.” Bucky’s stormy baby blues searching for a familiar Nubian beauty among the obnoxious faceless crowd that’s festering within the extravagant Stark party.

In his view, he found you sitting on the couch next to Sam, adorable tipsy giggles escaping you. Friendly coziness, you were resting your head on Sam’s shoulder. Now aware why his best friend is fuming at the ears.

“I have no clue what you’re talking about.” A huff of breath escaped through Steve’s flared nostrils. Denial beating against his fractured mind like a Cherokee drum.

A smirk grew slowly on Bucky’s chiseled bearded jaw, he tsked, his eyes focusing back on Steve’s face, “Alright. Good to know.” Bucky deadpanned — with a touch of a tease, deliberately taking small sips, never wavering his eyes from Steve.

Steve’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, “I’ve been meaning to ask Y/n out anyways...” Steve snarled at Bucky. Bucky leaned over, wagging a finger in Steve’s face.

“I’m gonna dunk my dick in her–”, grinning placidly. “Jerk!” Steve roared in a raspy hush at Bucky, punching his metal arm repeatedly, rearing metal meeting Steve’s swinging knuckles.

Tears were forming in Bucky’s eyes as he belly-laughed, doubling-over in his stool— Bucky’s snorts was gaining other party goers’ attention.

Steve’s entire face was reddened – resembling a cartoonish bull fuming — quickly realizing that confused, and amused eyes were zeroed on the super soldier duo.

Nervously his dilated eyes scan over multiple faces, incoherent apologies slip from his lips, only to stumble upon you chuckling, giggles fumbling over your manicured fingertips muffled your lips.

Steve quickly tore his gaze away, his forearms crossed on the marble counter. Sulking and hiding himself against his arms; like an angry toddler.

Muffled embarrassment could be heard within Steve’s arms, his choppy groans and breaths fogging the transparent counter glass, an amused guffaw hissed through Bucky’s teeth.

Patting Steve’s sculpted shoulder blade, “Twah. Don’t worry about me, Stevie. Because tweety over there would probably beat me to the punch. Have you seen the way he gawks at her?” A sing-song jab.

Push. Shove. Goating Steve to grow a pear, hit a nerve for him to finally snap. Knowing full aware that Steve deserves an ounce of happiness – two men forced out of their time, lost possible futures due to out-of-control occurrences, but now?

Why not try to make a new future finally by their own hands? Take what they want. Bucky and Steve deserve it after everything they knew was ripped from them.

Steve’s blonde-head short up, “Don’t say that!” A raspy bark, but no bite — not for Bucky at least. A wolf ready to chomp a particular bird’s head off.

“Then ask her out!” Bucky jabbed his finger in Steve’s chest. “I’m tired of you moping around, staring at her like a sick puppy.” Bucky rolled his eyes.

“All that pining -- just get your dick wet already, Stevie.” A harsh cough caved through Steve’s throat.

“Jesus -- what’s with you tonight?” He grinned at a howling Bucky, a swell of relief but mild humiliation bubbling at the pit of his stomach.

Right before his eyes is a vision from the past, this is the closest Steve has witnessed Bucky to three sheets to the wind in a long time -- a cocky sailor-mouthed Casanova slurring flirty innuendos in a dame’s ear, promising necking behind the church, and a call back that will never occur.

Or the curious sixteen year old, who snuck miniature polaroids of stag porn; claiming it’s from his father’s stash -- gawking chuckles, and bashful gasps stifled in the silent night -- two curious boys beyond their years.

It’s refreshing. Bucky, the one last link to Steve’s past that reminds him of home. Bucky is his home -- but now, there is a beautiful being--not more than five feet away from him--who he yearns to create a garden within her heart and soul; you.

A grin slowly faltering to a genuine solemn smile, “You deserve it, Steve. You deserve her.” There he is. An emotional chameleon, faux cheeky ego veneering battle scars, years thick of abuse, and loneliness -- a molded machine guising a little boy. A flicker of vulnerability sheens in Bucky’s eyes, tittering hope of an old soul.

Steve opened his mouth to succumb to his natural instinct of denial, but Bucky cut him off, “Stop it.” A soft demand, gesturing his hand for Steve to shut it.

“How long are we going to suffer?” a swallow, “Reminiscing on what could’ve been. Imaging years after the war, getting married with kids. The all-American suburban dream.” He was getting misty-eyed.

“A pipe dream -- I’ve finally come to realize that it was never intended for us.” Bucky croaked, laughing it off as he downed more mead.

Steve sniffled, projectile vomit churning -- those aren’t his dreams anymore -- at least, not for a lost era. Those late-night thoughts ending with day-dreams buried in a tear-soaked pillow.

“I used to think if I dated Sharon -- I could regain a piece of Peggy back. Fulfill that hole in my heart.” Remorse, and disgust gurgling inside himself, “But -- I know that wasn’t right -- for either of us.” He stammered, his index finger tracing the rim of his glass.

“Peggy wasn’t the one for me. I just got attached to the first woman who saw me as myself -- she saw beyond the swarny loser.” Steve snorted, his throat constricting.

“You were never a loser.” Bucky spoke tenderly, “A loser wouldn’t have accomplished all that you did.” Bucky gripped Steve’s shoulder, a squeeze of reassurance.

He mumbled a thanks Buck with a curt smile. Steve hung his head a bit, gulping the last drops of his beverage.

Attached. What a silly word to describe the Captain’s past affection for Peggy Carter. He looks back to a time where he would’ve gotten on knee for her, and proposed.

Propose the promise of a better life together, with a bunch of rugrats running around, and saving the world.

Now? It’s a memory. The past. He’s learned to let go, accept his life for what it is -- despite having no choice in the manner. A man out of his time, adapting to the 21st century -- with its entertainments, trends, fashion, and evolved society.

Don’t even get Bucky, and himself started on food. Both men have engorged themselves on cusicines, vowing to never eat plain boiled meals again.

Steve’s genuinely thrilled that times have changed with more liberation for marginalized groups -- people being treated as humans, and exercising their rights.

But if anyone asked Steve Rogers what was the first thing he enjoyed since he got out of the ice? He would say you. Without a doubt, you have brought a light in his life -- a light he has been searching his whole life.

Your strength, poise stature, your sweet voice -- always following his orders on the battlefield, but stood your ground, a perfect dance of partners.

Your beauty is unmatched, classy, but never a prude. Sexy, intelligent -- he can go on, and on.

Steve leered over his shoulder again, his eyes focusing on you. Your head was still perched on Sam’s shoulder, Steve huffed.

How he desperately itches to snatch you off of Sam, and just cradle you all night. He sighed, rubbing his temples, “Hey Buck, I’m gonna take off.” Steve stood up, stretching his muscles, “Awh already, old man?” Bucky teases, snickering. “Goodnight, jerk.” Steve laughed, lightly punching Bucky’s shoulder.

Steve began trekking towards the elevator, passing by buzzed individuals. “Stevie.” A familiar seren voice beckoned him, followed by pitter patter. He turned a little too fast, but he didn’t care. It was you.

“Steve!” a slurred glee shrieked out of you, arms extended out to engulf the sculpted Herculan -- ensnaring him tightly around his neck, curious fingers twirling his combed angel-hair, his ears were forming red. A shiver crawled down his spine -- your touch is intoxicating. Your scent -- mouth-watering.

Quickly stilling your swaying, rubbing your face against his broad chest, “How are you?” your words muffled against the tight fabric, “I missed you.” A surprised huff left Steve, searching for Bucky, only to see his friend wiggle his eyebrows suggestively from the distance.

Ever so the gentleman, he didn’t dare lower his hands to a tantalizing region, locking his grip on your waist, “I’m okay, doll.” He chuckled, “How are you?” Sweetly shifting your body against him by the guide of one forearm on the nape of your back -- petting your curled dome, and swiping wild curls from your doe-eyes.

You hummed, squinty hooded-lids, a blissed placid smile, it's a bit goofy -- adorable nonetheless.

“S’good, Stevie.” Your head bobbled a bit, stifled giggles biting your lip. You lazily titled your head towards the elevator, then sloppily turned back to Steve.

“Where ya’ going, Stevie?” You pouted, and Steve just wanted to trace your bottom lip -- dig his thumb between your lips.

“I’m just gonna head to bed.” Steve’s babifyed his tone, “Sleepy too.” You murmured. Steve internally awed, as your head leaned back on his chest.

“C’mon, doll. Let me help you get to bed.” Steve chuckled. “Oh, how about I put you to bed, Cap--tin?” You slurred, stretching his formal title with a pause -- your eyes fluttered for a second, lazily jabbing his bicep with your finger.

Steve’s ears were dusted pink, shocked at your flirty attitude, catching onto your teasing manner. “Are you trying to seduce me?” Steve’s brazen confidence soared for a momentary lapse. A bit disappointed that most likely, you won’t recall any recollection of tonight’s event.

“Depends. Are you seducible?” You cheekily lightly smacked your lips, with a pout. Steve desperately wants to kiss that pout forever. But he restrained himself.

“Let’s go, Y/n.” He smiled sweetly. Steve lifted you more upward, guiding your feet so you won’t fall on your face.

Walking into the elevator Steve pressed your numbered button, his eyes caught Bucky, who wiggled his eyebrows, mouthing hushed words just for Steve’s advanced hearing, “That’s my boy.” Steve rolled his eyes playfully.

During the journey in the elevator, you fell out like a light. Steve carefully hoisted your limp body in bridal style. Steve gazed at you happily, the slope of your nose, your spidery lashes, ruffled curls -- how your breasts heaved under your purple sun-dress.

The ding of the elevator alerting Steve that you both are on your floor, interrupting Steve’s haze, he grumbled a bit but he began walking out towards your room.

Steve gracefully walked to your room, not even paying attention to his steps, focusing on your peaceful sleepy face. The path to your room is already memorized.

“FRIDAY, open Y/n’s door.” Steve pecked a lingering kiss on your forehead, “Of course, Captain Rogers.” The lock of your bedroom clicked open. Steve made himself home, a natural occurrence of him.

Strides towards your bed, gingerly placing you on the bed. Steve gulped, his fists straining at his side; his eyes stared up at the ceiling, counting to five.

Reprimanding himself; reminding himself that he should leave you be. Just like the times before.

But one look at you, and he’s a goner. He has to just touch you — oh God, please.

Shaky palms reach for the hem of your dress, grazing your skin as he perched the fabric upward. Savoring the smoothness against his fingertips.

Toned curves and planes of soft-scented, smooth sepia flesh; his heartbeat drumming out in a rapid rhythm, serene sleepy smile rests on your face. Pouty heart-shaped lips -- Steve’s cock twitch at the mere idea of slipping his veiny dick in your warm mouth, your slurping tongue gagging on his swollen balls.

But not yet. The scenery isn’t fitting -- next time.

Gingerly kneeling on your carpeted floor, Steve delicately seized one of your ankles, pinched tips toying with the leather straps; leisurely unclipping the sandals, he licked his bottom lip.

A wolf playing with its food, favoring the image of an anxious boy unwrapping his prize.

As his nimble fingers unlatched the straps off, steadily he tugged the sandal off, silently placing the shoe on the floor -- he repeated the exact action with the other foot.

Steve internally awed at your dainty feet, a small whine restrained by a tight-lip smirk. Hiking his clutch on your ankle, peppering modest kisses on the tips of your toes.

He couldn’t help but to worship you.

Hosting himself upward, tenderly repositioning your leg against the mattress.

Limbs spread eagle, your forearms perched above your dome like a mid-froze ballerina, the hem of your dress hiked up -- bundled, and wrinkled -- to your navel, exposing your lace thong.

A shuddering groan crawled up his throat,swallowing thickly, calloused fingers skate past the terrain of ankles to legs -- thumbs rubbing, savoring -- to waist, kneading slightly but only to flinch away.

Scared to break you, as if he’s too broken to handle your beauty properly. Steve grew the confidence within him, and quietly began removing your dress off your body.

His fingers sneak underneath the cotton dress, slipping it up towards your chin; clutching one arm to maneuver the short-end sleeve off.

A small groan vibrated in your throat, but you remained in a drunk slumber. Steve’s breath hitched, fearful for you to awaken with him hovering over you. To scare you off -- he just wants a taste.

To feel what’s his.

Presented before Steve was your bare essence; and he just wants to fall to your feet. All his sketches of your sleeping form doesn’t do justice, being able to view the entire masterpiece beyond hidden sketches.

“You’re so beautiful, doll.” He murmured, his lips foraging your chavlices.

You sleepily mumbled, a lazy smile curling just a bit. A lingering kiss on your hairline, Steve lowly hummed happily. Your bare breasts heave with your calm breathing, Steve littered your sheen skin with small kisses, a few kitten licks on your nipples -- the tip of his tongue swirling on the erected nubs.

Little whimpers, and moans swelled Steve’s cock. “My sweet little doll is so responsive … so sensitive.” Steve cooed. With much silent vigor, Steve unbuckled his pants, fumbling the fabric below his ass; just enough space to release his weeping cock.

His fingers hook your flimsy lace, tugging it by the side -- salivating at the mouth at your glistening mound. His thick fingers wrap around his cock, love taps by his swollen tip against your clit. You softly mewled in your sleep, a cute whine. Involuntarily your hips shifted, your body yearning for contact.

Steve tsked playfully at your impatience, “Even in your sleep, you need me.” Steadily Steve inserted himself inside your soft velvety walls, biting down on his lip to prevent a lew groan. He shivered internally, you feel heavenly.

Steve languidly thrusts, his fists crumpling your sheets underneath you. Slowly leaning half of his weight onto you, his light pants fanning on your face. Steve indents his elbow that was sunk just a bit in the mattress, trapping your head between himself.

“Isn’t this your dream, princess? Isn’t this what you’ve desperately wanted all this time?” Steve whispered in your ears, “Flirting with your Captain, naughty girl.” His fingers caressing your arms, soothing you back to a fluid state of sleep, a small loose smile adorning your face.

Licks his teeth, as he gently pushes his girth inside of you. Mumbled whines alert him, he shushes you, pecking little kisses on your cheeks while maintaining an agile insertion. Trembling slightly at the heavenly touch that is you, Steve hissed under his breath.

He preens as he finally is at a full brim. His pelvis against your vee, fully satiated between your thighs.

His heart pounding, snapping his hips slightly, your body jolts a bit underneath him. Steve’s chest tightens, as he pounds into you, the squelching wetness coating his cock.

His limbs twitches, struggling not to groan, or growl in pleasure. Steve’s head glides down to meet your heaving breasts, suckling onto the nipple.

Blinded by lust, he suckles, imagining it’s full of milk, a muffled grunt leaves him as he pictures you swollen with his child -- another on your hip. He rolls his hips, losing his control as the mellow pacing turns faster, more needy.

One day — one day, there will be a ring on your finger; and a litter of your own together. The Rogers — Mrs. Y/n Rogers; oh this is just beginning.

Eyes screwed shut, he keens to feel your rapid breathing spike, tremors shudder throughout your body. His golden hair is sweat slick against his forehead, a little pop from as he detaches himself.

Flickering the tip of his tongue against the nipple. Steve changes the angle of his cock, you jerk in your stupor, high-arch keen off the bed.

“That’s the sweet spot.” He hummed to himself. His voice scraped in a hush, “I can feel you tightening on me, doll.” It’s like a vice on his cock, blurry visions you dream -- his veiny cock pounding into you with no mercy.

“Steve …” You murmur, Steve leans more into you, a goofy grin of joy stretches on his face. “My sweet doll is dreaming of me. You can feel me.” Steve’s is over-joyed, his heart flutters, butterflies are rapid in his belly. You’re thinking of him. Pressing his chest against your breasts, “I’m going to cum, doll.”

Sneaky fingers snake itself between you both, rubbing your clit in circles, a breathy gasp escapes you.

“I love you.” Steve whimpers, painting your walls white -- not daring to let any ounce of cum escape. Biting his lips till it draws blood, preventing any roar.

His nose scrunches up, his muscles tighten. You exhaled, you slick dripping down Steve’s pants.

He kisses your lips gingerly, “Sweet dreams, doll.”

#buckybarnesplumwhore wrote this #steve rogers x reader #captain america #dark steve rogers x reader #dark steve rogers smut #dark steve rogers x black!reader #steve rogers x black!reader #dark marvel

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tsuumu · 4 years

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saw that requests were open and😳😳 how ab fluffy best to lovers with iwaizumi or suga? like they are best friends and seem to always be touching each other in some way like hand on waist or knees touching etc. and confession happens and maybe... just maybe... kiss... if this doesnt fickle your pickle or you feel uncomfortable then feel free to ignore! your writing is great thank you for considering🥺🥺

hi anon, thank you so much for requesting! i’ve been doing requests when i feel like them (apparently 4:28am is the perfect time to start drafting this in my mind) so i apologise for how late it is!

i’ve also decided to split this into two parts, the first being sugawara and the second iwaizumi! i love rambling about cute conventional plotlines like this so there was no way both wouldn’t be excessively long put together.

part two will be linked here when i get round to it!

enjoy!

y’know, people actually do wonder if the two of you are somehow joined to one another in some bizarre manner. it’s practically impossible to see either of you away from the other for an extended period of time. and it’s not creepy, or weird. it’s ridiculously wholesome. they only enquire because both you and koushi take that classic ‘best friend’ trope to a whole other level.

it’s sweet. sickeningly so.

we’re talking after-school dates at the prettiest little cafe just off the side of the main road. it’s barely a ten minute walk, not that you’d notice seeing as the time is filled with consistent, care-free conversations between the two of you. koushi practically begs you to come with him whenever you’re free. you’ve both dubbed it your super secret spot, since other students don’t come so often or probably even know it’s there. his teammates ask him from time to time, where exactly the two of you go. it’s usually because you’re chortling amongst yourselves about some passage of prior conversation, or beaming unanimously over the sheer deliciousness of the pastries there, made fresh.

but koushi never tells. oh no. he wants it to be ‘our spot’ as he likes to call it. you think he’s just being funny and poke his arm whenever he mentions it, agreeing jokingly that he’s not allowed to take anybody else there but you.

you needn’t worry, he wouldn’t dream of it.

he’s always early when you do go, waiting for you by the school gates. and it’s crazy, the wave of comfort that washes over you the second you lay your eyes on the boy, it’s something you can’t experience with just anybody.

you have had your fears when it comes to finishing your third year, since your sights are set on finding employment deep in the heart of tokyo, koushi on the other hand, prefers the domesticity of the urban life. he’s perfectly at home where he stands. and you love that for him, you want him to be happy, truly, but the thought of having to bid the boy farewell seems incomprehensible. like you’ve offended yourself for even contemplating the prospect.

no, you’ve never actually brought up the subject with him. it’s a little early and all too much to say out loud. plus, what if you do and he’s completely nonchalant about it? you’re practically dreading the months as they pass, wondering if sheer luck will allow your friendship to continue with such potency whilst he’s totally oblivious and dismissive when you do get round to it! oh, god. you hate it. you hate that you’re overthinking the entire thing.

you know you’re short circuiting over something so pointless, trains exist, you’ll have the funds and means of transportation... but is it? losing someone who fills your day up is like losing part of yourself. you can already imagine what it’d be like alone, going to other bistros and constantly comparing them to that one. and how lonely you’ll be. how desperate to tell him everything that happens to you. how work goes, if you’re feeling homesick. you know he’ll call you often because he cares too much not to, which you’re thankful for, but it’s not the same. he won’t be here, he won’t be there to touch you like he does now, to keep you safe.

a gulp later and you’re totally fixated on the warmth koushi emits. you’d be grieving without it.

“lost?” a light brush of your forehead rids you of your thoughts.

“hm?”

he’s lightly plucking at the strands of hair hovering above you, focusing briefly. there’s a small speck of dust that’s been caught. after a few unsuccessful attempts, he manages to get it out.

well he mutters that he’s unsuccessful, but really, he’s finding inconspicuous excuses to feel how soft your hair is against the back of his palm.

“lost you for a second there.” he replies, before shifting back, blowing the dust from his fingertip. “everything okay?”

you feel so regretful daydreaming about him in front of his face, and it’s not even that, it’s the fact you’re with him right now, right this moment. you know that time is slipping and yet you’re wasting it mulling over pessimistic thoughts of the future.

“mm. i’m alright, sorry. thank you, by the way.”

“don’t thank me.” he picks up the dainty little cup and you study the floral patterns carefully, you recognize this one. well, you’re familiar with most of them now. if one would ever end up breaking, you’d probably know, since they’re so unique in their respective decorations and there’s only a few. koushi is extra careful with it, free hand slotted under the base of the cup. it’s elegant. he’s pretty when he drinks.

actually, you were thinking about all of that because he’d brought up graduation, his match with against shiratorizawa had gone down splendidly, no doubt even he was shocked they’d made it to nationals. koushi had often lamented to you about being karasuno’s substitute setter, though he admires kageyama plenty and knows what was best for the team. he’s awfully good at putting others first, even if he really wants to play. that’s what you’d concluded. soon after nationals, comes the end of the academic year. too soon, way too soon.

that awful feeling rises up again.

his hands stretch across the table, gently engulfing yours, and it’s lovely, really, how comfortable you are with one another. how instantly calming he is.

“you’ll come to watch us play, right?”

“i always come, silly. i wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

you’ve never seen him so happy.

the evening he rushed to you straight out of the coach, breathless, telling you they’d won. it was like he was able to shine even brighter than he already did. and for a moment, you looked at him—really looked— and you wished you could’ve captured that moment, in all its glory, forever.

koushi. too good to be real, aren’t you?

you are listening, you swear to god you are. everything he says processes but realisation is eating you alive. you don’t think you can live without him. oh, you sound so flimsy, so pitiful and maybe you are. destably so. you’re too selfish for your own good.

but he’s still holding onto you, still careful with his grasp, but with the way his thumb skirts ever so gently across the ridge of your hand, he has no intentions of letting go just yet. you don’t want him to. you’d like to stay like this a while longer.

but it’s late and he’s exhausted from practice, especially now he’s doing twice the amount for nationals. he insists that even if he isn’t on the main roster, he’ll be needed. a team needs absolutely everybody to function properly.

so when he pays for you yet again, chair scraping slightly on the wooden planks of flooring to leave, your heart is caught in your throat, drenched in feeling like it’s the last time you’ll ever see him.

of course you follow him out, politely thanking the old lady who runs the cafe on your way. his feet are planted just steps away from the entrance, gaze to the sky, a flurry of darkness and escaping slithers of light. of course he’s smiling.

part of you wants to hit his arm, ask him how he could possibly be relaxed, stretching his arms lime that when you’re on the verge of losing it. but he hasn’t looked at you yet. when he does, he’ll know.

it doesn’t vanish, that affability that accompanies his grin, even when a look of concern is etched all over his face. it’s still so radiant. koushi doesn’t know how to be unkind. but he knows how to blind you.

“why are you crying?”

there he is again, thumb smearing at the tears that’ve barely slipped. you’re crying without realising. you were fine moments ago but now you’re sobbing so hard it’s difficult to breathe out. there’s nothing empty about it, they’re infuriatingly real, like you’ve already lost him. like he’s walked down the road, waved to you one last time and died.

suddenly there’s a million things you want to say to him, and another three years won’t be near enough to get them all out.

it’ll be too hard to explain over text, or call, too late too.

“ko-oushi..” you tremble out, and he knows you won’t be able to explain. he’s okay with that. just forgive yourself for now and he’ll walk you home. you don’t like to cry. you cry a lot but it never gets easier. he doesn’t mind, though. he likes how big your heart is, even if you insist it’s awful. what does worry him, though, is that someday someone might mistake it for weakness. you don’t deserve to know what true heartbreak feels like.

so, his hand’s in yours, consoling you like one would a child, always dabbing at those tears and telling you things will be alright. koushi knows that you’ll tell him when you’re ready, especially if it’s something that’s upset you this much.

“i don’t want to graduate.” is all you think to come up with, which is a blatant lie. you do want to. all you do is talk about how much you do, but you don’t want to graduate from him.

his response is a little tentative at first.

“why?”

“because.. i’ll go away. i’ll go far away and i’ll miss you.”

he’s deathly quiet, it’s terrifying.

“and if i miss you i’ll keep missing you until i can’t stand it anymore, koushi.” you ramble on, utterly humiliated that you’re confessing just how deep your dependency on him is. but you can’t stop. you don’t have time to. “i hate life. i hate that i can’t see a future without you. i don’t want to drag you back or control you in any way but god, i think i need you.”

you’re not quite sure what this is. is this.. a heated tangent, a sob-fest to a confidante, a guilt-ridden confession from an obsessive maniac? you hadn’t actually thought about what you wanted or would gain from telling him all this. perhaps it’d been bottled too long, longer than you were conscious of and this was the only resort left to release it. he’ll probably end up hating you by the time you’re done strangling out the last few words, deem you insane and ask you to seek some sort of professional help, knowing him, he’d help you find it.

it doesn’t matter. you’re talking and talking and talking, tripping unattractively over phrases and you have no intentions of stopping. not even to breathe, not like you have been anyway. you can’t even look at him whilst you parade yourself like this.

that’s alright with him. he really loves the sound of your voice.

he’s listening. he swears to god he is, but all he can think about is how happy you’ve made him. how he’d never leave you lonely.

but how could he ever convince you? unlike you, koushi isn’t the best with words. he’ll nod for hours and hours as you pour your heart out over something, and still come up empty. really, he doesn’t know what he wants either. he has ideas of the next few years, but he hasn’t even addressed the fact you’d be absent in all of it. you don’t know it, but he’s so used to you he’s practically filled you into his future automatically.

still, you’re talking, not too sure what you’re even saying anymore. and neither does he if he’s completely honest, but he’s too fond of you to mention it.

but he does it. he places his hand on the nape of your neck and kisses you.

he promises it’s not to be rude, or because he’s not interested in whatever it is you’re trying to say. but because he’s wanted to do this for ages. would it be overly dramatic to say the first time he lay his eyes on you? maybe. it wouldn’t be too far from the truth.

oh, god. he’s really kissing you.

he’s sweet tasting and nothing like you could’ve ever imagined. and believe you, you’d thought about it quite a bit. the way he’d feel against you. you’d never admit to anybody that you’d fantasied about this, feeling his tongue flutter over the seam of your mouth, hands dipping gently into the flesh of you as he tightens his hold on your waist.

why couldn’t you have accepted earlier you were fucking head over heels for him?

and of course he likes you back! he calls you his! he takes you on dates and touches you and has eyes for only you. how thick were you?

it’s alright.

at least you’ve gotten there eventually.

though a few months too late, you’re kissing him in the middle of your hometown, and he’s whispering against your lips that you won’t be losing him anytime soon.

#haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu #hq #sugawara fic #sugawara x reader #sugawara headcanons #sugawara hcs #sugawara fluff

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kryptsune · 3 years

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Souly Damned Saturdays!~

🌼 Hello everyone! Welcome to another SD Saturday! Today is going to be another character profile, a timeline, and some info on one of the stories within the world! As always if you are interested in my original work please reach out! I love answering questions about all this work. Let’s get into it!

~Prince Profile:~

True Name: Saketh Alias Names: Costello Nicknames: N/A (he usually rarely even uses his true name as he prefers Costello far more) Soul Flower Type: Rose in Full bloom Color Type: Fire Gold mix with Burnt edges Infernal Hierarchy: Crowned Prince of Lust Age Order: 2nd Oldest Familiar Form: (Raven) - A large black feathered bird with eyes and talons of golden fire. True Form Appearance Description: ~Skeletal in appearance ~Prominent fangs (spiked teeth in true form) ~White horns similar to an antelope (more twisted) ~Fingers with black clawed tips ~Golden eyes ~Pointed gold tongue ~ Stereotypical spaded tail with a black to white gradient ~ Two sets of wings ~White to black gradient and edged with blue fire ~When in enraged they are fully engulfed in blue fire

Human Form Physical Description: ~Hair Color: warm tone Platinum Blonde ~Hair Style: Short, falls to ears, whip dip ~Glasses or Contacts: From time to time, more Rectangular frames ~Eye Color: Fire Gold ~Skin Tone: Pale ~Contract symbol mark placement: His left side, junction between neck and shoulder. ~Height -- 6’3”

Special Abilities or Powers --

~Mind reading ~Can pull out deepest desire ~Dream walking ~Veritas (forces those under his influence to tell the truth) ~Trust (will gain the trust of those touched) ~Mental Suggestion ~Lust Touch ~Levitation ~Teleportation ~Fire/Dark element ~Conjuration (more below cut!)

~SD Q AND A (These are all questions from you! Specifically those in my server):~

1. What was Costello like before he became an infernal?

💛 Costello used to be a Celestial of love just like Val. If you split love into two separate entities it would be the passionate romantic side and the side that is all about protection and devotion. These types also reflect in both Costello’s and Val’s Infernal sides. Costello is more about seduction and Val is about possession and obsession. As brothers they tend to work together in their celestial sides. When they fell they split a bit.

2. When he isn't busy what does he do in his spare time?

💛 Oh thats easy! During his time in the Mortal Realm he spent a fair amount of time in the 1920′s era. It is where his style comes from mainly and why the Lust kingdom appears to have that kind of influence within it. He used to be a charismatic bartender during prohibition and that has kind of stuck with him. He enjoys crafting new drinks both for mortals and Infernals (since they can’t get drunk off regular alcohol). He is also an avid reader.

3. What kind of stuff does he read?

💛 Hilariously he enjoys supernatural romance novels because they fascinate him. Why would mortals be interested in a being that could literally end their life easily? As one such being he finds it both amusing and curious. He also reading them to see what mortals are uh... "into". Other than that he likes reading anything supernatural/gothic fantasy based for “research”.

4. Does Costello share the same view on humans as Val?

💛 Val and he at one point help similar enjoyments fo mortal kind. They found that they were were entertaining and rather sweet to observe when falling in love. When they fell all they saw was darkness not just from mortals but also themselves. How lust overwhelms your thoughts and drives you to commit certain acts. Their opinions grew apart when Val was corrupted by their father, Darrius. They only were both brought back due to their brother Nas and the mortal they meet later in time, Evelyn Rodgers. Their nickname for her is Starlight.

5. Does Costello like animals?

💛 Yes he does! He has a specific affinity for the raven.

6. Does Costello have a favorite drink? Alcoholic and non alcoholic.

💛 He enjoys most drinks but specifically a Galaxy Cocktail but with an Infernal twist. When it comes to non-alcoholic I would say that he is more of a coffee connoisseur so things like Mocha. He enjoys sweet things but not to the level that Val does. (btw that cocktail looks like this)

7. Would Costello be willing to befriend humans?

💛 Before the fall, absolutely but after the Fall and before Eve? No. Humans are just tools for his amusement and entertainment. I should mention that Costello while his father is in power goes off the rails... and is extraordinarily dangerous only when Nas pulls him back from that does he mellow out. During the 1920's he still has a superiority mindset and a master of emotional manipulation. He is however far...FAR more mellowed out at this time which is why he humors Eve the first time they meet.

8. What are Costello’s responsibilities in his kingdom? 💛 It really depends on when in the timeline you are asking about. If we're talking before Nas ascends to the throne of the realm? Then Costello's duties were much less. He assisted Nas who was High Prince of Lust at the time. He studied and learned, ready to take over for Nas if the other needed to leave or otherwise. Now that he is High Prince himself? His duties include the hefty amounts of paperwork ensuring every soul is accounted for. New souls that hold purity to fall under Nas' new ruling, getting where they need to go if they landed in his kingdom. He also handles some punishments for the wicked. He has to run the entirety of Lust kingdom. Valentine... yanno... somewhere... X’D (trust me he probably isn’t the best one to ask)

~Souly Damned Timeline~

Creation of the Realms: The Celestial, Infernal, and First Mortal Realm come into being. The Infernal realm is closed off leaving the Celestials to guide and shape humanity. There are intermittent wars with the Infernal beasts and Imps when they manage to break their gates. The garden of Paradise was also created at this time which houses those most loyal to their “gods”. It is also a fact that the Celestial blooded creatures were created at this time (unicorns are a good example, light fantasy creatures). They were placed in the Garden.

The Celestial Civil War: Darrius and his sons rebel against the ways of the Silver City only to be stricken to the Infernal Realm. After this event the gates to the Celestial Realm are shut and mortals are forced to fend for themselves.

The Rise of the 12 Princes: The now fallen Celestials begin to corrupt the souls of the mortals present being known as the Seven Deadly Sins. The mortals are easily swayed by their new rulers dubbing them King and Princes. Each one with its own people and territory to preside over. In this time the Princes begin to succumb more deeply to their darker sides, now shunning their once Celestial blood.

Blood Moon: A period of time in between the rule of the Princes in the First Mortal Realm where 4 Princes began to experiment cruelly with their own corrupted blood and the mortal soul. The Infernal blooded hybrids come from this part of the timeline such as vampires, werewolves, and the fae.

The Vinculum Infernalis (Witches/Warlocks): With the Celestials gone the mortals were now forced to fend for themselves. In desperation they plead with their Fallen overlords to aid them. A blood binding contract was struck between them giving them magical abilities and a new tie to the Infernal Realm. This was also the creation of the first covens.

Maintaining the Balance (Hunters): Enraged by the tilt of the balance of the universe in Infernal favor the Celestials decide to form a similar bond with mortals creating the first Celestial blooded humans. They would eventually be called the Hunters as their “divine” task was to eradicate the First Mortal Realm of the Infernal Blooded abominations now that the Princes favored the newly created realm.

Long Live the King no more: After millenia of creating havoc and bloodshed without consequences the Princes begin to doubt the leadership of their father. They have slowly changed their mindsets about mortals all together after so much time. Instead of destroying everything in sight and soaking the earth with blood they begin to have an attachment. Their fathers' ways are despotic so in response to this Nasaros, the eldest, usurps his throne. A second war is waged between those of Infernal and Celestial blood turning the First Mortal Realm into an almost apocalyptic wasteland filled to the brim with monsters and ruins. The Princes lose the war doing substantial damage to the Celestial Realm. It was no longer habitable and so a new balanced realm was created for the mortals to live in peace without fear of Celestial driven war or demonic influences.

The Locking of the Gates: The gates of the three Realms are shut and locked in the beginning of the birth of the New Mortal Realm. The Princes are forced to make a new Kingdom within the Infernal Realm to which they have been banished. This forms “Hell” in which the decisions of a mortal's life determine where they go. If they revel in the original 7 sins then they are placed in the kingdom in which they over indulged in. The silver City was once again open to those of virtue but only after death. With no direct interference from either side the humans evolved and advanced on their own. This is what we know as the world today while the First Mortal Realm was now labeled as an in between realm. One that would eventually be called Purgatory, the realm of beasts, monsters, and the supernatural.

Bloodswap: A story set after the time frame of Blood Moon and the creation of the Hunters. It is about 2 brothers that become infected with a vampiric blood that is now turning their town to shambles. The gates have been sealed and those forced to live in Purgatory struggling to survive. The mortals have progressed slowly despite being an older realm. They are currently in what we would consider the middle ages with the help of Celestial technology. Once the gates are unsealed for the New Mortal Realm a new world order begins to form. (Crimson would be proud of his new vampiric race that has slowly taken over Purgatory, now more civilized as the rulers).

The New Mortal Realm and Purgatory: Purgatory remains in ruins though there are mortals that live in this apocalyptic wasteland of a world. That also includes monsters and hunters. Over the Centuries cracks within this forgotten realm have released some of its inhabitants into the New Mortal Realm (NMR). The original bloodline of the first covens also were able to make it into this new world fleeing from Purgatory with the help of their Infernal masters. The Mortal Realm is now in the modern day where many of the Infernal or Celestial blooded mortals or beasts hide in plain sight. Even some of the most vicious have adapted to this new apparently “magic-less” world.

Note: The gates are no longer locked indefinitely for either of the two main realms; this is why demons are able to make contracts with foolish mortals. The Celestials have been forbidden from interfering for fear of repeating the past but that does not mean that they do not do so. It is rumored that around the world are organizations created to combat in secret those Infernal blooded that lurk in the dark. Meanwhile the covens are more focused on their own material pursuits having been persecuted for centuries (Salem Witch Trials as an example).

Ossibus Inferni (1920’s; NMR):

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Main Plot Synopsis: During the era of the 1920’s a young lady named Evelyn Rodgers finds herself thrown into a Hellish Civil War. She is a small PI (Private Investigator) hurting for cash and jobs in a place wrought with problems. In an effort to make a better name for herself she begins to investigate the rise of crime and strange occurrences happening in her city. There are suspicious disappearances, missing persons reports, and extra violence that couldn’t be missed by human eyes, right? It just does not seem to add up. Determined and with nothing to lose she is able to put together a series of connections by using some none to savory contacts.

She finds out that the potential epicenter of these events are tied to owners of one of the swankiest and popular clubs in town. It is suspected that it is a speakeasy but that is not what has drawn her attention. It would appear that the family running the place have been a mystery to nearly everyone even though they have been around longer than they can recall. No one knows what the owners look like due to usually having their signature fedoras on. Ones that she can place all around the city through various photographs. It could be anyone, right?

Regardless of the information that she has collected she decides to go undercover to the club, Ossibus Ignem (Fire and Bone), in order to confirm her suspicions. She decides that auditioning for one of their most prized gigs is a good way to get into their inner circle and perhaps get a glimpse of her potential employers. Eve wants the truth and nothing but the truth though this plan is incredibly risky. Even if the brothers, as she finds out later, are not the cause of these events they could still be nefarious. No one likes a spy, especially one that’s gained their trust.

As she enters she realizes that it is packed like the rumors have told her. She does not get out much due to her job but she is dressed to the 9s in a beautiful dress of the time ready to put her plan into effect. Instead of waiting around she heads to the bar where she is spotted by the seemingly charismatic bartender which she manages to strike up a conversation with. She tries to pick his brain over a drink that he generously slides her way. It would seem that the establishment is already breaking the laws of Prohibition. That much is already confirmed.

He seems like the friendly sort, platinum blonde hair and a dazzling smile. Eve being a PI calls into question how perfect he actually looks but puts the thought off. She could have sworn his eyes were far more vibrant than what was humanly possible too. When she glances at him again however they appear to be a light brown instead. Things are already strange as she continues to speak with him only to find out that he is in fact one of the brothers that work at the club. It turns out to be a family business. He introduces himself as Costello -.

Eventually their conversation is cut short by Costello taking her to the back of the house where presumably his brother is waiting for her to do her little gig. She paces back and forth nervously in her dressing room only to not watch where she is going, running into a tall individual. His pinstripe suit, fedora, and bright red tie cause her to pause only to be greeted with a shiny golden toothed smile. The strange thing about it is that it is shaped into a fang/ canine tooth. It is a little off putting but the stranger introduces himself as the younger brother of the group, Valentine -.

This is someone that she had no doubt is in all the photographs that she had collected. Ultimately he seems nice enough telling her that if she needs anything to let him know and to take her time with her audition. He does appear to have a mischievous flirty side to him especially with her which she tries to distance herself from. He does not make that easy as she can tell he has already taken a special interest in her.

She performs and it would seem that she has a pretty singing voice that leaves the entire crowd roaring in applause. This obviously catches the eyes of the brothers and she gets the gig. Other than a few of the accidental slip ups the boys seem fine with her being around them. She doesn’t pose any threat. After all, she is only human.

Eve begins to enjoy her undercover position but finds herself slipping further and further away from her original objective. The - family puts her up in the loft above the club and treats her well. She learns more about them and more about the family itself. They are pretty open with what they do not even hiding the crime lord status that they are under. Being associated with the brothers is dangerous and therefore they want to make sure she understands what it means to be under the name of -.

She is surprised by their honesty and immediately they gain her trust and vice versa. That is until she realizes why she is there in the first place. After one of her performances she manages to get into Valentine’s room, snooping around. Only to find something she wasn’t expecting of a bunch of crime mafiosos. Instead she finds arcane symbols, tomes, and various other occult items that would lead her to the conclusion that they are in fact dealing with something far beyond the mortal realm. At least that is what she thinks.

The concern only grows when she finds a secret room with even more devilish items. One such item is a series of documents showing the various victims she had been investigating. On top of that information she finds even darker dealings then she suspected and papers scrawled with a script she has never seen before. As she turns to leave the room she freezes to hear Valentine’s voice. He is none too thrilled as he interrogates her but she can’t see his face. All she can feel are skeletal like claws at her shoulders. It’s all in her head right?

When he turns her around she is faced with him looking quite human explaining to her the predicament she now finds herself in. As her confusion grows he keeps her cornered only to be given two choices. One is that she binds her soul to him in the form of a contract and the other, death. Obviously she chooses to live. After this event she is able to see the true forms of all the Infernals in the club, having a panic moment seeing them mingling so easily with unsuspecting humans. Valentine, Luciano, and Costello are the most terrifying in form as they are skeleton looking Infernals. From then on she works in the club learning more and more about their true selves.

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#demons #Souly Damned #SD Saturdays #worldbuilding #info #askbox is open #orignal content #angels #costello #Saketh

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jiaraendgame · 4 years

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Dress Code

Summary: Close to summer vacation a massive heatwave hits the Outer Banks. Kiara decides to dress comfortably to combat the unbearable temperatures despite the strict rules of the Kildare High dress code. When things take a turn the Pogues take a stand for Kie.

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of over-sexualization of female bodies. Bad writing and probably editing issues even though I’ve read it through many times. Probably slightly out of character for Kie. If I missed anything let me know!

A/N: This was a request from a lovely anon a while back now. I apologize how long this took! I do hope you enjoy it. It is way longer than intended, but once more I can’t write anything short. Original concept is from THIS post made by @maybanktho I had fun writing this one though I lowkey struggled writing for Kie so I won’t lie this is NOT my best work. This has a lot of dialogue compared to my normal description heavy writing. Hopefully it’s not as trash as I think it is. I haven’t been in high school for a few years now so I used a lot of the dress code concepts that I remembered from back when I was in school. Regardless I hope you enjoy the Platonic!Pogues. Let me know what you think?

Word Count: 7.5k. Oops.

Gif Credit: @jjbanks

Summer in the Outer Banks was swiftly approaching, and with it came the scorching heat and sticky humidity. While the Kook Academy was lucky enough to house central air conditioning throughout its halls, Kildare High wasn't as fortunate. No matter how many fans they ran, and windows opened, the halls of Kildare County's finest educational system felt like a sauna. The sweat and body odor radiated off the teens, and there wasn't much they could do about it.

You'd think for living on an island, the dress code in the education establishments would be a little more relaxed all things considered. Unfortunately, much like most government-run systems, a set of rules were in place to keep the teens in line. While Kildare High didn't have uniforms like the Kook Academy, they still had standards in place that told them what was and was not appropriate apparel.

Kiara was one of if not the biggest activists in Kildare High. Always fighting for environmental improvement and equal treatment and opportunity for the females of The Cut. While Kie rarely broke the rules at school unless there was good reason to do so, she would, on occasion, bend and seek out loopholes in the standards set around her by her peers. Today was one of those days. While she knew her parents would detest her resilience, Kie decided that it was beginning to become too hot to bear the standard dress code.

With Summer break a few weeks away, she thought surely the teachers and staff would let it slide as temperatures continued to rise. Thursday afternoon was to be the hottest it has been thus far on the island. There was no way she could stand her normal capris and t-shirt combo today. Instead, she chose to wear a white and blue tie-dyed tank top accompanied by a pair of jean shorts. While she didn't want to make it too obvious, she was working against the dress code, she made sure her tank top covered her shoulders by no less than two fingers worth of fabric. While the technical rule asked for three-finger coverage, she didn't think anyone would notice. She also made sure her shorts came at least to her fingertips, though, depending, they would occasionally rise up a smidgen past the parameters set, but she couldn't help that they would rise up as she walked.

These rules were mediocre at best. If Kie had a longer torso and arms, admittedly, it would make wearing shorts nearly impossible to do. She saw it time, and time again, the taller girls get dinged on their shorts being too short, not hitting the required length set by mere arm length measurements. The tank top rule was arguably as frustrating as her male counterparts got away with wearing muscle tanks and were left alone, provided the sides weren't gapped open too far down their abdomen. The whole system felt rigged against you if you were a female. No low-cut tops. No crop tops. No tank tops unless it covers your shoulders with at least three fingers width of fabric. No shorts that went above your fingertips when you had your arms down. The list goes on.

While the dress rules circled Kie's mind, she chose to ignore her second-guessing. The school wasn't going to stop her from seeking some form of comfort during this heatwave. With her mind made up and her outfit on, she headed out of her house with a quick shout goodbye to her parents. Waiting for her was the old VW Van that the Pogues dubbed The Twinkie. The windows were down, and she could hear an upbeat reggae tune flowing from the crackling old speakers. She smiled and waved to the boys jumping into the open side door.

"Good morning, boys." She hummed out.

"Morning, Kie." The brunette boy driving spoke out as he pulled into the road headed towards their final destination.

"Good is questionable, but morning regardless," Pope spoke out, his nose buried in a textbook likely studying for the math test that was to be held this morning.

"You are way too chipper for this early in the morning, Kie." The disheveled and groggy blonde boy drawled as he slings his arm around her shoulders.

"You do make a good pillow, though." JJ continues to speak, leaning his head on Kie producing fake snores from his lips.

Kie sighs at the already sticky boy leaning on her as it is too early in the morning for his antics. "It is way too hot to be leaning on me right now, JJ, get off." She shoves his side lightly.

"Aw, come on Kie, you know you love me." A small chuckle leaves his lips.

With a roll of her eyes, she slides to the left, relieving herself from the boy's arm. The heat was already rising this early morning. More confirmation that she made the right decision to wear something that would help alleviate her discomfort. Kie reaches over and flicks the brim of Pope's hat, causing him to swat lightly at her hand.

“Hey, come on now, if I don’t get this last-minute studying in, I don’t know if I’ll survive Mr. Hew’s test. It’s too early to be thinking about factorial algorithms right now.”

“Exactly it’s too early for that so… let’s just fix the problem” JJ reaches over, clasping the book closed and tossing it to Kie.

“Man, stop it, give it back!”

"Pope relax, if any of us is prepared for this, it's you. You got this, okay? Now stop stressing and have some breakfast!"

Kie pulls out a container from her bag, opening it to reveal Mr. Carrera's freshly baked banana bread. The smell permeates the van filling the boy's nostrils. A tan arm reaches out, swiping one from the container and promptly shoving half of it in his mouth.

“Don’t have to ask me twice!” JJ speaks crumbs falling from his overstuffed mouth.

"JJ, that's…" Kie pauses only to have her sentence finished by Pope seconds later.

“Disgusting…” he nods in agreement. Politely reaching over and snatching a baked good for himself.

“Hey! Don’t forget the driver now! Don’t make me pull this van over.” John B pipes up from the front seat.

"Relax John B, we could never forget you." Kie speaks, handing the brunette his slice of banana bread. Finally, then taking the last slice for herself, savoring the sweet symphony dancing on her tongue.

With the Pogues finishing their breakfast courtesy of Kie and her father, it wasn't long before they pulled into view of Kildare High. A slight unanimous sigh leaving their mouths. Another day here is another day closer to having the best Summer ever. Kie thought to herself. As the van slowed, the group of friends were quickly greeted with the humidity kissing their skin. With the lack of wind flowing through the gapping windows as the van parked with a clank, JJ slides open the side door.

Jumping out of the van, the blonde Pogue speaks up. "It should be illegal to have to go to school when it's this hot out. We should be hitting the waves right now."

“You know there was actually a case that a school in New York City shut down due to an extreme heatwave in 2018.” Pope chimed in standing beside JJ.

“If only we were that lucky, I would kill to be out on the HMS Pogue right now.” John B forcefully shuts the driver’s door.

JJ holds his hand out for Kie to grab, and as she grasps it, she can feel the sweat form. A slight grimace graces her face as JJ practically peels Kie off like a piece of tape stuck to the sticky seat in the van.

"You know boys… I don't say this often, but days like these, I so desperately want to skip."

"Ooh, look at Kie thinking all rebellious today." JJ winks at her a smug look twinkling in his eyes.

“Shut up JJ, I’m not like you. I don’t ditch out whenever there’s a good swell to surf.”

JJ clutches his chest, mock offended by her comment. "You're just jealous that instead of taking the Spanish quiz last week, I was out living my best life." he chuckles.

“You guys are ridiculous, let’s head in before we are late again. I’m really not feeling detention today.” Pope starts towards the doors, JJ and John B in tow.

“When are you ever feeling detention Pope?” John B jokes.

Kie quickens her pace and bumps her hip into John B for pestering their friend. Entering the doors of the school, it was clear everyone was feeling the heat today. Maybe I can actually get away with this, Kie hoped. As she glances around, she sees many others also ditching the likes of the apparel parameters set up by the school district.

The Pogues meandered their way through several other kids from The Cut. The occasional "What's up!" and nods being given as they reached their destination: room 204, Math with Mr. Hew. Pushing through the door, they rush for seats in the back of the class. The boys had the jump on Kie, noticing there were only 3 seats open towards the end of the classroom. JJ playfully shoved John B as he rushed to the one farthest back sliding into the chair with a smack. A smirk adorned his face triumphant of his victory. Pope and John B glanced towards each other before the second chair was stolen by Pope, who was now sitting adjacent to JJ.

“Come on! You guys always get the good seats.”

A laugh leaves the two boys' lips. "Sometimes you gotta fight dirty JB." JJ calls out, looking over to Kie, who is farthest from the remaining seat.

Kie stands between desks shaking her head at the boys who, within 2 minutes of entering the classroom, caused a commotion over something as simple as seating arrangements.

"Come on, Kie, one more seat left; you aren't gonna let John B beat you to it, are you?" JJ's playful tone rang in her ears. Though she knew better than to join their early morning antics, the enticement was there. She knew they were right; the back seats were the best to sit in, especially in Mr. Hew's class. It was seconds after JJ spoke that John B started to head for the chair, a "No way," leaning his lips at the boy's teasing words.

She had to think quickly as John B was sure to get there before her when an idea popped into her head. JJ was right. Sometimes you gotta play dirty, she thought. She went to take a step, and in a forward trust fall fashion, Kie squeaked her voice to mimic panic to grab the boy's attention as she purposefully tripped on a desk leg. She knew he wouldn't let her fall, well as long as he believed it was real.

John B being the guy that he is, was quick on his feet as he caught Kie's arm and pulled her weight toward him, so she fell into his chest rather than the floor. Straightening her up, John B scans his eyes over her looking for any injuries before asking if she was okay. Being in front of him, Kiara had a better angle to get to the desk before the boy knew what was going on.

"My hero John B!" Kie dramatically peaks her voice playing a damsel in distress. "Thanks for the help, sucker!" She laughs as she pushes John B's shoulders back and dashes to the open seat next to JJ.

"Oh! Oh no, you don't!" John B swiftly wraps his arms around Kie's torso and twirls her as they erupt in laughter.

"Dirty plays, my man! I told you to watch out." JJ laughs at their friend’s rush to get the seat.

Before Kie realized it, her top was riding up, revealing her midriff, and her shorts slid up her thighs. She knew she had to adjust herself quickly, even if that meant losing the good seat. However, it was already too late. A booming voice calls out over the classroom.

"Routledge, Carrera, Maybank, Heyward!" The stern yet irritated tone called out to the four Pogues. John B quickly placed Kie back to the ground. Their attention was now focused on the man in a Hawaiian top and khaki shorts who stood in front of the room.

"Why, good morning to you too, Mr. Hew, what a particularly sweltering day we are having, isn't it?" JJ mockingly spoke while the rest of the Pogues gave him the side-eye wishing he would have kept his mouth shut.

"I've had enough of this disruption." The heat had everyone in a cranky mood today. This didn't exclude the teachers as Mr. Hew scolded the Pogues hooligan behavior.

"Mr. Hew, honestly, we didn't mean to get you upset, we just wanted to find good seats, and we may have gotten a bit carried away." John B tried to back pedal his friends out of the mess they started to no avail.

"I don't care for your reasoning Routledge; my classroom is not your jungle gym. If you four continue this today, you all will receive zeros for your tests." The seriousness rang out in his words.

"Sir, isn't that a little harsh all things considered? The bell hasn't even rung yet, we didn't mean to cause any harm." Kiara spoke out protective over the Pogues, knowing a zero on this test would affect all their grades. While JJ didn't care, he needed this grade to pass the class, and Pope couldn't risk a drop that would threaten his scholarship. John B rode the middle line, his grades not as bad as JJ's, but still at the risk of being lower than necessary for a smart kid when he chooses to use his head. Kie's grades were up there, not at Pope's level, but enough to be noticeable if she failed. They were never the golden kids, but who was when they came from The Cut? The closest one to being a model student was Pope, but even he would get caught up in the actions of his friends.

Mr. Hew looked over to Kiara, ready to refute her prominent yet protective attitude, but before he spoke, another problem arose. Kie's shorts were scrunched up much higher than the fingertip limit. While she was able to cover her midriff before any notice happened, she hadn't had the chance to pull the hem of her shorts down her thighs before she spoke in defense for the Pogues and their grades.

A sigh left Mr. Hew's lips. "We have a problem here, don't we Ms. Carrera," he spoke, facing her. He was giving her an out, to admit she had an apparel problem, but Kie wouldn't give in. Maybe she could talk her way out of it, she hoped.

"What do you mean, sir? I don't think anything is wrong other than you threatening zeros on our tests." She attempted to bring the attention back to the group and their earlier horseplay. To no avail, Mr. Hew shook his head at her.

"Kiara… please place your arms down and fingertips straight." He spoke to her before turning away from where she stood and pulled out the school handbook. Mr. Hew was a big stickler for that thing. He read it and abided by it like it was the bible itself. The Pogues looked on at her confusion, scrunched up in their furrowed brows and watchful eyes.

Kiara did as she was told trying to pull the hem down in the process, but with no luck, her fingertips reached well past her shorts. The hem just hitting her middle knuckles. She was busted.

"Sir, before you say anything, this can be fixed. I am not in any violation here. Just hold on."

"Stop. Kiara, you know the rules. The dress code is very clear to all students. You can't come around here dressed like that." The tone in his voice was condescending. This was enough to set her off. She would not be patronized over a rule that had no logical substance to them.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Hew, correct me if I'm wrong, but are you telling me that because my shorts ride up a bit with normal movement, I am dressed in a manner that isn't appropriate?" She questions his notion, over the hypocrisy that females were held to standards that ridiculed the human body.

"I am saying that you should have known dressing in those would cause provocative allure that is much too revealing to your fellow students." He pauses before clearing his throat and speaking again. "Now, you have to go change or be sent to in-school suspension for the rest of your day until you find appropriate items to wear in class."

Kiara scoffs at the perceptions being placed on her as they were demeaning to her as a female. She wouldn’t stand for the blatant sexism occurring in front of her. The Pogues quickly realized that this was not going to end well.

"Excuse me, are you telling me that I am creating a distraction with my body because I dressed in shorts. Do you not understand how entirely sexist that is?" Kiara had had it with the blatant disregard of her body, feeling like she was being looked at as an object and not a human.

Her voice continued to get louder as she ranted on towards the red-faced teacher growing angrier by the second. "This is ridiculous. The boys can have half their abdomens peeking through the sides of their tank tops and not be causing a distraction, but as a female, if I am showing too much of my thighs, this is a problem. You are sexualizing mine and other female bodies like we are a piece of meat. This is so screwed up; these rules are against the females of this school and praise the boys due to our sexual organs. News flash, we are all human and guess what it is beyond hot outside. So, I am sorry I chose to dress with comfort in mind and not the worry of stimulating the sexual minds of my peers because I am showing my thighs. God forbid I wore a bathing suit, right? Now that would really be a distraction."

"Carrera! Out of my classroom, now!" The teacher boomed his hand, gesturing towards the door.

"Oh, I'm sorry, are my thighs too distracting for you, sir? Are they turning you on? If so, you are the one with the real problem here, Mr. Hew. Doesn't look too good if a single human feature is causing all this trouble for you, does it? The sexualization of the female body in this society is sickening. Wearing shorts is not provocative, and if you think it is okay to patronize someone for their choice of clothing, then you sir are the one with the problem. The length of my shorts is not a reason to sexualize myself or any girl. We should be able to dress comfortably on a hot day without being looked at as an object. I-"

“Out! Carrera get out of this classroom and go to the office. You are done for the day!” Mr. Hew was fuming with anger at Kiara’s words as he fumbled his last warning to the girl.

The Pogues and the rest of the class had their eyes wide, and mouths dropped to the floor. Kiara was always passionate about the rights of women and how they were treated compared to men. Even in something as minuscule as a school system dress code, the everyday over-sexualization of females and their bodies was pitiful. She wasn't upset that she was being sent out of the room; she was angry that people viewed her and others as just a piece of meat prime for their viewing pleasures.

Kiara grabbed her bag and swiftly left the classroom, visibly distraught. She never expected this day to end up like this, but here she was. As she went to the office, the principal was already made aware of the incident. Without a second thought, Kiara was given one day of in-school suspension starting tomorrow. Followed by a two day out of school suspension that was to begin the upcoming Monday morning for her lash out in the classroom and accusatory words towards her teacher. All things considering, she was let off with a light sentence. Her parents, however, wouldn't be as lenient.

With Kiara out of the classroom, the bell had finally rung signally for class to begin. Mr. Hew tried to bring order back into place as the Pogues all glanced over at each other. Unsure of what to do. While they always poked fun at Kie when she went on her tirades to them in the past this time, they came to the realization that she was right. She and fellow female students were treated with a bias towards them when it came to the dress code in place. It wasn't fair, and they knew they had to do something about it, they just weren't sure of what.

JJ is frantic and as subtle as a bull in a china shop whips out his phone, quickly texting the other boys. In shock of what took place, he started to brainstorm ideas.

Did you guys see Kie? My god, she was fuming!

Pope

We all saw her idiot. She made valid points though

John B

Yeah, she's right, it really wasn't fair for her to get dress coded. Look at all the times JJ comes in with his muscle tanks on, he's always flashing his nips, but no one says anything.

Pope

You aren’t wrong, but what are we gonna do about it?

Hey man, I resent that statement. Really though, we gotta come up with something! If it were us in this situation, you know Kie would have our backs.

Pope

We could protest? Maybe petition to get the standards changed?

John B

How? It’s not like we can come in here with short shorts on, that would just look like a big joke.

Pope

We need to figure out how to stand with her in solidarity in some way that isn’t foolish.

OMG

JB THAT’S IT!

Pope

I am NOT wearing short shorts! JJ, it's out of the question.

John B

Yeah, man, I'm not really following you here.

No, you idiots! Ugh, okay mandatory meeting at the Chateau after school! I have an idea!

Pope and John B glance at each other with a nervous look lingering in their eyes. When JJ was the one making plans, you never knew what was gonna happen. There was a reason he was never in charge of their past excursions.

While the day dragged on, the boys were anxious to get in contact with Kie. She wasn't answering her texts. That was never a good sign, likely meaning her parents didn't take the news too well and confiscated her phone. With the final bell signaling the end of the day, the boys hopped into the Twinkie and were off to The Wreck. They wanted to check in on Kie before their gathering back at the Chateau.

The boys lingered outside for a moment before stepping into the bustling restaurant. They glanced around and quickly made eye contact with Mr. Carrera. He greeted them with a begrudging expression written on his face. Pope takes a step forward and speaks on behalf of the boys.

"Hey there, Mr. C. we just wanted to check in and see if Kiara was okay? Do you think we could talk to her for a moment?" The boy's polite and soft manner caused a sigh to leave Mr. Carrera's mouth.

"My delinquent of a daughter isn't here right now. She is at home and will remain there for two weeks but thank you for asking about her. While I don't condone her or her friend's actions, at least it's clear to me you boys look after her. Even if it is in a questionable manner." The tough but concerned father looked over the boys once more hesitantly, happy to know his daughter had people who cared about her, unlike when she was in the Kook Academy.

"I will tell her you boys visited, but you won't be able to speak to her for a little while. She won't have access to her phone as part of her punishment. Now, if you don't plan to order anything, I'm gonna have to ask you to leave." The stern figure spoke to them. It was clear Kie's father was never too keen on her Pogue friends and lifestyle choices, but over time he has come to warm up around them knowing they made his daughter happy. That's all he could ever want for her is for her to be happy and feel loved.

"Right well, thank you, sir, for the update. We are sorry to bother you." Pope speaks, taking a step back as the other boys turn to head out towards the van.

Once outside, they started their trek back to John B's. The windows were down while they cruised the bumpy dirt roads of The Cut, allowing the air to flow through and dance around the boys' heat-stricken bodies. They all pondered just how to help Kiara's situation.

Hours had passed since they got to the Chateau, and with beers, in their hands, JJ finally opened his mouth eager to tell the boys of his brilliant idea. "Okay, so the stand with Kie meeting has officially been called to order and boys do I have the best plan." A mischievous smirk plastered itself across JJ's sweaty sun-kissed face.

"Yeah, something about you and "best plan" doesn't exactly go together there, chief." Pope chuckled.

"If I recall, your last "best plan" ended with us getting into a scuffle with the Kooks and Kie having to break it up. So, let's hope this plan of yours isn't as disastrous." John B chimes in.

"Alright, alright, shut up, you guys. Just because my plans don't always go to plan doesn't mean they don't get the job done. Sometimes we have to go off-book."

"What do you mean, off-book?" John B eyeballs the blonde confusion on his face.

“Well, you remember what Kie said? Her body is overly sexualized while us guys get away with wearing basically whatever we want. That pesky little rule book faults girls but favors the boys.”

“I see what you are saying, but I’m not quite sure I’m following.” Pope pipes up.

"Shirtless. We go to school tomorrow, shirtless." JJ blurts out his thoughts, the other boys go wide-eyed. "If they are going to sexualize thighs in shorts, but not our practically bare abdomens when we wear cut-offs, then why not just show up without shirts on at all."

"You know… that could work. It's like…" John B snaps his fingers together, searching for the words he wishes to speak.

"It's like reverse psychology or whatever!" JJ completed John B's train of thought.

"Yes! Okay, I'm in. Protest the unjust sexualization of female bodies under the dress code. For once, JJ, you might actually have a great idea."

"What can I say? I was due for one eventually, right? So, what do you say, Pope?" The blue-eyed boy turns to Pope, who has been awfully quiet during this whole process of discussion.

The boy sighs towards his friends, who wore goofy smiles on their faces. Excited for their scheme. "I don't know… it seems frivolous at best."

“Can’t we just get a petition going instead and collect signatures to change the dress code to be more fitting for our tropical climate?”

"Aw c'mon man, you know a bunch of teenaged signatures isn't gonna fix anything. The school board isn't going to budge on this, and neither will the parents unless we make a show of the ridiculous rules instead." John B tries to reason with the boy whose eyebrows were knitted together, detesting the thought of showing up to a school environment shirtless.

"Pope man, he's right. They aren't going to listen to us, when have they ever? If we want to show Kie support, then we will have to do it our way… Pogue style." JJ urges the boy.

“Just think of it like this man… When has there ever been a moment where Kie didn’t have our backs?” John B asks the boy.

"Well… she always stands by us even when we make stupid decisions." Pope recalls starting to realize how much Kie does for them.

"Exactly! So, we need to do this for her. It's not for us." John B and JJ go back and forth, continuing to push at Pope's buttons, urging him to go along with the plan.

“It’s for Kie. She always helps you study when she knows you are stressed about a big exam.”

“And she always encourages you and your scholarship. Even if she teases you for being on the math team instead of playing baseball.” The boys chuckle as they continue back and forth.

"She is always bringing us food or getting us leftovers from The Wreck knowing otherwise there would be times we wouldn't eat. Or attempt to eat expired goods." John B eyeballs JJ.

“It was one-time man… but really. She is always bringing us beer and snacks when we go out on the HMS Pogue.”

“Always getting us out of trouble when the Kooks come around talking shit.”

"Making sure we actually take care of any injuries we get, so they don't get infected."

“Being a shoulder for all of us to lean on when we need it.”

"Come on, Pope, she's always keeping an eye on us, and all the while still enjoys slumming it with us and our crazy antics. She is a Pogue, and we can't leave her hanging."

With a moment of silence, Pope ponders his options. Knowing his friends are right despite how silly the protest would be. He soon speaks up, "Never leave a Pogue behind, right?" He smiles as the other boy’s cheer ecstatically to have convinced the more conservative boy to go along with their big plan.

"So, it's settled. Tomorrow bright and early, the shirtless protest begins." The boys all share a handshake in agreement.

As the boys awoke from their designated spots in the Chateau, they proceeded to get ready for their protest plans. Just as the previous days, the forecast was calling for high temperatures and humidity, making it the perfect day to pull off their scheme. With John B and JJ loaded into the Twinkie clad in nothing but their shorts and shoes, they were off to retrieve Pope hoping he hadn't had second doubts. Like clockwork, the boy strolls out of his home and jumps into the back of the van book bag in tow. The Pogues huffed as they noticed the navy-blue shirt adorning their friend's frame.

“Pope… the plan?” JJ questions furrowing his brows.

"If either of you thought I would be able to step outside my house without a shirt on to go to school, you two are nuts. No way would my pops let that fly."

The other two hum acceptingly knowing he was right. As they drove along the roads towards the school, the boys all eagerly shifted in their seats. Their plan was chaotic at best, and the moment they would step into those dimly lit halls, all eyes would be on them. As John B parks the van, he looks back at his friends.

“Well, it’s now or never boys. Let’s do this.”

"Pogue style baby, let's go!" JJ cheered more eagerly compared to the others.

"Here comes detention…" Pope spoke as he tugged the fabric over his head, exposing his bare chest to match his friend’s "outfits" boasting nothing but shorts and a set of shoes.

“That a boy Pope, let’s do it for Kie.”

“For Kie!” John B and Pope called back in unison.

The boys walk tow in tow together towards the building, already catching the gazes of the other kids from The Cut. The whispers and giggles soon to follow. While the stares made Pope uncomfortable, JJ was eating up the attention. John B also taking the comments he'd catch in stride.

"Looking good, JJ." A redheaded girl calls out to him, he smirks and gives her a wink before turning to her friend's eyes widened.

"You are enjoying this a little too much, JJ." John B chuckles.

"Hey, it's not my fault; they like what they see."

“Like they need to feed your ego anymore,'' Pope nudges his friend, laughing.

"Aw, don't worry, bub. I see some eyeballs looking at you too." John B pesters the boy who is clearly not as comfortable in this situation as his friends are.

"Shut up, and let's just do this." The boys appear in front of Mr. Hew's door. Ready for the chaos that is sure to let loose as soon as they are spotted.

Entering the room one by one, the Pogues nonchalantly scurry to the back of the room. As the bell rang, more comments and a few winks, whistles, and laughs passed their classmate's lips. The stir of commotion quickly alerting Mr. Hew to their presence.

"What have I told you, boys, about-" He pauses, fully taking in the shirtless boy's appearances. He shuts his eyes, brings his hands to his face, and rubs over his features in frustration as he sighs and whispers to himself. "In god's name, what is even happening."

"I do hope you boys packed shirts to go along with your textbooks today." He sternly speaks. "Or will you three be joining Ms. Carrera for in-school suspension today?"

"What do you mean, sir? We are just here to peacefully protest."

“What in god's name do you think you are protesting boy?” Mr. Hew continued to grow more infuriated with the site in front of him.

"I believe that our cause is quite clear, sir." Pope speaks.

“We are protesting the unjust rules enforced upon the lovely ladies of our student body.” JJ chimes in, his lip perked in the corner of his mouth.

"Considering how Kiara was treated yesterday and others in this very establishment, it is our job to bring awareness to the unfair treatment. We all got bodies, sir, and quite frankly to sexualize one specific gender and not the other is biased."

"If you boys don't quit this nonsense immediately, I will have you escorted out of the classroom. This is your only warning."

"So, you have nothing to say on the biased standards set here at Kildare High?"

The straw had finally broken the camel's back in the humidity dense classroom. Mr. Hew raised his voice, causing the students to stare on their eyes full as the Pogues were reprimanded.

"You boys have no respect! When have you ever followed the rules? I do not make the handbook, but I will enforce the guidelines as that is my job—something you three clearly do not understand. If you don't grow up and follow the rules even when you don't agree, you are bound to get yourselves into serious trouble. Now I will not ask again. Put on your shirts of leave. Immediately." Their teacher red in the face huffed out his tyrannical words to the three boys who continue to stand their ground. Not budging at his request.

The creak of the door opening sounded, shifting the Pogues' focus as a familiar face stepped in the room. Kiara steps in a red pass in her hand, indicating she was coming from the in-school suspension office. Kie draws Mr. Hew's attention away from the boys. The boys smiled towards Kie, waiting to see her reaction, hoping she would be proud of them.

"Sorry to bother you, sir. I was just coming in to grab today's course wo- oh my god." her words trail off, seeing her Pogues standing side by side shirtless chests puffed out in a defiant demeanor.

“What did you guys do?” She speaks out in shock as Mr. Hew turned towards the girl.

"If it isn't the lady of the hour. I'm sure you knew all about this. Still causing trouble when you aren't allowed in the classroom. Tell me, Carrera, is this idea of a protest a joke to you?" His hateful language spews out towards the girl. The boys ready to jump to her defense, but Kie was faster at the draw then them.

"Do you truly believe I am that obsessed with getting a rise out of you when it was unlikely, I would witness it, sir? That is a bit ridiculous, I'm not in any way responsible for this. These knuckleheads are on their own with this one." She chuckles at the thought.

“I find it unlikely you wouldn’t orchestrate a protest as you have many times in the past Ms. Carrera. Now tell your boys to drop your plan.” The accusatory teacher huffed.

"Even if I was a part of this, which I am not. If I told these boys to stop, the chances of them listening to me are slim at best." Kie stood her ground soon, having the Pogues chime in.

"I'd have to agree with Kie, sir, she really wasn't involved in all this," Pope spoke out as the other two Pogues hummed in agreement to his words.

"This was all us baby, straight from our brilliant minds." JJ beamed at the thought of his plan, causing this much of a stir.

"Even if she asked us to stop, we wouldn't. She doesn't deserve to be treated as an object by yourself or the mandated rules in an outdated handbook. None of the girls here do." John B spoke in a brotherly tone, protective over his friend.

"That is, it, I have had it! Enough with the nonsense, there will be no more of this. Carrera, Heyward, Maybank, Routledge out of my classroom now!"

"Gladly," JJ spoke, gripping his bag and walking towards the old door covered in chipped and peeling paint. The other three followed his lead stepping towards the exit. Once out the door and a few steps down the hallway, they notice Kie being quieter than expected.

“Kie?”

“You good?”

The boys spoke as she stopped in the crossway of the building. She turned to face the boys at first with an unreadable expression displayed on her face. This made the others anxious, worried she was mad at their actions.

"I cannot believe you guys did that." A smile spreads across her lips, followed by a laugh. The boys quickly relax. John B places his rough hand on her shoulder.

"Thank JJ, it was his idea."

"Yeah, I was just gonna start a petition, but this fool thought it would be better to bring a physical awareness to the biased culture you have to face." Pope offers a sweet understanding smile towards Kie.

"Well, I'll be damned JJ Maybank with a plan that didn't end in bloodshed." She pokes the boys exposed skin.

"Hey, they don't all end in bloodshed!" The crew looks at the boy knowingly.

"Okay, maybe they do sometimes, but I was due for a successful plan eventually!" The blonde headed boy shrugs.

"While I wouldn't call this entirely successful JJ, I would say it was endearing. And damn funny, did you see Mr. Hew's face?" The girl continues to walk, leading the boys down the hall, passing the office door.

"Uh, Kie, you missed our stop," Pope called out.

"Did I, though? I mean, we are already in trouble. Would you rather spend the day in a stuffy office or out on the waves?" Kie's rebellious words give rise to the boys.

“Hell yeah, that’s our girl! Let’s go! We can swing by JB’s and swipe the boards out front!” JJ rushes towards the doubled door exit of the school building, Kie quickly following suit.

"Guys, this is gonna make things so much worse!" Pope calls to his friends.

"Come on, bubba, live a little. Can't be any worse than what your dad's gonna say later! Better enjoy the freedom while we still got it!" John B jogs backward, speaking to Pope. The boy sighs and pushes his friend's shoulder, spinning him forward as they make their non-stealthy escape from the dimly lit school halls of Kildare High.

The delinquent group of teens jump their way into John B's van, making a quick but noisy getaway as the engine roars to life. The exhaust sputtering out smoke as they pull off the school property with haste. The group laughs and cheers as they head towards the Chateau, ready to start a day of rebellious fun skipping out on the school parameters. The humid air grows thick and sticky as the morning sun hits its high point.

After the pit stop at John B's, the Pogues gathered the necessities for the day. JJ strapped the boards to the van while Kie and Pope rummaged the kitchen for any edible snacks and remaining beers they could pack. John B took his time to gas up the van while the others changed into their swimwear.

As the day went on and the heat rose, the Pogues spent their time together laughing and splashing in the water. Catching as many waves as they could feeling the cool touch of the sea on their skin. Hours had passed, and the group grew tired, opting to sit on their boards as the waves rolled passed them. They knew they would have to call it a day soon, having to face the consequences that awaited them.

The calm silence circled the air around the Pogues. All content with spending this time together. They were always the happiest spending days like these together—nothing to stop them from having these moments together. The content energy filling their lungs.

"I just wanted to thank you guys again," Kie spoke, looking between the boys she so lovingly called her best friends. They meant the world to her, and she would never not appreciate them even on the days they got under her skin.

“It was nothing Kie, you would have done the same for us.” JJ calls out over the roar of the ocean surrounding them.

“He’s right you are always by our sides when things go south, it’s the least we could do.” Pope chimes in.

Exactly, we wouldn't leave you behind; it's not in the Pogue nature." John B smiles wide, knowing his group always had each other's backs.

"You guys are idiots, you really didn't have to get yourselves into trouble over me. Regardless that was really sweet of you all, and I love you fools for it." Her words rang out with love and admiration for the group.

"I suppose we should head back in, we can't avoid the world forever, though I wish we could." John B calls out as he starts to paddle back to the shore. Pope following suit. JJ looks over to Kie, a smile on his face happy to have helped his friend today, knowing he would do anything for them no matter the consequences he faced.

"Hey, JB! I'm crashing at yours tonight." JJ calls out, shifting his weight as he paddles to follow the boys. He looks back at Kie who is looking up toward the late afternoon sun, a peaceful look settled across her face.

"Earth to Kie, you coming in?" He calls back to her, bringing her attention to the boys who are halfway towards the shore now.

"Yeah, I'm coming, just taking my last breath of free air before I go home." She half chuckles, knowing she isn't wrong. Her parents are bound to add more time to her previous grounded sentence. Though that wasn't what was really on her mind.

As the Pogues gathered on the beach sand sticking to their wet toes, they dry off with their towels before heading towards the van.

"Hey!" Kie calls out, catching the three boys' attention. Without another word, she throws her arms around them, embracing their arms as they quickly respond to her notion. Even JJ, who wasn't much of a hugger, found comfort being in his friend's embrace. It was his safe space, his real family. They all felt it. The love and endearment they held for each other. No matter the crazy adventures they would go on, they knew at the end of the day they had each other.

The crew broke away and headed back towards the Twinkie. As the boys loaded up the boards, Kie grabbed the remaining snacks from the cooler and passed them out once everyone was settled in. The side door closed with a metal clang as they ventured their way to their drop off spots.

The ride back flowed with casual conversations between the four, smiles, and laughs adorning their faces. As they approached Kie's home, she found herself lost in her thoughts. The feeling of having people care for you so much that they risk getting into trouble on your behalf warmed Kiara's heart. She couldn't have asked for a better group of friends looking out for her. While this isn't the first time they would go down together in trouble as a group, surely it wouldn't be their last.

Tagging some mutuals who hopefully won’t hate me for tagging them in this monstrosity. @jjbanks @john-benderr @void-maybank @northcarolinanative @outerbongs @tomfreakinghollandneedsaoscar @bricksatanakinswindow @pit-zuh @sguymon21 @outrebanx @outerbankslut @hmspxgue @jellyfishbeansontoast @drewsephsmiles @scandalousfemale @moldisgoodforyou @ad-infinitums @futuretaxcheat @ptersparkers @rudysbay @drewswannabegirl @lenaandcalliope @diverdcwn @mermaidssonshipss

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afterhoursfic · 4 years

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Please, could I get a fic where Vesemir claims the virginity of Geralt, Eskel, and Lambert. For example, it's a tradition that every year after the trials the senior witchers get to fight for the right to have a first night with the newly made witchers. Maybe it's an actual fight or maybe it's a game of gwent. Vesemir makes sure that he gets to claim his boys, before anyone else! Make it as fility as you want my friend!! Please and Thank you!

Warning: dub con

Um I may have given it feelings and I apologise, I’m happy to write something else if you want but this just kinda came out

He doesn't know how the tradition started and frankly, he doesn't care, it had started long before he began his training and would likely carry on after he was gone, but as it stood, every year the senior witchers who had left the Path to train the youth at Kaer Morhen would compete in a semi-drunken Gwent tournament to decide who gets to break in the boys about to set out on the Path.

More than a few times he's thought about how stupid it was that they resorted to Gwent a game of luck and chance depending on how your cards were dealt. He had long thought they should fight to see who gets bragging rights that year, but apparently Gwent was fairer and gave all of them a chance to win, which was just the weaker of the lot admitting they wouldn't stand a chance in hell in a fight each other.

Go figure he supposed, but most years he didn't care for the tournament and would purposefully lose early on and watch the rest of the evening unfold. It's not that he wasn't interested in the boys, well he wasn't for the most part, instead he only really cared for the boy he had brought to Kaer Morhen himself, deciding that it was somewhat poetic that he be the one to bring them there and then send them on their way.

Often it meant that he went years or decades without winning the tournament they set up, a mix of rarely leaving the keep to actually walk the path and claim the law of surprise mixed with the sheer amount of boys every year who wouldn't make it past the trials and challenges meant that oftentimes the boys he brought didn't make it to the end.

That was until the year Geralt was to finally leave the keep and walk the Path himself. He wasn't delusional to think the competition this year would be easy, all the senior witchers were eager to covet Geralt, him being the only witcher to survive two rounds of mutations, but he planned to fight tooth and nail to get his chance with Geralt, and protect him from some of the more sadistic tendencies of the others.

He had the advantage that most of his peers thought him an easy target for the games, and sure his Gwent deck wasn't perfect and could do with being updated, but they didn't know about the stash of special cards he kept locked away for just this occasion. It was almost comical watching the other witcher's faces as he won game after game after game until finally, he had won.

A number of them in a desperate plea to get another chance would call him a cheat, and Rennes had even flipped the table in a rage near the end, but the result was the same, he had won and that year he would be the one to take of the witchers.

There 5 boys who would be leaving that year, whilst his obvious desire had been Geralt and by extension Eskel, he couldn't shirk his duty to the other 3 boys. He didn't do anything grand or new, he simply invited the boys to his room one after the other and almost as a lesson taught them how to fuck, how to seek pleasure in someone else until they shuddered through their release and he sent them off back to their rooms.

He'd set the next night to be just for Eskel, whilst it was true he hadn't been the one to bring the boy to Kaer Morhen his similarity to Geralt was striking and he would have been a fool not to have seen how close the boys were to each other. He had been tempted to bring them both in together and let them seek comfort together whilst he took them each in turn but he had different plans for both of them, so it was he waited until he heard the knock at his door and met with the sight of Eskel shuffling nervously behind it.

The boy steps in the room without saying a word and stands there awkwardly in the middle of the room, not sure what to do next, so he finally takes pity on the boy and tells him to strip.

Eskel is almost methodical in the way he disrobes folding his clothes before putting them to the side before kneeling in front of him, head bowed. The sight is enough to make him moan and he can see Eskel's face go a little red when he cards a hand through his hair and praising him for being a good boy.

He almost wants to ruin the boy then and there, but it's not what he had planned, not what Eskel deserved so instead he guides Eskel to follow him to his chair and after taking a seat makes the boy settle between his spread knees, head resting on his thigh whilst he cards his hand through soft, brown hair.

They stay like that for a moment and he can practically feel the tension bleed out of the boy with every stroke of his hand. It's when he sees Eskel struggle to keep his eyes open that he guides his soft cock to the boy's mouth, not to suck but just hold and he groans again when Eskel does it without question, tongue flicking a little at the head of his cock as if to taste him before sinking down the rest of the way and once again resting his head against his thigh.

He picked up one of the bestiary's then and chose a random page to read off of, not that he wanted Eskel to pay attention but he had lectured the boy and had hoped some familiarity would ease the last bit of tension he still held.

Sure enough, the boy was a puddle between his legs, making little moans here and there that vibrate around his cock and he's sure Eskel isn't even aware he's making them. He carries on reading for another couple of pages until putting the book down and gently tugging Eskel off of his hardening cock, telling him what a good boy he was as he helped him stand to guide him towards the bed.

Gently, he helped Eskel settle onto his front, a pillow under his head and another under his hips that gave the most delicious curve to his back and couldn't help but lean forward to taste the skin with a brief kiss to the small of his back. He's not surprised when Eskel tensed again, when he flinched at every touch and press of his mouth as he moved across the boy's body, but he persisted in his task of worshipping the body under him and soon enough Eskel is moving to meet his touch and letting out little breathless gasps with every kiss to his skin.

He lingers at Eskel's shoulders and back until the boy's mind is clouded with pleasure before slowly making his way down to his ass, pressing a kiss to each cheek before gently spreading them to drag his tongue from the boy's balls to his hole. The effect is immediate and Eskel shudders beneath him with a moan and he can't help but do it again and again.

He's done this before to whore's and partners he's found on the Path but never to one of the boys he took to bed, not even those he viewed as his, but Eskel was special, one of the few to retain his kindness and a certain openness that most lost after going through the trials. He's intent on making this as nice and sweet for Eskel as he could because he knew life on the path wouldn't be easy for him. Sure he was skilled with a sword and even more so with his signs, but it wasn't the monsters and the scars he was worried about, it would be the men and women he was supposed to protect that would hurt him the most, so he wanted to give Eskel this, something precious he can think back on with fondness before he's sent out to suffer the world's problems.

It's too easy to wring out the moans from Eskel as he first teases at the boy's rim with his tongue before pushing it inside and feel Eskel shake as he begins to fuck his tongue into him. It was when he began to press a finger alongside his tongue, just teasing at the rim at first and suddenly Eskel is coming with a shout and keeps up his ministrations until Eskel is moving away from him with a small whine at which he finally pulls away to stroke his hands down the boys back instead.

It not long after when the high of his orgasm has worn off that Eskel begins to worry, stuttering out multiple sorrys for not asking, not waiting to come, and he's quick to lean over the boy, his chest pressing him into the bed, hoping it's a comforting weight as he kisses along the nape of his neck as his hand's stroke the boy's sides, all the while telling Eskel how good he's been, how there's no punishment here and he can come whenever he wants.

It takes a little while but eventually Eskel is relaxing under him again, and kissing a path down the boy's back picks up the oil on the nightstand and slicks his fingers. He takes his time opening Eskel, having him come first on two fingers and again on four as they rub against his prostate and it's when he's begging for more, pleading into his pillow that he finally pushes his cock in on one long thrust.

Soon he's setting a slow pace, a simple roll of the hips to allow Eskel to feel him and slowly be coaxed to come at how full he feels with his cock rubbing along his prostate. He's happy to wring out orgasm after orgasm from the boy until he's a whimpering mess, overstimulated and stuck between begging to stop and gripping his hand like a vice, pleading for more.

A couple of times he hears the boy murmur Geralt's name but he doesn't complain, he can't really when he has Eskel flushed red and desperate under him as he works another orgasm out of him.

It's in the early hours of the morning when they finally finish, he came once having pulled out and stripping his cock as he kneeled over Eskel until his come painted the boy's skin and even then he pushed his cock back to continue gently fucking the boy whilst one hand began rubbing his come into the skin of his back, marking him as his, one of his pups. It's when Eskel starts whimpering, tears threatening to fall down his face that he picks up his pace and after a handful of thrusts and a hand around Eskels cock he has the boy come a final time, only a few drops of come adding to the mess underneath him, but it's the boy's cry of 'Vesemir' that finally has him come inside the boy, simply rolling his hips in small movements to ride out his pleasure until he finally pulls out.

He was prepared for this of course and grabs the cloth he'd left in the water bowl on his bedside drawer and with a quick blast of igni has it warm enough so he doesn't shock the boy as he cleans up the come staining his front and back. Eskel is virtually asleep at this point, letting him move his limbs about to clean him up before he presses a glass to the boy's lips and with his help has him finish the water and take several bites of food. Finally, he pulls Eskel out of the wet spot left under him and against his chest instead, stroking his hand through his hair until finally, the boy falls asleep.

It's just before dawn when Eskel wakes again, eyes glazed and groggy as he slowly comes back to himself and he's quick to reassure the boy before asking him if he wanted to stay with him until he was ready or if he wanted to go back to Geralt. He's not offended when he chose Geralt, sure that Eskel would get more comfort from his best friend than his mentor so he simply helps the boy stand, wraps a cloak around him, and picking up his folded clothes guides him back to his rooms.

He says nothing when he sees Eskel immediately climb into bed with Geralt, or at the way Geralt loops his arm around Eskel's waist, pulling him closer so he can bury his nose into his hair.

Later that morning when he sees Geralt sneak out of the hall at breakfast with two plates piled high with food in his hand, he doesn't stop him. Instead, he just hoped that if destiny did exist, it would be kind enough to keep the two of them together.

~~~~

It's two nights later that he summons Geralt to his room and where the other boys had all been nervous trepidation Geralt just strides in, face blank before standing in the middle of the room, hands behind his back and head held high.

It was true the boy was cocky ever since he knew he could best his peers with a sword (Except Eskel of course), a fact which had only worsened after the second trial where the boy had gotten a colder edge to him, one which made him think he was untouchable.

So it's not too much of a surprise that when he ordered Geralt to strip, he didn't move, just stood there still as if he was above it all.

"Strip, or every time I have to tell you you get 10 beatings" Even with the darker edge that always managed to scare some of the hardier witchers, still Geralt remained motionless although there was a tension in his jaw as if he was challenging his threat and he simply growled "Strip...that's 10"

Suddenly Geralt's moving and pulling off his clothes, he doesn't fully know why, the boy never backed down from a challenge that easily before but it may just the setting, the inevitability of what was going to happen in this room that had him listen, he didn't want to think too much on it.

As soon as he was naked Geralt resumed his position standing in the room and he allowed himself to take a long look at the boy, a smug smile at his mouth when he saw Geralt squirm just the smallest amount under his gaze. Having looked his fill he guided Geralt to the bed, but before he let the boy climb on, he first bent him over the edge, hand on his neck to hold him down whilst his hand palmed at the ass in front of him whilst Geralt just gave him a confused look.

"You wouldn't listen so you'll take your 10 beatings now"

"I'm sorry"

"It's not enough to say you're sorry, you have to show it as well"..."You've grown unruly wolf, you need to learn when to back down just as much as when you need to attack"

Geralt just whimpered and after another moment finally went lax under him, he gave a pleased hum, stroking his hand across the boys one last time before he pulled it back to smack him.

He could've used his full strength, he should've, but this was a lesson just as much as a punishment, one of the last he'd teach his wolf and he didn't want pain to be the only thing he remembered about it. He didn't use his full strength but he used enough strength to leave Geralt's skin red and hot where he'd hit it, the boy tense and cry out with each new hit until finally he was done, the boy's ass bright red and looked as if it was already beginning to bruise.

He stroked at the skin and when he heard the pained gasp from Geralt picked up the healing salve to rub into the abused skin and slowly he felt Geralt relax into the bedding. When he was done he ordered Geralt onto his hands and knees whilst he disrobed, but instead he saw the boy on the back, legs splayed wide, still submissive bit a contradiction to his order.

"Do you have a problem following commands wolf?"

Despite having practically whimpered whilst getting his ass beat not a minute earlier, Geralt just lay back, hands behind his head as he stretched out on the bed "No"

He snorted even as he folded his arms across his chest and raised an eyebrow at the boy "No what"

"No, sir" Geralt said it in a way to antagonize him, to mock him but he wouldn't let it get a rise out of him like it did some of the other senior witchers.

"You're a brat, been allowed to go unchecked, well that stops tonight" He got up on the bed and put his hands on the boy's waist before flipping him over and lifting his hips so his head was on the mattress and his ass in the air. When he felt Geralt tried to lift his head and get up on his hands he put a hand on his neck to keep him held down no matter how much the boy struggled to get up, to get some sort of control back.

He doesn't know why as wolf witchers most seemed to develop some sense of pack, about the order and hierarchy and Geralt was no excuse and apparently thought himself at the top, or at least higher than him, but he intended to keep the boy face down as long as was needed before he learned his lesson.

Hand still on his neck he picked up the vial of oil and through some miracle managed to open it and slick his fingers, dropping the glass to let the rest of its contents to spill onto the sheets as he pushed one of his fingers past Geralt's rim. He felt the boy freeze under him for a moment but as he began to move the digit began to struggle anew, not to get away but just to do something, to get out of his hold so he wasn't in the position of bitch posturing for a mate.

He knew he had to move fast so after stretching the boy on two fingers pulled out to slick up his cock before pressing in. Once he'd pushed into the base, both of them panting now as Geralt went lax below him.

Once he's given the boy a chance to adjust he pulls out about halfway before thrusting back in again and when all he gets is a choked off moan muffled by a pillow he begins to pound into the boy below him as if he were a bitch in heat, and he may as well have been by the way he was mewling and growling with each thrust into him, any shame at being made to submit long gone as he tried to fuck back on his cock with every thrust.

It was somewhat heady having Geralt under him, a boy with unmatched potential, practically fucking himself on his cock, with each movement getting only more eager to have his dick back in him again so it was no surprise to him that he didn't last long, Geralt letting out a guttural groan when he felt his come paint his insides but still he tried to coax every drop from him that he could, to use him to get himself over the finish line even more before he went soft, and yet the boy never strayed a hand to his own cock.

He was nowhere near done with the boy and he was silently grateful for witcher stamina as he pulled out and told Geralt to move onto his back. Geralt did so without a word and even grabbed the back of his knees to hold himself open, neck bared as he waited for the next move.

He stroked his dick at the sight, Geralt watching with eager eyes as he got hard again, and letting out a breath as if in relief when he finally sank into him again. Whilst Geralt was a lot more pliable this time around, he curled a hand around the boy's throat just to be sure, squeezing every now and then just to feel the boy shake beneath him, as he felt himself approach a second orgasm he gripped around Geralt's throat and felt his breath catch and his eyes go glazed the longer he was without air until finally, he told the boy to come, and so on the next thrust Geralt convulsed under him as he shouted out his release for the whole keep to hear, his hole clenching so tight around him that he's forced over the edge as well.

After that, he's somewhat more confident that Geralt's learned his place, at least with him, and the boy is all eager energy with the intent to prove himself, so he's more than happy to lay on his back and let Geralt ride him long into the night.

It's hard to tell exactly how long they went for, only that Geralt sure was giving his stamina a run for his money as the boy's hips just kept moving, even after Geralt came, still, he moved, simply grinding back into his lap, but he kept going until he was ready to get up on his knees and fuck himself on his cock again.

A few times when Geralt's head was thrown back, a hand on his dick whilst he had put his feet flat on the mattress to take over and fuck relentlessly into the boy, he heard him whisper Eskel's name before seeming to catch himself and stare down as if waiting for to a punishment that wouldn't come.

The only time he took serious action was when Geralt got a bit too eager, when he would try to grasp his hands and pin them above his head as if he were the one in charge. When putting a hand on Geralt's throat no longer worked he pulled the boy off of him and flipped them over so Geralt was once again ass up below him, giving a couple of lighter, teasing smacks to his now pink ass until the boy came and he let him ride him again.

They carried on like this until the light of the rising sun filtered past their curtains and with a final fuck that had Geralt on all fours with him mounted behind him the boy let out a hoarse cry that would have woken those in the keep if they'd even managed to get any sleep with Geralt's overly enthusiastic shouts and moans for more and harder and faster.

When they were done he made sure to clean him and drink a glass of water but Geralt refused to eat. As with Eskel, he gave the boy the offer to stay with him but with no surprise to him, he chose to join Eskel instead. He watched Geralt change back into his clothes and with a nod and a 'Thank you sir' he left with only the barest sign of a limp in his step.

To say that he was tired was an understatement, whilst he had worn out Geralt, the boy had worn him out as well and it almost felt like he was the one who had been fucked all night. That morning he has a slight limp as he walked to breakfast, earning a couple of pats on the back from his peers and more than a few jealous stares from his seniors and he can't help but feel smug about it.

~~~~

It another two decades before one of his boys is set to leave Kaer Morhen to walk the Path.

Lambert, a spitfire of a child who had gotten through the law of surprise through a chance encounter on a supply run for the keep. He remembered how the boy had screamed and struggled the whole journey up to the keep and cussed him and everything witcher related to this day.

There's less of them now, mages and witchers alike being lost to riots and pogroms against their kind and the secrets slowly being lost with them, but even now they keep up with tradition. There are only two other boys who made in Lambert's year, but the boy's poor attitude is enough to deter most of the senior witchers from actually wanting to win this year.

He's well aware of just what a demon Lambert could be, but despite all the vitriol the boy had aimed at him, he was still one of his and he was still intent to win. The other witchers may as well have handed him the title but he's not going to complain.

As always that first night he invites the two other boys to his chambers and has them leave relaxed and well sated. He knew Lambert would be more of a challenge, the youth well aware of the tradition but would likely try to do anything possible to get out of it thinking there was some sort of shame to be fucked, but that's not how he wants tonight to go.

Instead, he makes Lambert an offer, a fight in the courtyard for all to see. If Lambert won, then he would leave him to his devices to brag about being the only witcher in several centuries, to not be fucked by an elder, if he lost then he would be fucked as was the tradition. The boy eagerly agreed to it.

In the ring the only rule was no use of their signs, all other bets were off and at the shout of Varin, it began.

Lambert was quick to start the assault, swinging and striking his sword to force him back onto the defense as he tried to parry and block. The boy was good and he was fast, on one block of an overhead swing he could feel his hand shake at the impact, but Lambert's greatest strength was also his weakest. His emotion.

It's true the trials stripped their emotions to the bare bone but they still had moments of joy or despair in their lives, and in Lambert's case fury. He goes somewhat easy on the boy so as not to wound his pride too much, letting him keep attacking in an attempt to exploit the moment he faulted, a moment that wouldn't come. Once Lambert had his eyes set on something it was his sole focus, so on one swing when Lambert had exposed his flank he struck again and again until with one kick knocked the sword out of Lambert's hand.

Lambert of course didn't give up, he didn't want to hurt the boy of course but he still gave the odd swing he knew Lambert would be able to dodge before he threw his sword to the side in order to have a fairer fight. Entertainment over he didn't let this last long, letting out the occasional grunt when Lambert got a hit in at his side but it could have only been a couple of minutes before he had Lambert pinned below him, face in the dirt and cussing something fierce.

Through it all he gave Lambert a choice to be fucked then and there in front of everybody or to behave where they could do so behind closed doors, the boy chose the latter.

He kept a firm hand on the back of the boy's neck, as if it were a collar and chain, as they walked to his room, Lambert having long fallen silent.

When they're in the room he doesn't remove his hand as he ordered the boy to strip, and it's with minimal mumbling he does so. He pulled Lambert onto the bed and similar to what he did with Geralt held his head down on the mattress with his ass up although Lambert didn't fight nearly as much.

There moments he would push and tug just so as if testing the limits of his hold but each time he would just lay across Lambert's back, a heavy weight he couldn't move against before he stopped and allowed him to continue. He was quick but thorough in his prep, stretching the boy on the three fingers before he's pressing the head of his cock into Lambert's heat which only got tighter as he tensed at the intrusion.

He pushed forward slowly, little thrusts Lambert could get used to as he gradually eased his way in until he was fully seated. There was a tension in the boy that would probably be there most of the night, but Lambert was silent as he began to move, letting out one or two grunts when he picked up his pace and a curse when he first hit his prostate but otherwise Lambert let him work.

It was when he put a hand on Lambert's cock and stroked in time with his thrusts that had the boy coming around him, barely able to hold off his own release as he felt Lambert clench almost unbearably tight around him, but with a few deep breaths he staved off the edge and carefully pulled out.

Lambert had relaxed a little after that and so it was easier to put him on his back, the boy too dazed to realize what was going on until he had one wrist tied up to the bedpost and a leg about to be tied up as well. He tried to resist then, of course, he would, but a firm hand around his neck and a growl from deep in his throat had the boy settle down with a huff and allowed him to tie up the rest of his limbs.

It's likely Lambert thinks he intends to torture him at this point, and he does but not in the way he expects, not in the way some of the other senior witchers have threatened to do when Lambert caused nothing but chaos and havoc.

No, instead he settled himself between the boy's spread legs and pressed two fingers into his hole and simply held them there, didn't move them or touch Lambert's prostate, just waited until Lambert began to squirm against the covers, bein to try and get some sort of stimulation, a frown on his face.

"The fuck are you doing old man" In retaliation to the comment with his free hand he slapped Lambert's half hard cock, smirking as he watched it twitch at the treatment even as Lambert cried out in a mix of shock and pain.

"What the fuck" This time he flicked the head of Lambert cock and watched as Lambert hissed and let out a drawn out swear

"Watch yourself with me boy, if you want to come then you have to beg" Lambert took that as a challenge and seemed intent to keep his mouth shut and body still, but he wasn't about to give the boy an easy pass.

He slapped the boy's cock again and watched as it grew harder beneath him and slapped it again, the only other reaction from Lambert being a sharp inhale, but otherwise nothing. He changed tactic then, and instead began to tug at one of the boy's nipples whilst he lowered his head to suck the tip of his dick into his mouth, and he managed to break through that wall just a little when Lambert gave a small moan.

He kept up his ministrations until Lambert was almost sweating below him, lip between his teeth to try and keep his nonchalance whilst he slowly worked him over with deft fingers and broad strokes of his tongue. It was now probably an hour after they'd entered the room and he felt Lambert was close, felt his balls tighten and his breath quicken but he was quick to wrap strong fingers around the base of his dick to stop him from reaching his peak.

"I said beg, Lambert"

Still, the boy remained silent and so he kept up his slow torture until he knew Lambert was just on the edge before he pulled away completely, impressed when Lambert only let a small whine escape him at the loss. He waited a minute or so until the boy looked at him again and making his movements obvious started his task again of working over his body, from biting at his nipples until they were red to pressing the nail of his thumb against the leaking slit of the boy's dick.

As before, he continued his efforts until Lambert was teetering on the edge, a couple of strokes of his fist would be enough to get him to come, and again he commanded him to beg, and again he refused instead pushing him to the very edge before pulling him back from it just as abruptly.

He worked over the boy for hours, whether that was mouthing at the head of his dick or pressing half his hand into the boy's hole until he couldn't contain himself anymore, moans and cries leaving his mouth unbidden, but still, he didn't beg.

Eventually, he added a blindfold and then started to tease Lambert with the cool metal of his knife against his hot skin, dragging the point of the weapon down his body, teasing at his balls before dragging up his cock until all Lambert could do was shudder and gasp at the feel of it. He edged the boy for hours and it was a little after midnight when with a voice hoarse from shouting, Lambert finally begged.

"Vesemir, please..."

"Please what" He brushed the tips of the four fingers he had in the boy's hole against his prostate and felt him shudder as his body became more and more overwhelmed the longer he went without release.

"Fucking shit, let me come"

"You can ask nicer than that"

"You old bastard" He had to suppress the urge to roll his eyes, of course even now desperate and on the edge, Lambert would still be cussing him out "Please let me come, please-"

"That's good, I was wondering how long you'd last" He chuckled as he pulled his fingers out of Lambert's hole and once again slicked his cock before pressing in, Lambert's face stuck somewhere between a scowl and bliss when he was finally pressed all the way in "See, there's no shame in asking for help"

Now Lambert just scoffed even as he tried to move his hips and get him to move despite their limited movement "Course you'd turn this into another fucking lesson"

"You'd be wise to remember it" He didn't wait for an answer then and began fucking the boy in earnest, his own pleasure had simmered under the surface for hours as he edged Lambert over and over and now that they were at the finish line they were both racing to get there.

In the end, he didn't even need to touch Lambert's cock, just fucked into him with abandon, forgetting himself for a moment and just enjoying the feeling of Lambert squeezing his cock tight as if he was trying to torture him now. Maybe he was, not that it mattered as just as soon as he began fucking the boy, Lambert began to pull at his bindings, head thrashing from side to side before coming over himself with a cry to wake the dead.

The sight of the boy's release and the tight, wet heat of his hole that began to clench around him quickly sent him over as well, riding out the aftershocks of perhaps one of the most intense orgasms of his life, not that he'd ever say that, he didn't want Lambert to hold that information over his head.

Breathing heavily he carefully pulled out and watched as his come began to leak out of Lambert's swollen rim, he went to push the small trickle of come back into his hole but at the sharp hiss and plea for no more from Lambert he stopped and instead began to untie from his bed.

Even now that he was free Lambert just lay there spread eagle and eyes dropping, which was fine by him as it made rubbing salve over the boy's wrists and ankles easier and he got no complaint when he made Lambert take a drink of water.

He was surprised when Lambert made no move to leave, his first thought would have had Lambert all but running from the room in an act to pretend this never happened. Instead, he just moved to one side of the bed to make space for him and turned away to face the wall.

He knew the boy was struggling, it was tough to be that vulnerable with someone, especially for the first time and even more so considering it was Lambert and so he just guided Lambert towards the middle of the bed and between his legs. The fact that he didn't even put up a struggle told volumes that he needed something to ground himself with and so he offered his softened dick to put in the boy's mouth.

There was about a second of hesitation before Lambert took him in his mouth and went to lay his head against his hip. Slowly he felt the boy relax against him and slowly fall to sleep and he couldn't help but card his hand through dark hair before he too fell asleep, sure that despite taking comfort now, come morning Lambert would be gone, but if that's what the boy needed he wouldn't stop him.

~~~

It's 70 years later and it's only him and his pups left. All the other long dead leaving the walls of Kaer Morhen haunted and quiet.

His boys have made their own way on the Path, made friends and allies and enemies and sought their own comfort amongst others, yet every winter they returned with heads bowed low and shoulders weary, and in their own time, they would come to him, let him look after them if only for a moment.

They were his wolves and he would die before letting anything happen to them.

#can you tell I love eskel a normal amount #I just want my boys happy okay #afterhours cw dub con #afterhours cw overstimulation #afterhours cw edging

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lizzybeth1986 · 5 years

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Quick Thoughts on TRFTP Book 1 Chapter 16

• Remember how I dubbed the book The Royal Fast-Track Pregnancy last chapter? Well, yeah. That’s my title for this book from now on.

• If you don’t want to see these posts on your dash, here are the tags to block: #trh quick thoughts, #trh qts, #trh qt reblogs, #long post.

• We’re now in the MC’s third trimester, celebrating her baby shower. Her in-laws show up, she gets gifts, she barely notices that her corgis have had puppies (but why am I surprised, this is the same MC who didn’t care enough about her corgi in Book 2 to notice he was with Liam to help with his proposal). And a couple of nosy royals come to visit.

• Over here in India, we do this ceremony around the 7th month, and it’s called different names in different places but with similar traditions and setups. Up North it’s called godhbharai (which literally means “filling the lap” - since the mother’s lap features prominently here as a symbol of maternal care, therefore the gifts are placed on a cloth over her lap - symbolizing her fulfillment once she reaches motherhood and the blessings she takes with her), and mostly fruits and sweets are placed on her lap as a blessing for prosperity and luck. You have games…but the mother isn’t exactly expected to participate in them - she’s the guest of honour, she sits and enjoys!

• She definitely isn’t there to submit to such a thorough interrogation of her political choices either!!

• The rest of the world treats a baby shower like a time for the mother-to-be to relax and be pampered within an inch of her life. Cordonia treats it as an opportunity for her to beat non-pregnant people at their version of egg-and-spoon and pass personality tests.

• Screenshots:

Hana: The Universal Studio 77 YouTube channel

Maxwell: The rash rec YouTube channel

Drake: @thefirstcourtesan and The BizzysChoices YouTube channel

• Title: Great Expectations

Alternative Title: The State of My Bladder Is of Far More Importance Than Any of This Nonsense.

• Believe me, during your final months of pregnancy your bladder will be virtually non-existant (which is why you’re recommended kegel exercises early on). In medical terms they call this “urinary incontinence”, which is due to those muscles facing way more pressure than usual). At one point I recall joking about how we should add “The Bathroom” at the top of my home address, coz I was almost taking up permanent residence there 😐 I wouldn’t be worrying about politics and intrigue at a time like this, I’d be worrying about my kegels!

• Kiki doesn’t get a lot of opportunities to flex her diplomatic muscles in this story, but when she does, gosh does she deliver. Following her advice this time is what allows us to buy time for ourselves.

• Unfortunately that’s all the space PB will allow Kiara, we’re now back to our regular schedule of treating her like she doesn’t matter.

• Either Maxwell or Hana (in Maxwell’s playthrough) will lead us to the boutique to pick out an outfit.

• On a level of having more gold (therefore bling) than peach, that diamond option already wins. At least in the silhouette I can pretend the peach parts of this dress don’t exist. (I still wound up using the free peach outfit for my failplay of this chapter though)

• Me before meeting Hana: pls don’t make her wear that awful lbd again pls pls pls i beg

Me seeing Hana wear the silver one: …okay that’s not too bad. I’m just going to keep headcanoning this one as a gown though.

• Liam wears his official black tie outfit, Hana wears her silver dress, Maxwell wears his black suit and Drake his deep blue one.

• In everyone else’s playthrough besides Hana’s, she is the one in charge of this “planning committee”. Penelope is in charge of…throwing confetti, which annoys Olivia to end.

• Marguerite from THM steps forward with her good wishes, and asks us about the sex of the child - at which point the narrative lets us know that it’s tradition in Cordonia to not know until the delivery. Which makes sense, since we’ll probably be allowed to customize this in a different book? And in some countries (like mine, where it’s illegal to find out before delivery) there are really, really good reasons to not give anyone - especially the family - that information.

• We meet the rest of the royals: Eirik is as self-centered as he always was (either that or Khaan really desperately needs to make sure no one knows he’s that VR game developer from San Francisco who ran away from Eros), Lerato and Lesidi are cupcakes as always, and the Three Big Royals are shady as always.

• The good thing about the scene where Isabella tries to touch your belly is that it is established as out of line straightaway. You win or lose no points however you react, and while you’re expected to be diplomatic and impress them - the narrative is clear on how wrong Isabella is on doing this. And even if you don’t show a reaction, your LI most certainly will.

• PB is trying to convince me that Amalas has a better sense of boundaries, as if she didn’t stalk me in Texas and squeeze out every possible detail about my past life like an orange in a juicer. She only seems better because the Auvernese have all the subtlety of a sledgehammer.

• Most of the LIs have lost a parent, but have a sibling (except for Hana, who is an only child with both parents living. Liam has lost both his parents, but has a stepmother in Regina so she fulfills that role here) - which means that in every case besides Hana’s, we see one parent and one sibling who has become a parent (optional, in Leo’s case).

- Liam: Regina and Leo (YOU EXIST! I WAS ALMOST CERTAIN PB FORGOT YOU WERE THERE). The two lightheartedly tease each other, which is phenomenal progress considering they were at each other’s throats in RoE! Leo comes to wish the MC in all playthroughs.

- Hana: Lorelai and Xinghai. Hana has sent them an invitation but wasn’t sure they’d make it, and depending on whether she is married or not their response varies. In the friendly playthrough, they respond positively but the focus is still very much on seeing the MC. In the romantic playthrough, however, Hana is allowed to show her nervousness and slight fear (how generous, PB!), reaches out to the MC for support, and the parents are tentative in their approach, with Xinghai even assuring Hana that they will cut short their stay if she wants them to. To which she confirms that she does indeed want them here. The two come to wish the MC in all playthroughs, as Leo does.

- Maxwell: Bartie Sr and Bertrand. Bartie Sr tops even King Eirik for self-centeredness (“make way for House Beaumont!”) and is…just plain weird in the way he greets the MC and his younger son (even Maxwell notices this, commenting that ol’ Bartie is “laying it on a little thick”). Bertrand is the more normal, sorted one, which is a sentence I thought I’d never say in this series. The team was pretty smart in how they scattered BertVannah between two LIs - Drake gets a visit from his sister, Maxwell gets a visit from his brother. Neither Bartie Sr nor Bertrand make an appearance in any other playthroughs which is just as well coz I saw PLENTY Bertrand for 7 whole chapters.

- Drake: Bianca and Savannah. Bianca asks the MC if Drake has been “pulling his weight around the house” while the MC has been “worrying about that baby” - nice to know she expects the same of her son as she did for her son-in-law (or perhaps a little less than what she expects of her son-in-law, considering Bertrand had to get back an entire saddle from the person she sold it to just so he could win her favour, after she allowed her sister to treat him like crap for his entire stay at her home). Savannah mercifully doesn’t get a lot of dialogue and merely compliments our glow. Savannah only appears in this playthrough, while her husband Bertrand only appears in Maxwell’s. Which is a good thing. I’ve had enough of that couple to last me a lifetime (sorry Bertrand). You see both Bianca and Savannah only in this playthrough, and I’m EXTREMELY relieved we don’t see Leona.

• It must be clear to anyone who has read all the playthroughs by now - only Leo, Lorelai and Xinghai make appearances across playthroughs, which could either be because they haven’t been shown at all in the books until now, or possibly because they may feature in Lythikos.

• Okay it’s egg and spoon time but with apples. This is Cordonia. It wouldn’t be anything but apples.

•

When you’re a new mom the last thing on your mind is grace and poise ok. Put really really simply and not in too much detail…your brain will feel more scrambled than scrambled eggs esp in the initial weeks, coz half the time you’re trying to make sense of your kid’s sleep schedule and the other half is your body just….feeling WEIRD (hormonal shifts, postpartum bleeding, and generally the overall effects of childbirth - whether it is vaginally or via C-section, both of which come with their own set of challenges). Your own sleep schedule is going to be all over the place and even after the kid starts sleeping all through the night, sometimes your brain has already been wired to wake you up at 2 AM or something. Your back is gonna hurt like a bitch. Your hair will become a hornet’s nest within the first two weeks coz what even is combing (okay, okay, that was probably just me 😅😅). And this is just when things go normally, okay.

You don’t need grace and poise to take care of a kid at this stage - you need stamina and a strong support system. Cordonia (I mean YOU, TRH team) you really need to talk to more pregnant people 🤦🏽‍♀

(on a more serious note…this is why I feel there needs to be more dialogue on parenthood. What it’s truly like and how it really feels, without the kind of fear that holds especially new parents back from admitting to their feelings about it. New parenthood with all its mess and stresses, its frustrations and confusions. No matter how prepared you are, no matter how much reading up you’ve done, there will always be something about that experience that will knock you sideways. I’ve learned that the less shame there is around admitting that parenthood can be messy, can be trial-and-error rather than perfectly executed every single time, can be imperfect, the better it is for everyone. And maybe this is a lesson that parents in some places have had the space to learn already - and that’s amazing - but there are a whole bunch of places where that’s not the case. And there is so much pressure to make it sound better, to convince people this is an easy happy journey even when it isn’t, or to believe that your well-being isn’t as important as that of your child, that many new parents don’t speak up…believing they’re the only ones who feel this way).

But I digress. I do know that “grace and poise” is expected of pregnant royals and even pregnant celebs. I do know that often they’re expected to step out looking picture perfect after having to battle lack of sleep and insane hormonal changes. They’re expected to have “fit bodies” just months after they’ve delivered. This happens in the real world. And the more we talk about it? The more we can help parents, esp new parents who might struggle more to articulate this experience.

• So…where was I? Oh right, grace and poise. In a race involving a spoon and an apple. A spoon and an apple. Excuse me while I facepalm🤦🏽‍♀

• My bladder would never survive this race in a real-life pregnancy situation, I just know it.

• Self-centered or not, at least Khaan-in-disguise points out the obvious: that everyone else has a physical edge over us. But Leo assures him that speed doesn’t help you in this game (does that make me the tortoise among a bunch of hares if I win? 🐰 🐰 🐢 🐰 🐰)

• Scarlett-Emerson-in-disguise is an angel coz she’s the only person apologizing for bumping into my bump.

• Now…if you bought the diamond scene where we drank wine with Isabella, you’d get intel about Bradfraud that could throw him off in the race:

Now…I really like this bit, okay. I like how thrown off he is that we know his secret. But I’m not entirely sure how wise of a decision it is to let him know so soon that we know, or whether it will bite us in the ass eventually. Could we have maybe waited for a better opportunity? Idk.

Anyway, so that definitely works. But IMO in a petty, inconsequential way that means little in the long run (or could be dangerous too idk). This is intel we could have saved for a better time.

• This is why it makes more sense for the MC to be told what Olivia (and possibly Liam) is investigating. Or at least for her to actually keep asking until one of them caves in and tells her. If she’d known about an Operation Swan maybe she wouldn’t openly goad him so easily (or maybe she would. It’s the MC after all).

• There’s a funny sequence in this where everyone falls on each other like ninepins. And another one where Olivia gets impatient and just throws her apple over to the finishing line, asking Kiara if she won and Kiki is like “non. You’re extremely disqualified.” Oh Kiki. Never change 😂

• ….exactly how large are these spoons. It’s an apple. That would cross over from spoon territory to ladle!

• Once the race is over, we’re back to our tables for lunch. The MC’s bump almost knocking a plate over sparks a conversation among the mothers in the table about their baby bumps, and then about labour. Lorelai in particular speaks about her delivery being ��more…grueling than what I expected” but quickly assuring the now-nervous MC that once the child is placed in your arms it will all be worth it. That description could cover a whole range of experiences…from mildly stressful to extremely terrifying. I always hope it’s the former.

(I have another question though: so if Lorelai was so ecstatic over Hana’s birth, where and how during/after this euphoric period did Hana’s parents suddenly begin to feel “devastated” over not having a son then? Coz I distinctly recall Hana speaking about that in Book 1. Or is this another retcon?)

In any case…it’s nice to hear that at least for Hana’s sake.

• If you’re married to one of the guys, then it’s Hana who put together the tiny hors d'ouvres (“personally tested all the options for deliciousness and visual appeal!”). If you’re married to Hana, Madeleine is in charge of this part of the baby shower (“spent a week focus group taste-testing the sides for both aesthetic and delectability”). In any case, it’s all tiny food that’s too cute to eat.

•

…isn’t this the guy who constantly complained about tiny portions? Why wasn’t he just taking extra helpings then? (though he also still complains about food from another country looking like “abstract art”. First Hana’s meal in China, now this. No one cares for your uninformed, unwanted opinion on their cultural dishes, Drake. Good thing Maxwell shut that nonsense down immediately)

• Isabella and Bradshaw’s communications with us have always used strength, might, power as a central factor in their dealings with us. Amalas’ approach is no less insistent, but in a different direction. Culture, cuisine, these are the things that seem to stand out to me atm. If the Auvernese mindset reminds me somewhat of Lythikos and Olivia, the Monterisso one looks like it could bring to mind Castelserraillian, Kiara and her family, and Liam + Hana who are more inclined to explore art and culture.

• Everyone’s kid likes grapes, apparently.

• The dish Amalas presented for the guessing game is what they call a “Sweet Potato Surprise”, but you gotta admit the ‘mango’ option is the most entertaining 😆 (with the carrot option, she claims that she mentioned a root vegetable, which would be close enough)

• A pair of cute corgi puppies make their way to our table, and depending on whether you bought both adult corgis or not, the puppies are either theirs, or strays. Like…why are you paywalling the CHILDREN of two dogs if we actually bought the dogs. I could actually justify this level of greed if it were backed up by an equal amount of effort in the book overall, but it isn’t.

• Anyway, they only feature together, so you have to decide on two names that will fit in one space. It kind of reminds me of how they’ve drawn Merlin and Morgana - in one sprite. I’m guessing at some point there will be an option to allow Penelope to clothe them as well.

• Like most of the fandom has already said by now, Bastien and Mara can’t even be trusted with a pair of pups.

• If you don’t buy the pups, Penelope offers to have one of her friends “in the canine couture world” to adopt them.

• Here’s the parenting advice from all the in-laws!

Liam: Regina speaks of the importance of regulating sweet intake closer to bedtime which is true because a child on a sugar rush will transform into the Energizer Bunny and go on forever. Like, this is very much how a child on a sugar rush reacts to the notion of sleep:

Hana: This one seems to highlight Hana’s competitive nature, perfectionism and ambition, and I guess there could be a lesson there in that you need to give yourself time to grow into things you want to do, and that means allowing yourself the space to topple over or struggle once in a while, the space to make mistakes. But I doubt it because weren’t these the same people who deemed her a failure for things that were beyond her control??

Maxwell: Maxwell is sorta kinda called out in this one, both for being “peaceful looking” and for wrecking havoc with those House documents lol. I’m guessing Bartie Sr is here in our baby shower mostly to look suspicious. What exactly was in those House Documents, ol’ Bart?

Drake: Bianca gives us some age-old advice about sleeping while the baby sleeps, which is something my mother and aunt (who looked after me post-childbirth) swore by. They would insist I spent whatever time kiddo was sleeping to be when I got my shut-eye too, because if you don’t take that and pull an all-nighter feeding the child, it’s going to be near-impossible to function. But you really, really need to have lots of support around you during such times because that kind of schedule leaves you little to no time to do much else besides occasional eating, small routines and light exercise (thankfully the MC has staff and a strong support system who can help her). In this case Bianca quips that Savannah was the easy one, and Drake the really fussy one. Drake isn’t quite convinced (who are you kidding Drake you’re still fussy).

• You get two extra pieces of parenting advice from the rulers, pretty characteristic (at least in Auvernal’s case since we’re more familiar with their culture) of where they come from. Amalas’ is “know your baby’s moods, and you can spot a tantrum before it happens”. The Auvernese “pearls of wisdom” say “to show weakness is to admit defeat” - Jesus, these guys have lost already, then.

• Olivia now has plans for a dart playing game - where she plans to use her daggers instead. You can either refuse to join, or enthusiastically participate. The LI warns you to be careful in the second option.

• If you join in: Isabella and Amalas hit near-center, both claiming different things in the face of their defeat (Isabella claims Olivia’s dagger to be a “terribly balanced weapon”) and Amalas tries to throw Olivia off by claiming her “aim was off”. Both of them are clearly thrown off by the unfamiliar weapon. At this point Olivia counts on the MC to “show them what Cordonians are made of”. If you succeed, you get a glimpse of your LI going all John Mulaney on the foreign royals (“that’s my wife!”)

• If you don’t join in: the LI and the MC’s friends form a protective circle around her, and Olivia chooses to stick to the usual darts. Isabella and Amalas are both in their element, with tools they’re familiar with using on a dart board. Isabella’s is still just near the target, Olivia’s is even closer, and Amalas’ is the closest - almost knocking off Olivia’s dart.

• Either way, we’ve effectively pissed off Isabella who angrily asks for “best of two?” 🤭

• Time for presents!

• Uh oh. The rattle comes from Auvernal. And it’s the same rattle as the one on the book cover. Soooooo…what does that hint at? Will our hand be forced, somehow? And will we eventually have to make a secret pact with Monterisso to get out of it, since the narrative is really really trying to push Amalas as the better option? (maybe not, but it’s fun to theorize).

• I don’t trust Amalas but they clearly gave her the nicer gift (at least, a nicer explanation for her gift). It’s a blossom “from the oldest apple tree in Monterisso, a tree that Cordonia helped my people plant long ago”. She hints at a closeness that the countries shared way back and offers the gift as a way of asking if that could happen again. The story kind of reminds me of the Regatta one Liam told us in Book 1, where Cordonia helped its neighbours at sea with supplies, during a time when they were ravaged by storms.

• Eirik gives you a bust of his own head, Lerato and Lesidi give you glass bottles and Marguerite gives us money, which puzzles the LIs. (though culturally I’ve been accustomed to cash being given as gifts or even in blessing, esp by elders, and I know at least one or two other cultures where cash can be the norm for gifts too). Kiara confiscated Olivia’s gift which she argues would help with self-defence 🤭 which happens to be one of my favourite moments in this chapter, and reminds me of this post an artist made of the MC’s baby shower long back. Idk why everyone sleeps on Kiara’s sheer entertainment value coz that girl possesses it in droves.

•

From our in-laws, we get a gift for the nursery - a cot mobile to place above the baby’s crib. These things are incredibly useful in the initial few months of a baby’s life when their visual development, eye-hand coordination and control over head and neck muscles are just about beginning. (and it’s cute and fun. What’s not to like). Unfortunately…unlike the nursery itself and the crib, you don’t get a free option for the cot mobile. You get a royal and rustic option + plus a neutral one with stars that I liked, but you have to pay even for that lovely neutral one. I’m guessing that the first two things from our nursery were “essentials” and whatever else we get now will be considered additional perks, thus paywalling even the options that don’t fit into your “royal or rustic” theme.

Each of the in-laws refer to a local/Cordonian craftswoman who made cot mobiles for the LIs. Leo gleefully tells us that Liam’s had “sparkles for days”, Bianca teasingly acts secretive about Drake’s. Hana never even knew she had a mobile coz she hasn’t seen a lot of baby photos of herself (I’m not sure what it’s meant to be an indication of yet, but I’m taking note of it). The one that really puzzles me is Maxwell’s. The writers don’t bother telling us what Maxwell’s is and instead make the bizarre choice to tell us what Bertrand’s cot mobile was instead. Why…the hell…would a Maxwell stan be interested in THAT. The writers don’t even specify if it was a hand-me-down (why was a family that rich and titled giving their younger one hand-me-downs) - nope, somehow it was a better choice to let us know that Bertrand’s was “silver grapefruit spoons”.

They should have done this for Drake also then, no? Talk about Savannah’s mobile instead of his? But noooo, Drake is too important, right. So let’s have his mother act all coy about his but make sure the sequence still centered around him.

At this point the writers should just nip this entire series in the bud if they’re not going even to bother writing equally good romances for all the LIs. One decently-done romance route doesn’t a good romance book make.

• In the middle of all this, the LI calls the MC into the hedge maze, presenting her with their own gift - a deep blue baby blanket with gold embroidery. How very Cordonia of them xD

• It’s a cute free LI moment where they show you how much they appreciate you, even in the midst of all this chaos and pandering of nosy royals.

• Once we’re back, it’s time to see if we passed our little diplomacy exam with these guys. Depending on the points you have with them, they will either back down convinced that even a normal alliance would work with Cordonia, or they will pressurize you further.

• Interestingly enough in the failplay, Amalas’ responses seem to imply that she would have more open to the idea of simply an alliance with the rulers sans marriage, but you can’t tell yet whether this is the writers trying to indicate to us that she is the choice, or whether she just isn’t being as ham-fisted as the Auvernese are. They lack subtlety, she’s more persuasive, but is she still someone you can trust? Since we’ve only seen her like twice before this sequence, I can’t quite tell yet.

• Kdjhshshsjssj @ Liam confiscating Maxwell’s armory access pass.

• The sales of “that book about us that has Maxwell’s face on it” are fantastic, and the publishers want Maxwell to do a book tour, the first signing of which is in Lythikos.

• We’re in Lythikos…for a book tour. Not even because Olivia found some information there or whatever (though I’m sure that will come up at some point next chapter), we’re there for a book tour that could have been done ANYWHERE.

• Places we could be having this book signing:

- Ramsford: Yknow, the author’s birthplace which we haven’t bothered visiting since our first Beaumont Bash in Book 1.

- Castelserraillian: Yknow, like the seat of art and culture and literature in Cordonia?? If there is one place in all of Cordonia I could easily picture as a literary hub it would be this one.

- No Valtoria coz we’ve seen plenty of it.

- Applewood: Yknow, that place that has many farmers, lots of commoners, who doubtless would have read this story of a commoner woman who climbed the ranks into royalty and glory. Applewood even has a public library that Queen Eleanor and her son regularly supported and visited. I’m sure many of the commoners in Applewood would have found that story even a little inspiring.

- Hana’s mysterious Cordonian homeplace: Just because the team is whack and we deserved better. They could have really made an effort to show her other home somewhere, yknow, considering they did such an awful job of Shanghai the last time.

• At this point we’ve seen Lythikos more than we have seen any other estate in this story. Sure, we can all spout out all sorts of excuses for why - plot, intrigue, Olivia’s character development (work on your own female LI first, PB!), but it all comes back to the same point: that the team is more willing to rob Hana of her rightful space and place it on Olivia’s lap. Setting this in Lythikos is re about the fact that, now that Drake has had more than his fair share of space, it’s Olivia’s turn to fulfill the role of secondary character but be treated like a main (all while Hana is thrown in as their token female LI + default POC LI, but treated with far less respect from her writers than even a secondary character).

• Overall, this is meant to be a light chapter - which most Chapter 16s (except for Book 2) are. Chapter 16 tends to be sandwiched between intense sequences, and is often seen as the point where the group and the LIs and MC can have fun but relax from court intrigue as well. It was the Beaumont Bash in Book 1, Vegas in Book 3, now a baby shower in TRH Book 1.

• Hana meeting her parents again (especially on her own playthrough), was nice, I guess. A little extra time is spent during the cot mobile scene having her parents acknowledge how they’d failed her, and the narrative shows us glimpses of her nervousness and discomfort while having the parents state that if she would rather they leave, they will respect that. It’s a tiny bit more progress compared to all the times Lorelai was continually repeating her mistakes and thinking they could be fixed each time with a paltry apology. But it’s still not enough.

• For one, we have just 4 chapters left in a book where half the time we were pandering to Drake’s family for chapters on end. We’re 16 chapters too late in addressing this. I have zero faith that things will improve.

For another, Hana getting this type of validation from her parents isn’t something that should be restricted to the playthrough where she is married alone. In both cases she invited them along, so in both cases they should be showing an equal level of caring and tentetiveness.

For a third, the whole angle with her parents seems to have such a disconnect. It’s almost like the writers were trying to prove something but didn’t do enough work to make it all sound coherent. Like you have this somewhat-healing relationship, but even then you have these moments that just don’t seem to make sense within Hana’s narrative, like Lorelai giving you that generic answer about your feelings suddenly becoming positive the moment they place the baby in your arms (which, btw, doesn’t always happen), or Xinghai talking about Hana’s ambition but there’s hardly any indication of how they controlled the directions her ambition would take. Overall they all sound like nice sequences by themselves but very disconnected to Hana’s actual story.

Why Hana hasn’t seen many baby pictures is something I want to see more of. I’m hoping that the fact that we see Lorelai, Xinghai and Leo in all the playthroughs, means they may accompany us on the book tour and perhaps we will get Hana-centric flashbacks and Liam-centric ones too.

• With next week, we’ll have only three chapters left, the intrigue is still in its nascent stages, the pacing is grossly uneven, and most of the LIs still don’t have a clear-cut arc. Some may claim that, well, it’s a series so maybe everyone else will get their “arc” in the next book. Except that if that were the case, Drake’s playthrough shouldn’t have been having the kind of focus on family that it’s been having this entire book. Others may claim that, well, it’s okay coz the story is about the baby and the romance - but they didn’t exactly do any justice to either of those. So what was this whole book about then? Besides Walker worship?

• The holiday special for TRR…is this going to be in Lythikos? Again??? Isn’t it bad enough that I will be going into TRM foolishly hoping to see Castelserraillian to get fair rep but know I’ll be confronted with with the reality of duchies like Lythikos getting a lion’s share of the story??

• That’s it for this chapter, guys. Until Saturday!

#long post #trh quick thoughts #trh qts #the royal heir #king liam #hana lee #maxwell beaumont #trr kiara #olivia nevrakis #drake walker

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ranger-report · 4 years

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Thoughts On: Mortal Shell Open Beta

I want to start this off by stating up front that I am not a fan of Dark Souls in any way, shape, or form. Don't get me wrong, I don't think Dark Souls is bad per se. I actually really like the world the games have built up. I watch videos on the lore, the environments, the bosses, and I find it all thoroughly fascinating, it's just that when I play video games I like to enjoy playing them, and playing Dark Souls is like bashing my head against a wall repeatedly because I'm using my forehead in lieu of a hammer and these goddamn nails just won't go in the wall. Oh, I've tried to get into it; I've put in two separate six-hour runs, along with diving into Bloodborne because I'd heard that game rewards players who are more aggressive vs the measured style of Souls, but no matter what, I just don't have the patience to be punished over and over again by a game that actively hates me. So imagine my surprise when I not only got into Mortal Shell, but actually persisted to play through the entire demo.

Mortal Shell, developed by Cold Symmetry, is a Souls clone and proud of it. Currently, the open beta is available to download via the Epic Game Store. Pre-purchase is up and running for $29.99. The first trailer was released on April 1st of this year, but make no mistake, the game is no joke. Far from it. For those coming in late to the party, Dark Souls's gameplay revolves around slow, methodical combat in which the player has to read enemy patterns in order to know when to strike, parry, dodge, etc. Any enemy in the game can potentially be a bad time, meaning that if the player gets a little too cocky and impatient, a solid run can so south pretty fucking quickly if they're not paying attention to timing. That's literally what the game is: a massive, calculated game of timing, fueled by trial and error. If you die – and you will, frequently – you're sent back to the last checkpoint you camped at or visited or lit up. You'll have one chance to forge your way back to the point where you died, and reclaim all the currency you worked so hard to accumulate, but if you die again before you do, all of it is lost. So essentially we're working with a complex risk and reward system, in which any fight could be your last, any moment could turn ugly, and your character is having the worst fucking day they could imagine.

Mortal Shell takes this formula and puts a bit of a spin on it. Sure, you've got the health bar, the stamina bar – which depletes any time you attack, dodge, or run – the quick items, and the ability to parry and commit heavy attacks if your timing is right. But what it does differently is the character system itself. Most Souls games involve the player creating a character and slowly leveling up as time goes by. You could become a super beast depending on what you choose to invest in. Shell puts you in charge of a Foundling, basically a nameless/faceless lost spirit, who can inhabit the bodies of fallen warriors it comes across. Each warrior – called a Shell – has different attributes which can be leveled up. Some Shells are faster, some are tougher, and each one has their pros and cons to fit your play style. In the beta, we get two, named Harros and Tiel. Harros is a well-rounded fighter, your basic bitch knight class, while Tiel is more of a rogue, which a much higher stamina bar but can be hurt a lot quicker. Regardless of which Shell you choose to inhabit, you're carrying around what has to be one of the most badass swords I've seen in a video game in quite some time. Called the Hallowed Sword, it's two handed and looks like it could ruin pretty much anything if you put your mind to it. It has a secondary attack where it turns into a goddamn spear for massive damage. There's another weapon in the beta, a hammer and chisel, but I somehow missed that in my playthrough. I'm eager to dive back in and find it, but for now we'll focus on the sword. Sweet Jesus, that sword. If a fantasy game had the equivalent of a double-barreled shotgun, it would be the Hallowed Sword.

There's also a catch to hitching a ride in the Shells: if you take too much damage, the Foundling will be knocked out of the Shell, vulnerable and weak. You'll have an opportunity to get back into the Shell, and if you do, it's an instant HP refill and you're back in the fight. Your Shell can die twice, but if you're knocked out of the Shell a second time, it's game over and back to the checkpoint. This is inventive because dying isn't immediately a punishment, and it's also neat because the Foundling can still carry the Hallowed Sword while trying to get back to the Shell. I have a feeling YouTube is going to be full of No Shell Runs in which players go hard as only the Foundling, chopping, parrying, dodging, somehow escaping damage. And make no mistake, the naked Foundling will die in one hit without a Shell. Having a safety net like this automatically makes gameplay more forgiving and also more intense. Say you fuck up and get knocked out of your Shell early on, leaving you with just one more chance to get through to the next checkpoint knowing if you get knocked down again, you're done. That's a rush unlike many I've played in video games. Also the frantic panic of running and dodging as the Foundling, surrounded by enemies, trying to get back to your Shell, desperate to stay alive, is shockingly effective.

However, there's another weapon in the Foundling's arsenal: the ability to Harden. Pressing the left trigger instantly turns the Foundling into a rock solid statue, unable to move, but also unable to take damage for one single hit. Once the hit lands, the Harden goes away and the Foundling starts moving again. What is absolutely wild about this are the potential combat tactics that can arise. Because if the Foundling is moving or attacking when the Harden goes into effect, they will immediately resume what they were doing when the Harden is gone. So say you're going in for a light strike, followed up by a heavy strike, and before you can land the heavy strike the enemy goes into attack animation. You hit the Harden, freezing mid-swing, and the enemy connects – and then your heavy strike animation resumes, smashing into the enemy, staggering them, freeing you up to either dodge away or get in another attack. Some enemies will be staggered just from hitting your Hardened form, so even if you're not mid-swing, you'll have a window of opportunity to get in and sucker punch. But Harden has a cooldown period, so if you use it at the wrong time, you'll have a wait a minute before you can use it again. And come out of it at the wrong time, you could be facing the business end of a bad day.

What initially drew me to Mortal Shell was definitely not the concept of a Souls game, but rather that Cold Symmetry cited old-school first person shooter Quake as one of their influences on the game. By and large this comes across in the aesthetics: browns, grays, armor textures, otherworldly pagan imagery, skulls and bones and dark caverns, it's all over the place, and it's lovely. Grimy industrial atmosphere permeates everything. Enemies range from brutish bandits with swords and pikes, to imp-like creatures that poison you when they strike. And the monster design is a visual chef's kiss, craggy and awful and menacing. My personal favorite is the Pincushion Warrior, which I've dubbed because it looks like a goddamn pincushion. Walking around with an eyeless helmet and multiple fucking swords sticking out of its torso like, well, a meaty pincushion, when it notices you from afar it will pull out one of the swords and throw it you. It'll keep doing so until you get into melee range, at which point it pulls out two swords, one for each hand, and come at you fast and hard. Do enough damage to it and it will attempt a kamikaze maneuver, in which it rips off its fucking head to throw at you and release a poison cloud which does massive damage over time. Seriously one of the most metal things I've seen, and I cursed the fuck out loud when I saw it the first time. But the showstopper, the truly most outstanding beast in the beta, is the Enslaved Grisha, a lumbering monstrosity that looks like a combination between Silent Hill's Pyramid Head and BioShock's Big Daddy. You fight it in an icy cave, and its attacks are so thunderous it will shake loose stalactites from the ceiling which can fall on top of you for damage. It's fast, brutal, mean, and intimidating, and beating it was such a terrific rush that it made me wonder why I've never gotten into this style of game before when it feels this rewarding to win against a tough enemy. Maybe it's because Soulsborne games are vicious and unrelenting in their assault on the player as they slowly attempt to crawl their way through the environment. Here, it seems like there's just enough stacked in the player's graces to save them that it's simultaneously more forgiving and more brutal. With the Harden ability and the different Shells as combat style options, the choices presented to the player are unique enough to offer a deep challenge, but one that players themselves can modify depending on how they want to play.

There's a couple other mechanics that I want to touch on briefly while I'm here: Resolve, and Familiarity. Resolve is essentially a limit break with multiple uses. When you're attacking enemies, you're building Resolve, and can keep track of how much you're gaining via the meter above your health. But while it builds through attacks, it slowly goes away unless you fill a whole bar, and each Shell will have a different number of bars to fill. For example, Harros has four bars, Tiel has only two. Once a bar is filled, you'll be able to use the Resolve in one of two ways. The first is parrying; you can attempt to parry if you don't have resolve, but in my experience it worked better when I had a bar built up. If you've got the Resolve when you parry, you'll do so with greater success, but it'll also open up a window for you to hit the attack button immediately after. Time it right, and you'll do a powerful strike which will regain a large portion of health, which is handy as fuck when you don't have healing items, but also uses up a lot of Resolve. This can hinder you a little bit if you want to use your special strike. Remember how I said the Hallowed Sword has a super strike where it turns into a spear and does a fuckload of damage? Yeah, you need to fill up at least one or two Resolve bars in order to use it. I'm not sure if you need one bar, two bars, or a full load, haven't done as much experimenting with that as I'd like. Some things in the game are still obtuse, relying on trial and error to discover, which brings us around to Familiarity: picking up items in the game world at first gives only a brief guess at what the items will actually do, so you have to use them to figure out what their effect is. This can be positive, or negative, but the more you use said items the more familiar the Foundling becomes with the effect. Each item has a different number of times you need to use it to become completely familiar with it, but once you do, it'll unlock bonus side effects. For example, the weltcap mushrooms restore 40 hit points over the course of 60 seconds (the regen shrooms I mentioned earlier). But use them often enough, and the Foundling will get a bonus effect of being able to dodge once without using any stamina to do so. Meanwhile, using the tarspore mushrooms – which infect poison damage – will eventually make the Foundling immune to poison damage for 120 seconds. For me this is one of the more revolutionary parts of the game, which requires the most amount of trial and error and experimentation. Of course you're not going to want to use the poison mushroom again after it killed you with poison, but if you take it enough, next thing you know you're immune to poison for two minutes? This is wild when confronted with Imps that deal poison damage with each strike they land, or the fucking Pincushion Warriors and their suicide poison bomb. But at the same time, this could be a bit frustrating when the player gets rare items that are hard to come by, which may have huge bonuses, or massively negative effects. I love it, but also kind of hate it, though where Harden and Resolve add complementary aspects to the combat, Familiarity throws in the gamble of figuring out whether a consumable will do you harm, or make your day.

Mortal Shell has already impressed the hell out of me simply by being a Soulsborne game that I can play and not feel vandalized by, but also through sheer innovation and attention to detail. The atmosphere is thick and luscious, the combat is deep and so are the RPG elements, and there's a genuinely terrifying obtuse story being played out. I did have a few issues with my playthrough, notably the two times the game crashed, one of which forced me to force restart my desktop. A few other ragdoll glitches notwithstanding, the beta is a resoundingly solid experience which is promising great things for the full game. Something which, to my unending surprise, I have already pre-purchased based on this demo. May wonders never cease.

#ck burch #rubyranger #thoughts on #mortal shell #cold symmetry #dark souls #bloodborne #quake #soulsborne #soulslike #review #open beta #epic games store #ranger report

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komahinasecretexchange · 5 years

Text

Title: Kicking Roses, Folding Cranes

Author: @zombiekittiez

For: @irl-miu-fuckin-iruma / @miu-has-commoncold

Rating/Warnings: Teen, Language, Suggestiveness, Unhealthy Relationships

Prompt: 1) some cuddles 2) soft kisses 3) anything angsty

Author’s notes: Heyyyy it’s, uh, like really way longer than I meant and is way more 3) 2) 1) but then it was due so like… I hope you like it!

It starts, probably, when they find the pallet of triple-wrapped boxes at the back of the warehouse. It takes some maneuvering to uncover what was so carefully preserved, so the whole class ends up making a day of it. While Nidai leads a veritable army of Minimarus to the challenge, Imposter takes bets on the contents, writing each name and guess and wager in neat, even strokes. Mostly, Hajime thinks, the bets are centered more on wishful thinking than any concrete proof. It is highly improbable that Saionji will find a “fuck ton of gummies” or that Souda will stumble across a “disassembled liquid fuel cryogenic J-2 engine,” but he supposes that they are having fun and that is what counts.

While Nidai and Sonia eagerly attack the plastic sheeting, Hajime becomes aware of Komaeda, standing two steps back and to the right. It’s a habit he’s developed, since waking up, deferential hovering like some lady-in-waiting. It annoys Hajime, who has learned better than to confront Komaeda directly about things like equality. Rather, he takes a perverse sort of pleasure in thwarting Komaeda indirectly whenever possible.

Hajime takes the book from Imposter and makes a show of frowning at the page. “Komaeda,” he calls. He holds the page so closely that Komaeda must lean in, long hair falling in his face, to follow his line zig-zagging down the columns, scarcely any space at all between them. “I don’t see your bet.”

Komaeda laughs softly. “Wouldn’t that be rigging the game?”

“Depends on your guess.” Hajime points out. “There is a certain amount of logic involved in gambling, one reason you’re so good at it.”

“Logical… is that how you see me?” Komaeda asks, bemused. “I suppose I could make an educated guess.”

“Humor me.”

“Something totally impractical, most likely.” Komaeda hums a little to himself, turning to face Haime fully, his back to the unboxing. Souda and Nida work the crowbars at the top of the crate. “So much wrapping means it’s probably easily ruined by wet weather…”

The crate is open. Owari looks inside and gives a loud snort of disgust. Can’t be edible.

“Stationary? No, that’s too general…” Mioda picks up a something small and square and colorful. She gives it a shake.

“Origami paper,” Komaeda says brightly, smacking a fist against his open palm just as Mioda drops the packet, small perfect squares of colorful paper scattering across the floor. Collectively, class 77B groans.

Souda leads the charge, ignoring Komaeda’s protests with “it counts, it totally counts!” so Komaeda leaves weighed down with various odds and ends according to the bet book- konpeito, a seashell in the shape of a dinosaur, a seaweed based health tonic, pictures of a particularly cute dog, an alarm clock that sprays the sleeper with water, a set of mostly unbroken watercolor pencils, a peach cobbler, a tarnished silver pendant in the shape of a rabbit, slightly squashy strawberry chocolates and several hundred sheets of origami paper. Hajime, as instigator, is voluntold to help carry the items back to the first island cottages.

“For your services,” Komaeda announces at the door, dumping the candy and pastries into Hajime’s arms.

“And because you don’t like sweet things.” Hajime sighs. “You don’t have to keep all their junk, you know, Komaeda. We can find some use for the paper. It probably burns well.”

“No,” Komaeda says firmly, and while he generally does what he pleases, he is rarely so confident affirming it. “That would be a waste.” Hajime blinks.

“Oh.” He makes a note to tell the others to leave the remaining paper alone. It’s not like it’s hurting anyone. It’s nice, he decides, for Komaeda to show interest in something. Whatever reality he was living in when dead and buried under layers of code, it left him subdued. Without the fanatical desperation of his looming luck or the drive of despair, he seems a little empty. With his white hair and his pale face and his fading smile, he has become something like Hajime’s personal ghost, only scarcely glimpsed in mirrors or around corners of buildings. Hajime half expects to wake to see Komaeda in his cottage in the middle of the night, looming over the bed. He wonders why that thought is less disturbing than it should be and chalks it up to a Kamukura thing.

Komaeda tends to work salvage shifts in the library with Sonia who reads thirty-two languages, though, she admits, her Hindi is abysmal. He sorts and cleans wonderfully, and, Sonia assures Souda regularly, is a perfect gentleman.

Two days after what Mioda dubbed The Origami Incident of ‘85 for no discernible reason, Sonia distributes tiny metal cards to everyone at breakfast. Each is embossed with a name and a tiny scanner.

“Library cards,” she explains. “The library committee has decided to allow checking out up to three items at a time.”

“You just scan the book’s UPC code like this-” Souda aims his card at a book in Sonia’s arms titled Baphomet and You! Occult Leanings in 19th Century France. The card gives a little beep, a light on the side blinking green. “Blammo! You got two weeks.”

“What happens if you keep them past the due date?” Hajime wonders, holding his card up to the light. When he lowers it again, everyone in the room is staring at him in disgust.

“I know that conditions are different than what we have, in the civilized world,” Sonia says very slowly, as though talking to a child. “But we are not animals, Hinata.”

Hajime rolls his eyes, unable to summon the patience or the interest to defend himself. “Where’s Komada’s?”

“It was his idea, so, of course, he had first choice.” Sonia explains.

Komaeda, sitting at the table by the window, drinks his blackened coffee and flips through a copy of Origami for Beginners.

“Huh.” Hajime puts his card into his pocket and gets up. It’s his turn for dish duty.

Later, Hajime finds the origami penguin in the downstairs lobby, balanced on the bar top across from the arcade machines. The lines are a little uneven so it stands lopsided on one end, like it’s hunched over protectively from the invisible cold. He picks it up and looks it over before setting it gently back into place.

An origami fox sits on the library shelf above the DIY section. Its ears were creased in the wrong direction at first so they curl under a little, giving it a hangdog sort of expression. Hajime picks up a book on water purification systems. He scans the book jacket with his library card until he hears an approving sort of beep. Sonia waves goodbye when he leaves. She is the only one he sees.

When Hajime goes up for lunch, the bar penguin has a friend. The second penguin is a little crisper and neater.

“I haven’t seen Komaeda around much today,” he brings up to Souda over curry rice. He tries to make it seem off-handed.

“It’s probably that thing,” Souda says unhelpfully.

“That thing.” Hajime echoes.

“The paper thing.” Souda gestures with his spoon. “He’s getting pretty good. Those invitation whatevers turned out kind of neat.”

“Invitations.”

“Yeah, how they opened up like flowers? Koizumi put mine back together for me after I couldn’t cause I’m clumsy. I put it on the mirror in my room. Maybe that’s girly, I dunno.”

“Invitation to what, Souda?”

“That origami meet up on Thursdays,” Souda says like it’s obvious. “It was on the invite, man.”

“I didn’t get an invite, Souda,” Hajime explains with what feels like infinite patience.

“Oh.” Souda pauses. Hums. Takes another bite and a swig of banana milk. “Probably he just didn’t want to bother you,” he decides.

After lunch, Hajime pauses on the stairs, seeing movement. Down below, Komaeda folds a half sheet of paper, eyes narrowed in concentration, adding to his Arctic tableau. After a few minutes of careful creasing, a half-sized penguin nestles between the two bigger penguins in a little penguin family.

“Can I try?” Hajime asks and Komaeda startles.

“Ah… yes, of course.” Komaeda hands him a sheet and steps to the side, cradling the How-to book to his chest. He doesn’t offer to show Hajime the diagram and Hajime doesn’t need it. He folds a crisp and perfect penguin without even trying. He hardly ever feels like he’s trying, when it’s not people.

“Here,” he says, handing it to Komaeda, who looks over its flawlessly symmetrical lines with a neutral expression. He walks to the end of the bar top and puts it down, far away from the messy loving penguin family.

“Don’t you think they’d want to stick together?” Hajime asks lamely, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Like… don’t you think he wants to be friends?”

“He’ll be happier over there,” Komaeda says with finality, stepping back to admire his work. If he moved the penguin any further away, it would fall off the counter.

Hajime sighs again. He’s been doing that a lot lately.

On Thursday, Hajime decides to sort through the junk bins in Electric Avenue like he’s been avoiding for the past couple of weeks. It’s better to do this sort of thing alone, he reasons. It is tedious, automatic work, and by the end he has a solid organization system going. He sets a couple of things aside, bundling them into his bag and bringing them back across to the main island via schooner.

The kitchen is dark. The meeting must still be on. Hajime makes himself a sandwich and eats it with his feet in the pool, which Koizumi hates because she’s worried about crumbs. It’s nice, in a childish sort of way.

It’s not like he’s waiting, exactly, he reasons. He just happens to be out here, aimlessly footing around. He plays some Gala-Omega. He plays some Pac-Man. He peeks outside periodically, feeling like a creep. Souda is the first one coming around the bend and that might be his luck working because this is probably the best possible solution.

“Hey, c’mere a second.” Hajime gestures him into the downstairs lobby.

“What’s up, soul friend?” Souda grins at him cheekily.

“Here.” Hajime shoves two bundles at him. Souda pulls open the first.

“Heck yeah, you found me one! I thought if you had your luck you might.” He pokes at the Liox Li-air battery pack with obvious glee. “What’s this other stuff?”

“Komaeda needs it for the prosthetic upgrade.” Hajime clears his throat. “Can you do that?”

“You want me to work on his robo-arm? You wouldn’t let me near it during development, like it was your damn baby. What gives?”

Hajime’s eyes focus off in the distance, toward the bar top. “I’m just… busy right now.”

“Busy.” Souda looks at Hajime, bare footed with the cuffs of his pants rolled up, still a little damp around the bottom. He then looks pointedly at the new row of top scores on their two working arcade machines.

“Really busy,” Hajime insists.

“Hey, man, if this is about-”

“Ultimate Mechanic,” Hajime interrupts. “I bet you want to do all kinds of upgrades.”

Souda shuts up, eyes gleaming at the thought. “What about-”

“Not a rocket launcher. Not with his luck,” Hajime admonishes.

“You never let me have any fun,” Souda gripes, taking the parts and heading back outside.

Hajime takes his perfect penguin back to his cottage. He thinks about crumpling it up, but Komaeda is right. It would be a waste. He puts it on his desk, the single ornament in a plain and boring room for a plain and boring person.

“Yeah,” he says to no one in particular, and he goes to bed. Even after resting, he has a hard time focusing.

“Are…. a-are you doing okay?” Tsumiki asks hesitantly during inventory at the pharmacy. They’re in the back with all the really strong stuff, checking expiration dates and carting what’s salvageable to the hospital dispensary.

“Yes. The Ultimate Pharmacist talent is an easier one,” Hajime assures her, flipping through the steroids. The Prednisone is still properly sealed. He shakes the box a little and then puts it into the usable pile.

“T-that’s not what I meant,” Tsumiki murmurs. There’s a bright green origami rabbit peeking out from her apron pocket. “You haven’t been coming around much, and w-we were worrying-”

“If no one asks me for help, it’s because they don’t need it. If they don’t talk to me, they don’t need to talk to me.” Hajime discards several thoroughly crushed blister packs of allergy medicine. “I’m helping you, aren’t I? Because you asked. If someone asks me, I’ll help them.”

“W-what if Komaeda asks?” Tsumiki asks timidly.

Hajime snorts. “Komaeda is never going to ask me for anything,” he says with finality and after that they work in silence.

Nagito is in the back practicing penguins like usual when Hinata next comes to visit the library. He stays out of sight, but the open door lets him listen in as he presses folds into blue and white paper.

“Your mortal shell lacks vigor,” Tanaka notes from behind the counter where he is helping Sonia remove the unsightly relics of time lost past- his phrasing for wiping the dust jackets free of dirt and pollen. Hinata’s returned the book on electrical system hybridization, so Nagito supposes that the rewiring has gone off well. Lately, Hinata’s productivity has been at a record high. It is abominably conceited for one such as himself to take even the slightest credit for such an endeavor, but he can’t help feeling a little personal pride.

Hasn’t he kept his distance beautifully? Hasn’t he distracted the others and kept them entertained so as to not disturb Hinata’s most important work?

Origami Thursdays are a terrific success, he decides. Perhaps he’ll ask Mioda about a Karaoke Friday or something.

“We have not seen you for breakfast recently,” Sonia tells Hinata worriedly.

“I’ve been getting an early start,” Hinata says.Nagito chances glancing up as he leans over to pick up a fresh sheet of paper off the pile. Hinata has not noticed him, or is ignoring him, perhaps. His eyes are fixed on the high shelf behind the counter. There’s a little fox family there now, too. Three little kits. They are a disgrace. The Papa Fox has to be discreetly propped up using the corner of a children’s book. Hinata should not have to look upon such trash. Nagito’s fingers fairly itch to hide them away.

“Do you like them?” Sonia asks, noticing Hinata’s gaze. “They are so very cute! Komada has been putting them around. We’ve been helping.”

“The ice-visages in the den of inequity are particularly enchanting,” Tanaka agrees.

“I do so love penguins! Though I thought I saw four, earlier. There’s only three now.” Sonia says thoughtfully.

“You must have miscounted,” Hinata shrugs.

On his way to lunch, Nagito checks.

Hinata’s penguin is gone.

Well. That’s fine.

Hinata’s origami was so obviously superior. Ultimate Handicrafts, probably, or something of that nature. To put his creation alongside Nagito’s amateurish mess was an insult. It probably had a much better place to live now. Perhaps he should check.

When Hinata goes for a run by his lonesome after dinner, along the sandy beach, Nagito takes a quick look inside his cabin. It’s not hard to jimmy the lock, with a hairpin and a bit of luck. The penguin sits on Hinata’s desk and Nagito feels a small swell of pride at that too, though undeserved. It was his paper, his past-time, perhaps even his influence. He picks it up and looks it over, admiring its perfect creases. He gives it a tiny kiss on its little beak, feeling a bit foolish and lovelorn and yet… it’s nice. Hinata made it, after all.

He locks the cabin and leaves without disturbing anything. It might be a bit creepy, but then Nagito is perfectly aware of his own glaring faults. Besides, it’s not as though he breaks into Hinata’s cabin often.

Once or twice a week, at most.

Rarely when he’s sleeping.

The thing is, Hajime isn’t without sympathy. This used to be what it was like for him, wasn’t it? Komaeda.People just putting up with you. Of course they like Hajime, of course they do. He saved them. It’s just- he’s kind of creepy, right? And even when someone talks to him, he’s not great at it. No Ultimate Conversationalist skill, ha-ha!

It’s only fair, he reasons. Ultimate Sociologist totally gets it. Pack dynamics. Social identity approach. Secondary Interpersonal attraction. These terms apply to class 77-B, with shared history and loss and recovery. This current hierarchy, with him perched along the top, is different altogether. The Ultimate Despairs are an emergent response group. Temporary bonds formed according to external trauma. And now they are dissolving.

Because Komaeda has memories with them, memories of before, memories with Nanami. All Hajime has is shared Despair.

Hajime is helpful. He knows he’s helpful. He’s a human multitool, for crying out loud. And he keeps them in line, mostly. Keeps them from breaking anything too important. It had been annoying, all the hovering and fluttering but now it’s gone. Respect. Reverence. Not love.

But maybe that’s not good enough. Not when you’re looking for reasons to stay.

It isn’t like he sat down and planned it out, his leaving. It’s just that he looked up during dinner, in the middle of a table, in the midst of conversations that do not invite him in and realizes he is an empty chair. This would be the same either way, and wherever he goes, he will be just as hollow.

“I haven’t seen you smile like that before,” Komaeda says quietly, when he picks up Hajime’s dishes. He’s on clean up duty tonight. Hajime shrugs. It was a smile of relief. Once a problem is identified, it can be corrected.

Physical work always helps his mind clear, so it’s a few days later when Hajime takes a break from ripping the piping out of the walls outside the factory, the sweat running down his face and soaking his shirt. It’s too hot for this, just a little past noon, but he doesn’t want to sit still. Busy, he decides, is better.

He pulls off his shirt and uses it to wipe his face. When he looks up, Komaeda and Saionji have stopped where they were coming down the middle of the path. Komaeda stares.

“What?” Hajime asks, annoyed.

Komaeda turns on his heels and heads to the warehouse.

“Good talk,” Hajime mutters, throwing his shirt to the side of the path.

“He’s probably just really grossed out,” Saionji says, voice syrupy sweet. “You’re pretty disgusting right now, bro.”

“What are you two doing out here anyway?”

“More origami paper,” Saionji grins. “I’m giving private lessons.”

“Gross,” Hajime says with feeling.

“Are you jelly? Lime green jelly?” Saionji crows. “I’m a master of Japanese arts, you know!” She smirks up at him and Hajime just feels exhausted.

“So go get your paper and leave me alone,” he mutters.

“Don’t have to tell me twice!” Saionji sings, disappearing from view.

By the time Hajime finishes converting his irritation into manual labor, he’s got a sky-high pile of copper pipes and two pulled muscles in his back. He hobbles into the warehouse, looking for something to use as a walking stick till he can get to Nidai’s healing hands and sees the open crate, still ridiculously full of paper. On top, haphazardly discarded, is a single paper crane.

Komaeda’s paper crane. He can tell by the way the edges overlap slightly to the right. It must be particularly hard to do, with one robot hand. He imagines Komaeda unfolding and refolding, unfolding and refolding, mouth twisted to one side in concentration, wonders what it would be like to mess that up for him, to touch that expression.

He folds one. Two. Ten. Twenty. Fifty. By the time he gets to one hundred, his breath is even and his back hardly throbs. Speedy recovery and all that. He puts them in an empty box and slides it behind the crate.

When he gets to the dining hall, the chaos is in full swing but he still feels calm and centered. Souda notices him in the doorway after a bit and waves him over to try and make room, but Hajime just grabs an orange juice and waves.

“I need a shower, I’ll eat later.” Komaeda’s eyes follow him out of the doorway.

He can’t remember the last time he was in such a clear thinking mood. Ten days, he decides. Ten times one hundred is one thousand. Ten days is plenty of time. He will prioritize the repairs, focus on the ones that require varied talents, and then he will leave a thousand paper cranes and this island behind.

Nagito is suspicious.

Ever since he’d caught that peculiar smile on Hinata’s face, he’s been suspicious. Nagito is not particularly clever or capable or even useful, but he does have a head for delicate tasks like cleaning or folding origami and he is the resident expert on Hajime Hinata.

Of course the others had noticed and asked and of course he had answered them vaguely, with a reassuring smile but underneath it all, Nagito watched as he always did and waited and thought.

It was so hard to maintain distance, sometimes.

Hinata, sweat slicked and muscles stark as he worked outside in the unforgiving sun.

“Put your tongue back in your fucking mouth,” Saionji had sneered once she’d found him in the warehouse after their run in, hugging his own arms tightly and blinking brightly at the wall, overloading on the memory. She threw a piece of paper at him and he had caught it and folded a perfect white crane. The motions calmed him back to normalcy and he left it on the top of the crate, whimsically.

But he doesn’t like how hard Hinata is working. Like there’s a kind of deadline approaching. He goes for a walk, letting his feet carry him along. With his luck, he’ll figure it out in no time. It takes a day or two to figure out where in the warehouse his luck is telling him to look.

One hundred paper cranes.

“I-I’m glad you’re feeling better,” Tsumiki says happily as Hinata closes the panel of the MRI, the light on the side glowing a sudden reassuring green.

Two hundred paper cranes.

“Ibuki is totally gonna write a song about this!” Mioda crows when the lights flicker on properly backstage at the Titty Typhoon and the fog machine whirs to life.

Three hundred paper cranes.

“I thank you for your dedication,” Imposter murmurs imperiously as Hinata brings the diner oven to a steady, even flame. Imposter has a basket of oysters under one arm, ready to roast. He might be drooling a little.

Four hundred paper cranes.

“Fuckin’ unbelievable,” Kuzuryu blinks when Hinata makes the adjustment and then his bionic eye flares to life. “I feel like a goddamn superhero.”

Komaeda checks nightly and sees the number growing and growing, strung together in long strands. What is it for? What does it mean? Every crane is so perfect and Hinata is working so very hard. He sets up Koizumi’s dark room. He works on the desalination station. The greenhouse. The atmospheric purifier. Communication encryption.

Five hundred, six hundred, seven hundred, eight hundred.

“You look tired,” Nagito says nervously, running into Hinata in the the storage room accidentally-on-purpose. He takes two large steps backward.

“I’ll take a break soon,” Hinata explains, shutting down the back up generator now that it is running smoothly. “Then I’ll sleep for a week.”

“We will take pains not to disturb you, then.” Nagito assures him and Hinata just smiles vaguely in response. Nagito loves Hinata’s smiles. Not that one, though.

Nagito’s luck had fizzled out that morning during dish duty and caused a power outage for two hours, just long enough to collapse the delicate souffles Hanamura had planned for a special dinner treat. He decides that it’s better to keep his distance for now, in case there is more bad luck on the way. Nagito heads to the warehouse, to drag out the crate from under the worktables and to count the paper cranes. It’s wonderfully soothing. He wonders what will happen when Hinata reaches one thousand. Something wonderful, he bets.

In the crate, there are nine hundred perfect paper cranes. Beside the crate is a knapsack. It has dried rations, a portable water purifier, a multi-tool and a stun-gun. Crumpled in the pocket is a draft of a note. To him. To all of them.

By the time you are reading this…

Nagito takes a deep deep breath. His mouth twists up on one side.

What terrible luck.

After Hajime finishes the last of the essential repairs, he decides to head back to his cottage to shower up and to try writing his farewell note again. All the eloquence of the Ultimate Literary Genius, unable to write a short and sweet goodbye. Pathetic. After dinner, he’ll slip over to the warehouse and finish the last hundred cranes. His one small bag is already packed and waiting there. The shower he takes is a long one, and very hot. He enjoys it- it may be the last hot shower he has for a while, the world being what it is out there. He’s still toweling his hair roughly when he walks back into his bedroom and sees it- a single, perfect crane on his bed. White.The same crane he’d first seen in the warehouse, he realizes, picking it up.

Then someone clamps a rag around his nose and mouth from behind and everything goes black.

It is some time later when Hajime wakes up in bed. It is soft and he is comfortable. Someone has tucked him in on all sides, something he can’t remember ever experiencing before, even as a child. He blinks sleepily. Someone is banging on the door. It’s very annoying but he can ignore it, if he likes, so he does. There’s yelling now, too. What is it they’re saying… Fire? Someone is yelling Fire, Fire, how cliche.

He’s nearly asleep again when he recognizes Souda’s voice.

“YO!” Souda screams. “Get the fuck up, Komaeda set the warehouse on fire!”

Hajime blinks. He sits up.

“…Again?”

Nagito whistles tunelessly as he watches the building burn. As an after thought, he pulls the origami penguins from his pocket. One, two, three from the lobby, one from Hinata’s cottage, liberated during what he likes to think of as the Sleepytime Phase. Mioda had been less than amused by that, actually. She’s over with the others, staring at him and the fire and him and the fire as though something will change. It will not. He wanders closer to the building and they shy away. Nagito drops all the penguins into the fire together.

“If you’re going to burn, better to burn together,” Nagito murmurs, smiling.

He’s not crazy. He isn’t.

Probably.

“Wow.” Hajime crosses his arms, watching the Minimarus fighting the flames. It is both adorable and futile. The rest of their classmates huddle in a little group on the other side- as far away from Komeda as they can manage.

“The accelerant was a bit more potent in real life, I’m afraid,” Komaeda smiles cheerfully, two careful steps behind.

“Komaeda?”

“Yes, Hinata?”

“… why did you set the warehouse on fire?”

“You only had a hundred left,” Komaeda says, like it’s obvious. “You had to be stopped.”

“You set the warehouse on fire because of paper cranes?” Hajime wonders sometimes if he’s actually just having some kind of aneurysm and this is all some long, drawn out hallucination sequence.

“No, Hinata,” Komaeda says very slowly and Hajime swallows back the urge to hit him in the mouth. “I set the warehouse on fire because you were leaving.”

Hajime blinks.

“I knew you were up to something when you started working yourself to death. That list,by the way, the one you keep in your desk? Not the order I would have put those tasks in, but I’m sure someone as talented as you had your reasons. When I saw you had already packed your bag last night, I knew I had to act quickly-”

“Wait, when did you-”

“When you were sleeping, obviously,” Komaeda continues, as though this is the least important detail, “But I think you were really quite unfair, you know. I’m not sure what else I could have done. I was trying to be considerate, distract the others to let you have some breathing room, and then you go and do a thing like that. Honestly, I’m disappointed, if that’s as far as your hope can take you.“

“Can we go back like… to step three? Or something? Because…” Hajime trails off.

“The point is that you’re not allowed to leave the islands.” Komaeda shrugs carelessly. “Sorry, but that’s just the way it is.”

“I’m not allowed?”

“Nope.” Komaeda smiles again. “No more cranes, no more leaving.”

“The two aren’t… I mean, I could just… make more paper cranes.” Hajime says, bewildered.

“Most of the origami paper was lost in the fire. Turns out it does burn well! You’re so clever, to have known that. But if you find more or you make more, that’s okay. I’ll just burn those too.” Komaeda’s face settles into a peculiar expression. “But there’s no need for that. Someone as important as you has to be here! I can help. I can stay further back, if you like? Three… no,five steps? I can stop speaking to you directly, if the sound of my voice is too unpleasant to bear. Maybe I could only come out during the night, once everyone is asleep, so no one has to see trash like me? Those are just suggestions, please feel free to direct me how you please-”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Hajime runs a hand down his face in utter exasperation. With his free hand, he grabs Komaeda by the wrist and drags him over to the others.

“Tell them you’re sorry,” Hajime orders.

“I am very sorry you must all co-exist with such a garbage human being,” Komaeda chirps.

“About the fire!”

“Oh. Did you want me to lie, Hinata? That doesn’t seem very nice.” Komaeda temporizes, tilting his head to the side.

“You are such a freak,” Saionji sneers.

“Crazy son-of-a-” Souda clutches at the front of his jumper, gritting his teeth.

“Somebody oughta put you down,” Kuzuryu says darkly and Pekoyama puts one hand on her bamboo sword.

Komaeda nods and nods. “But it was necessary, you know! For hope. And now our hope will stay.” Komaeda turns huge adoring eyes on Hajime. So does everyone else.

“Wait… what is he talking about?” Koizumi asks suspiciously.

“You were gonna leave?!” Owari bellows.

“Where the hell d’you think you’re going, punk? Too good for us now, is that it?” Kuzuryu turns on him and Pekoyama puts her hand back on her bamboo sword.

Hajime holds up a hand. “No. Stop. Look. I thought… and I was… it doesn’t matter. I’m not leaving,” he says. “Anymore,” he adds. They look thoroughly unimpressed. And there’s Komaeda, looking friendly and gentle and sooty and only maybe one tenth as insane as he actually is, but. Also. Didn’t it… wasn’t it… sort of… working?

He isn’t leaving, is he?

“Fuck, I’m tired.” He groans, almost to himself.

“Chloroform does that to people,” Komaeda agrees in a knowing sort of way.

“I need to lay down.” Hajime says after a solid thirty sixty seconds where he just covers his face and breathes heavily. “Now that the fire is contained, I need to lay down.”

Komaeda nods sagely but is then suddenly dragged up and along the path back to the bridge and the first island.

“Hinata?”

Hajime increases the pace. He can feel something building up inside of himself, as inexorably as the ocean. He just needs to get inside. If he can get back to his cabin he can sleep.

“I can see that you’re upset with me. Completely understandable! I’m imposing upon you with my presence. The very air that I breathe is like poison around you. It would be best if I stopped my disgusting voice altogether-”

Hajime grabs Komaeda by the shoulders. “Shut up,” he orders, but the buzzing in his head is so thunderously loud that he can’t be sure the words are coming out at all. Komaeda’s mouth is still moving. Words are still pouring out.

Hajime shuts him up. He puts a hand against Komaeda’s mouth and holds it there. “Stop,” he begs. “Stop holding back. Stop putting me to the side. Stop ignoring me. Stop whatever you’re doing to make them ignore me too, Komaeda… I can’t do this. I can’t take this.” Tears of frustration are escaping but he doesn’t care. They’re still in front of the ranch, haven’t even made it back yet, but Hajime just wants to lie down in the dirt. “Pay attention to me. Be around me. Be normal, okay? Be your normal, be your regular weird fuck self, I-” his voice breaks.

Nagito reaches up with his free hand and pulls Hinata’s hand off his face. He turns it around, till the fingers curl up toward the sky. He looks at Hinata impassively.

Had he always been so weak and soft? A little space and he doubts their love already. Utterly faithless. Utterly disappointing.

Nagito loves that part of him too.

He presses a kiss into Hajime’s fingers. The knuckles. The wrist. Each is a soft and reverent thing.

“You’re tired, aren’t you?” He asks, between kisses. “Poor Hinata. You must be so tired.”

Hinata lets go of Nagito’s wrist and reaches up to scrub angrily at his face. Nagito takes that hand too. They’re standing in the middle of the path where anyone can see them, but if Hinata isn’t going to kick him into the dirt over it, he can’t be bothered to care what the inferior talents will think or feel. It’s Hinata’s decision, so if he chooses to have such appalling foresight as to allow Nagito free reign, well. Nagito won’t be the one to tell him he’s making poor life choices.

Komaeda leads, this time, their fingers laced together, and they go back to Hinata’s cottage. He makes no move to open the door; likely as not, he’d forgotten the keys in his haste. Nagito knows that fires tend to do that to even the best of people. Luckily, he has a hairpin.

“You’re too good at that,” Hinata sniffs warily.

“Thanks!” Nagito grins as he pushes open the door. He locks the door behind them. Hinata shucks his shoes and his shirt on the floor, which is a bit messy, but Hinata has had a rough day, so Nagito will let it slide this time. He tucks Hinata in on all sides and leans against the foot of the bed, head resting on his elbow, watching with a contented smile.

“You’re so goddamn creepy,” Hinata complains, throwing an arm over his eyes to keep from seeing him. “And embarrassing. And awful.” Nagito nods along. “Get off the floor,” he orders.

“The floor is too good for someone like me, but surely you don’t want to leave me unsupervised?” Nagito suggests. Hinata hauls him up by the elbow.

“Get in the fucking bed,” he says, and Nagito does, sliding happily between the sheets. He’s so warm, this steady physical presences that dips the mattress so they lay close together on the tiny bed. Nagito traces the path from Hinata’s shoulder down to his hip.

“You smell wonderful,” Nagito sighs, face buried against Hinata’s shoulder, curled into the shape of his body from the back. He smells a little sweaty from the run, but clean and quick, and still a little like shampoo. He nuzzles the back of Hinata’s neck and Hinata shivers.

“You smell like smoke,” Hinata says flatly. “Take your clothes off.”

Hajime would like to tell himself that he didn’t mean those words to come out that way. That this, like the thing about the origami, like the thing about leaving the island, was just a big mistake. It’s just that when Nagito slides back into bed, warm, soft, completely naked, and starts kissing the back of his neck with those same slow, even, deliberate kisses, he doesn’t want him to stop.

Komaeda’s hair still smells like smoke.

Hajime rolls over to face him anyway.

“You’re so fucking crazy.” Hajime murmurs, pulling him close. He holds Komaeda properly, holds him close to his chest like Komaeda might dissolve if he doesn’t. He might slip right through Hajime’s fingers and into the mattress and into the dirt. He might slip off in the night and set something else on fire. He might hurl himself off a cliff. Hajime kisses Komaeda’s cheek. His ear. The side of his nose. The corner of his mouth. “I can’t leave you alone. What the hell would you do?” He doesn’t let Komaeda answer, pressing his mouth against Komaeda’s and leaving it there, just breathing the same air. Occupying the same space. Komaeda kisses him back, gently. The wet slide of lips. Languid. Sleepy. Loving.

“You brought me back,” Komaeda reminds him, slipping his arms around Hajime too, dragging fingers down his broad back gently, making Hajime squirm. “Take responsibility.”

Hajime does.

#fanfiction #komahina #komahina secret exchange

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plunder-heaven-and-devour-god · 5 years

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im gonna go full english lit under the cut

I saw measure for measure??? with my local Shakespeare in the Park about month and a half ago and im mcfucking obsessed with it. So much so that ive tried to find every clip of every film, every show, rehearsal, production, that i can to compare how scenes played out. I even listened to a harvard lecture about it, i’m that far gone. I BOUGHT. A SHIRT. I bought the book with additional notes and discussions because this play is fascinating.

WHY AM I OBSESSED?!

All readings through different lenses are there in full force, fully supported, living side beside with one another. And professors, actors, directors, scholars etc, all seem to congregate on the fact that not one reading is more valid than the other. Theyre so well balanced without ever really given moral answers but merely presented, almost like the Jacobean meaning of the “glass” both a mirror to predict the future and reflect on oneself. And in a post elizabethan age where puritans were outlawing plays and putting stricter holds on licentiousess this play is so close to upsetting the dominant religious force.

And the READINGS! ARE ALL! SO GOOD! There is historicist reading (king James I), Folkloric, Religious, SadoMasochist, Psychosexual, Moral, Feminist, and Capitalistic readings. THEY ALL EXIST SIDE BY SIDE.

And the staging of the play determines how many of these a production can pull together. I think that is why I wanted to see as many scenes are possible.

I think just the way Angelo and Isabella are played will determine which main reading the play tackles.

I’ve seen some versions of the interview scenes that are truly horrific acts of sexual violence that made me watch between my fingers. In this the feminist reading can come into full force, the full underline of Angelo as a sexual predator is made prevalent. And the line “and with an outstretched throat i will tell the world what man thou art, Angelo” being present that strong feminist reading IS ALWAYS THERE. (DID I MENTION I LOVE ISABELLA FLAWS AND ALL). The idea that Isabellas voice is the most crucial device in the play is FLOORING.

The Duke being a nearly godly figure who knows all and manipulates all, Angelo as his emissary becomes like an angel in the process of self corruption, from the inhumane ice he is so dubbed to warmed by the sins he so condemns. And Isabella defending the thing she so hates because it is her brother who commits the sin is the defense of someone who does not truly believe her brother is just. Mercy as justice. To wield power and to use it for mercy is so profound, and she is the only one who carries her ethos through like this to the end ofthe play. I’m not a theologist but so far this is the reading of theologists into the matter.

The version I saw in person he practically throws himself at her feet and it becomes an interplay of the psychosexual and moral. His knees buckle under her touch, it becomes the interaction of repressed sexuality channeled into both law and religion. In the Stratford production Isabella wipes her brow with water out of disgust or heat, no one is sure. it’s left ambivalent. In the one I saw Angelo was made almost comedic and sympathetic, which made ISabellas mercy still feel like an axe coming down upon his head.

And then characters like Barnadine just using comedy, the genre of the gods as the greeks called it, to dimish law, to put it to shame. To put the godly/playwright Duke in his place.

The folkloric bed switch (which is folklore yes but Im not totally comfortable calling it consensual even tho Angelo is a sexual predator you can bring modern sensibilities to the reading), is indicative of oral traditions that predate shakespeare. The idea that every character must do in this play the thing they most loathe to do.

Claudio fears death so he must die, Isabella must have sex to save a life when she has sworn herself to chastity. Then they both sort of hurt each other, Claudio by asking her to yield herself up to this non consensual sexual coercion of upmost grossness, and isabella by telling him to be happy he will die because there is nothing so painful as being alive (ISABELLA HES AN EXPECTING FATHER). He asks her to do the thing she loathes most in a fit of desperation because the man who loves life must die. And Isabella the woman who “would wear these keen whips as rubies” would have have done anything but sex, tells her brother that living isnt worth it. ITS INTENSE. LIKE WOW.

It’s absolutely no surprise that Isabella and Angelo are my favourite characters in the play. This awful sexual coercion (the degree of violence is dependant on staging which is like holy shit WTF), lives side by side with the fact that they are the two only people whose language, diction, beats, and intelligence matches each other. They both have the same fervor for their moral divisions and hierarchies. The idea of strict testing of morals and faith is in the text. Isabella wishes for harsher, more challenging, and harrowing tests of faith. You can argue as to why, I personally think its for the strengthening of faith and connection to the divine. Meanwhile Angelo is the one setting restrictions for hundreds of thousands of vienna, setting those on other people to strengthen the connection to a higher moral fibre, and I think in some respects faith as well but thats my interpretation.

Where others live their vices without restrictions, these two set limits for either themselves and/or others to be something more. They are in the way that motif of the “glass” The mirror. In that sense they reflect each other, but they also become each others foil. Which is why I do think a case can be made for the parallels with the psycho sexual and the SadoMasochist readings. Restraints for rewards, the repression on both their parts is there.

I’m not saying that negates the strong feminist reading or in anyway shape or form validates the absolute horror of the coerced sex/rape. I just say that they exist side by side with each other. They are equals in text/language/fervour AND YET they are not because he holds every power over her and her brother. He wants to restrict others where he cannot restrict himself, and Isabella restricts herself in part because she lives in a Vienna full of vice. She has a control over her own self that he proves not to have. And HE has a control over the world of the play that she cant.

AND YET. SHE IS MARRIED TO THE DUKE. SHE MARRIES INTO PROMINENCE. I don’t love the idea that she does not become a nun, her original want, and is instead coopted by the shitty duke (i am not pro duke sorry). The only upside at the end of the play is that Isabella can, in some measure, have political sway over the masses. Meanwhile Angelos fall and forgiveness put him into a marriage where his vice of coercive sex becomes consummation of a sleeping marriage. IT FEELS LIKE they sort of mirror each other the whole way through the play. ITS WEIRD BECAUSE THERE IS SO MUCH SEXUAL AND POLITICAL INEQUALITY TO THEM. ITs a play full of contradictions which I LOVE BECAUSE IT IS NOT SIMPLE NOT BECAUSE IT IS RIGHT. I do think there is a case to be made that Isabella unwillingly comes face to face with sexuality, his and hers, and its not on terms she wants, but it happens. And you see her struggling to maintain the authority over her own autonomy. But then she has to contemplate sex for herself, “to give up her boy into saucy sweetness, licentiousness, the filthy vices”. What does ISabella do when she comes face to face with her own sexual needs, whatever she may be? We have productions in the Stratford archives from 50 years ago that make an ambiguous case that the meeting of morality and sex might actually do something for her? I DON’T KNOW. The readings keep coming. There is a possiblity for a strong Ace reading for her which no one really touches on.

ON A LIGHTER NOTE

This play has my favourite sexual innuendo. When theyre like “WHAT DID CLAUDIO DO?”

“Her?”

“no! What did he do to get taken away by the provost”

“HIS GIRLFRIEND.”

(god and isnt it nuts that the first man on the scaffold for unlawful fornication IS IN A CONSENSUAL LOVING RELATIONSHIP WITH HIS GIRLFRIEND, A BOND AND CRIME THAT THE LAW (ANGELO) HAVE DEEMED IMMORAL. YET THE LAW (ANGELO) WOULD HAVE IT PARDONNED BY A NON CONSENSUAL SEX FOR EXECUTION PARDON. THE MASK OF MORALITY OF ANGELO. JFC HES SO FUCKED, like hes AWFUL, because he ends up sending claudio to death after he thinks hes had sex with isabella. LIKE WHAT A PIECE OF SHIT ND YET STILL WEARS THE LAW AS HIS MASK AFTER THE ANGEL HAS FALLEN. ITS COMPLEX AND I LOVE IT)

God and just…the sex jokes, the black comedy of barnadine right next to the high shooting morals of angelo, isabella, and mariana (another complex af character. The 1976 version certainly makes a psychosexual explanation out of that, which im not sure i enjoy. Again the psychosexual has its limits in a play about sexual coercion and rape)

AND THE FACT THAT MERCY IS WHAT SETS YOU FREE, LIKE PROSPERO FORGIVING HIS ENEMIES, ISABELLA FORGIVING ANGELO IS A HERCULEAN FEAT, IT FEELS CLOSE TO GODLINESS IDK MAN. AND I UNDERSTAND WHY SHE TELLS HER BROTHER NO I WONT SLEEP WITH HIM FOR YOUR LIFE BECAUSE ITS RAPE, BUT THEN IS LIKE BE GLAD BEING ALIVE IS SHITTY ANYWAYS. Im like? ISABELLA? WHAT?! ISabella does not know about herself that she can be desired because GOD DOES IT TAKE HER A WHILE TO UNDERSTAND ANGELOS MEANING, and yet shes got such a force for words. I find it hard to think being married to the duke that she wont have some power.

And the exchange of Angelo and Isabella in the second interview.

-His moral stance on unlawful fornication starts with abortive language, the harsh restrictions but DEVOLVES INTO THE SEXUAL WITH THE INTELLECTUAL DICTION, It becomes a mirror of himself until he is explicit of what he wants from her. (OH GOD TRULY HE GIVES ME NAUSEOUS AND YET THE ONE IN THE PLAY I SAW HE WAS ENTHRALLING I HATE THE RANGE OF THINGS ANGELO CAN MAKE ME FEEL). His mask of morality is slowly removed

-ISABELLA must argue on behalf of her brother, believing in restrictions of the kid angelo speaks of, they believe in restraining oneself to achieve a higher form of being, and yet has to straight up defend something she hates because she loves her brother. And ANGELO CAN SEE IT. I WISH THERE WAS AN AFTERMATH WHERE WE SEE HER USING HER INTELLECT AND WORDS FOR HER ENDS.

I truly think the second interview scene is one of the best exchanges Billy Shakes wrote. Because it ENDS LIKE THAT. GOD the david tennant one is chilling, the oregon shakespeare festival one is fucked. The 1976 which is the most psychosexual was so intensely disturbing that the Angelo got applause for it. IDK What that means and im too scared to ask. Idk how the RSC managed because youtbe doesnt show me that. The Repurcussion theatre was the most varied array of contradictions for angelo instead of just corrupt judge. It literally is all the shakespeare villains that do the most heinous things that Im like THATS MY FAVE. Iago was just RACISM/Sociopath and fifteen year old me was like YES HIM. I mean Richard III is bad but hes fun. ANGELO AT THE BEST IS A SEXUAL PREDATOR AND YET IM STILL LIKE WOW HOW COMPLEX ALSO THE ACTOR WAS SO GOOD LOOKING AND PLAYING UP THE BDSM BOTTOM ANGLE I WAS GONE.

And the Isabellas go from wilting lily, to some sort of quiet and reserved girl, and the one i saw was literally “she is tiny but fierce” like her voice was really forceful and i thought it was amazing.

THIS PLAY IS FUCKED WHEN IT COMES TO THESE READINGS LIVING SIDE BY SIDE BUT BOY IS THIS INTERESTING.

if you made it this far wow holy shit. thanks for coming to my ted talk.

#in which i have a mental breakdown about shakespeare #measure for measure #this is my shame and pride #its a really great play and i wish i was in school to study it academically #but im not so i gotta settle for seeing what harvard english lit says

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hausofgucci-blog · 6 years

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Fuck Thy Neighbor

I would like to preface this by saying that this is as whipped as it gets for me. I started this blog as a 5sos blog then it became a makeup/fashion blog up until I saw Black Panther. All I did was look up the BP tag on here but I fell into a rabbit hole that I’m all too happy to be stuck in. So yeah, here I am a few weeks later writing again. I deadass haven’t written anything in mf years but a bitch is inspired and horny so here y'all go. This 2.5K word mess is dedicated to @sweettea-and-honeybutter!!!

Erik Killmonger x WOC!Reader

Tags:SMUt (with plot), Power play, dub con, daddy kink, choking

The hot Oakland sun somehow found a way to beat down on you even though you were in your car. Being the broke college student you are you resorted to buying a mini fan for your car after the AC decided to quit its job. Unlike its job description, the fan didn’t create cool air to blow in your face instead it redistributed the hot air around you all over your face. Like a gift from the gods, you spotted a 7/11 roughly half a mile down the road, ‘if I’m going to die of heatstroke might as well do it with with a blue tongue,’ you thought to yourself. You’re nearly shaking with excitement as you pull some money out of your wallet and head to the store.

It doesn’t take long for you to mull over your choices before finally picking blue raspberry. With barely contained glee you hand money over to the cashier in exchange for the large Slurpee. It sounds exaggerated but you’d swear that after a few sips your life got better. The cold drink definitely made the 15-minute drive to the beauty supply store way more enjoyable. At last, you reach the grey building, you reach into the back seat for the bag of products you’d intended to return but you only find air. Realization dawns on you as remember that you’d set the bag down as you took a call from your mother earlier that morning. After contemplating for few moments you decide you’d be damned if you don’t your money back, you worked hard for that $21.58. With a switch shift in gears, you back out of the empty parking lot mentally cursing yourself for being forgetful and wasting your time.

Half an hour later you pull into your parking space with an exasperated sigh. You dash out of the car, slam the door and race to your front door which you find very conveniently locked. You instinctively pat your pockets even though you know full well that you put nothing in them but who’s to stop you from imagining the impossible. It then dawns on you that you’ve locked your phone and keys in your car. Unwilling to give up you jiggle the knob and bang and kick the door as if it’ll magically swing open or someone will open it up for you. This continues for several minutes until you hear a door open, you’re quick to assume your methods worked until you realize the door still hasn’t budged and your neighbor is looking at you from his doorway.

You wave at him and offer what you hope is a friendly smile, “Hi I’m your neighbor, I’m in a bit of trouble do you mind if I use your phone?”

He looks you up and down for a moment or two before replying “fuck I look like? Mother Teresa? I ain’t got favors to give out.”

You take a few steps toward him, trying to keep a friendly demeanor “I’m really sorry to bother you but I really need help, I locked my keys and phone in my car and I really need to get into my house.” A few seconds pass and his eyes are fixed on yours, void of all emotion. ‘Alright y/n time to turn on the waterworks ‘ you think to yourself, your lip trembles a bit and within seconds you allow fake tears to pool and fall from your eyes.

“Aye stop crying okay? Just come inside.” You can barely contain your joy as he opens the door wider and you step through the threshold.

The place is pretty bare, there are no pictures of anyone in sight but you stop yourself from making further observations. “So,” you draw out the ‘O’ awkwardly, “what about that phone call mm?”

That’s when he rolls his eyes, “I thought we already discussed this, I ain’t no Mother Teresa. If you want something from me you gotta do something for me first.”

The look on his face is a bit too menacing on his face to suggest that he wanted you to just vacuum or something. “Uh, I think I’ll just go,” you say hastily.

“Aight suit yourself,” he replies with a nonchalant shrug. A few seconds later you’re outside again stuck with nowhere to go. You resume your futile attempts to open a locked door with the will of a desperate woman. When that doesn’t work you try your luck on the car, that too has the same results as the door. There’s only one option left for you so you suck up your pride, march to his door and knock softly. You’re pretty sure he heard you even though he leaves you waiting for a minute or two. Finally, the door swings open and you step inside.

“Okay I take it back, I'll do anything! Please!"

He chuckles sizing you up, "good girl, what did you have in mind?" You stare right back at him as you take in his appearance. He wore a loose black long sleeve V-neck and some grey sweatpants that left little to the imagination. What did you have in mind? You'd kinda just hoped he was kidding and he'd let you make a phone call.

"Uh um ya know" you trailed off trying to ignore how stupid you must've sounded. You focus every cell in your body on being sexy as you step closer to him, “why don’t I just show you what I had in mind.” You keep your eyes locked on his while lightly grazing your hand on his bicep then gradually escalating to running it down his torso before stroking him through the thin fabric. You get on your knees in front of him and waste no time freeing his semi-hard cock from its restraints.

“What a fucking slut,” he says sounding amused. You ignore him and keep your attention on his dick. Taking your sweet time you lick the underside slowly and work your way to sucking just the tip. Before you knew it his palm smacked your cheek, leaving behind a stinging pain. “You’re going to have to do better than that ma.” Mouth still full of his cock you look up at him and nod.

This time you put much more focus and energy into pleasing him. You bob your head enthusiastically while stroking whatever you can’t fit into your mouth. “You look so good on your knees shawty. Sucking me off like your life depends on it.” You preen at the praise feeling yourself getting moist in your panties. His moans and grunts do nothing but egg you on as you take him farther and farther down your throat until your eyes water. That’s when he grabs your hair and starts facefucking you, “you like that baby? You like when daddy shoves his cock down your throat?” You nod furiously, “good girl. Let me see those titties.”

Without warning, he rips your shirt in half exposing your bra which he wastes no time undoing. He fondles your breasts and plays with your hard nipples while you suck his balls. His actions cause you to moan deeply around him which in turn create sensual vibrations on his cock. You can tell you’re doing a good job by his firmer grip on your hair. His speech is littered with softly spoken expletives which soon turn into moans and grunts. “You -oh fuck- you want daddy to come in your mouth?”

“Yes, daddy please cum in my whore mouth.” You genuinely meant it, unbeknownst to him being treated like a fucktoy was your biggest fantasy.

He slaps you again, “did I say you could stop sucking? You know what take all your clothes off, I wanna see you on that couch with your face down and ass up. Do not move until I get back.” He exits with a brisk walk before you obediently follow the instructions given to you. Your mind is so hazy you can’t even process what exactly you’re getting yourself into, all you need is his dick in you as soon as possible.

The position you were in made it a bit hard to hear what was going on, the silence was killing you not to mention how good the cool leather felt against your warm skin. Your need for sexual release grows with every passing second till you can’t stop yourself from reaching down and touching yourself. The action sends waves of pleasure so strong through your body that you have to bite your lip to contain your moans. Your few seconds of pleasure comes to a screeching halt when his menacing voice comes from behind you, “when I tell you to do something I mean that shit.” The unmistakable ripping sound of a foil packet follows his words before he nudges you with his knee, “legs wide bitch.”

You obey without a second thought, nothing mattered more to you than getting dicked down that second. He thrusts into you so fast and deep that your walls struggle to stretch to accommodate his impressive size. You’re a mess of moans and whimpers as you feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, to speed up the process you bring your hand to your clit rubbing furiously. You get noticeably louder and you feel your body approaching ecstasy but it seems your neighbor has different plans. “You wouldn’t think about cumming without asking daddy first would you?” He enunciated each word with a spank, “put your hands behind your back now!” You’re happy to oblige by locking both arms behind you so that each hand is wrapped around the opposite wrist. He takes your joint wrists together into one of his massive hands and proceeds to use it as leverage to fuck you deeper. With his free hand, he rubs your clit till you’re almost tipping over the edge of ecstasy. “Please, daddy can I cum? Please, please, please let me cum,” getting the words out is a struggle amid your moans but he still understands what you mean.

“Come all over my cock babygirl,” a wave of pleasure washes over you as you succumb to the primal need that’d been building inside you. Even as you ride your orgasm his fingers don’t stop working on your clit even though his thrusts slow down and get sloppier. The room is filled with the lewd unfiltered sounds of sex: your incoherent blubbering and his grunts of pleasure mixed with the sounds of his hips hitting yours. He stops to let you catch your breath but doesn’t pull out, instead opting to hold your hip as he lets his breathing return to normal as well.

He finally pulls out and commands you to flip over, you comply and get yourself into a position where you’re laying on the couch facing him while your legs hang off the arm of the couch. that is when you get a better look at him. The first thing you notice are the peculiar bumps scattered across his torso, intrigued you open your mouth to ask about them but he beats you to it. “You’ve been such a good girl, you think you deserve a reward?”

All questions about his chest fly out of your mind, “yes daddy.”

“I like the way you think babygirl,” he gets on his knees in front of you and you instinctively open your legs. “You’re so wet for me,” he states as he runs his middle finger down your pussy collecting your juices before offering it to you. “Taste yourself,” you greedily accept his finger into your mouth sucking it like its the only thing keeping you alive. He takes his finger from your mouth and wraps his hand around your neck without putting too much pressure. “Let daddy taste your sweet pussy,” with that he attaches his full lips to your inner thighs kissing and sucking them while still keeping his hand latched around your throat. His hand moves to grope your breast while he teases your slit with his tongue. The soft caresses of his tongue against your cunt coupled with his persistent fingers around your nipple causing you to lie back and cry out in bliss. He speeds up the pace of his licks alternating between doing that and teasing your entrance with the tip of his tongue. Your hands find their way to his hair to pull him closer as a second orgasm builds deep in your belly meanwhile he wraps his arms around your thighs spreading you wider. You feel one of his fingers teasing your entrance before slipping it in with ease. The combination of his tongue on your clit and his finger fucking you has you screaming daddy and begging for release in no time. “Cum all over daddy’s fingers you dirty slut” he commands before adding another finger to fuck you with. His words turn you on even more, so much so that you’re basically doing all the work for him by bucking and rolling your hips to meet his fingers. It doesn't take long for the metaphorical floodgates to burst as a powerful orgasm rips through you. Your breaths come out rough and ragged and he continues to fuck you through your orgasm till the only word you can form is ‘daddy’. He silently watches you come down from your high waiting for your breath to return to normal before ordering you to get dressed. Although your eyes are shut you hear can still his footsteps as he walks away from you. With shaky legs, you pull yourself off the couch to locate the small pile of your unscathed clothing and hastily put them back on. You’re clipping your bra when his approaching footsteps meet your ears causing you to tense up a bit.

“You gotta go,” he states with a threatening tone.

You turn around to face him, confusion written all over your features, “wh-what about our deal?”

“I changed my mind, now go,” he replies unlocking the door. You plant yourself down, he wasn't going to get you out that easy. Anger flashes in his eyes, he gets up close to you to say in your ear “go right now before I do something you and I will regret.” The cold, unwavering quality of his voice trumps all reservations you had about going outside in just a bra and shorts. You nod fearfully and scamper out the door, just as you hear the sound of something small hitting the ground and turn around to see what it is. “If you got any street smarts you’ll know how to use that,” he declares with a smirk before slamming the door leaving you looking at a small plastic card in confusion.

#erik killmonger #black panther fic #woc reader #erik smut #erik killmonger smut #woc smut #black panther smut

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